Bedtime Stories

Hubs and I bought a new bed this weekend. We both realized that neither of us had owned an actual bed. We’ve had mattresses, we’ve had box springs and frames but the total bed (headboard, footboard etc) we’ve never taken the time to invest in. We made the trek down to the closest IKEA, and picked one up. 

I have been blessed with the inate ability to assemble IKEA furniture with minimal issues, so it went up fairly quickly. That was the easy part. The weird/hard part was the flashbacks. For some reason something about this bed brought me back to my most memorable rape. Which is weird because it’s nothing like that bed.  I avoided anything that even remotely reminded me of that bed when we were shopping, but sitting there on my bedroom floor with Hubs putting the thing together brought a flood of overwhelming sensations and snippets of memories from that night. 

It wasn’t a full on consuming flash back of the entire event, just the most random bits of painful sensations, motions, sounds, smells all sort of thrown together in a flurry. It made it really hard to sleep next to Hubs, which pretty much pissed me off. We only get to spend one night together right now and most times I enjoy cuddling up to him. I miss my daily hugs and general cuddly closeness we have so I soak it all up while he’s here visiting. This weekend it was weird and off putting.  

I hate the way I’ll be doing really well with everything and get blindsided by the most random of events. Things that should be exciting and fun. We bought a new bed. A real bed, something we’ve never owned before as adults. That’s exciting, but my joy was fleeting. That’s the one thing I hate the most about my PTSD. It’s ability to keep stealing my joy long after the fact.