I’m still struggling with my PTSD. It’s actually not the least bit surprising considering that it’s been two years since the trauma of the break in and that’s when things started to unfold for me the first go around with a traumatic event. My brain is healing, the synapses are reconnecting and there is a fire of static in the mean time making me a general irritable mess.
I’m very thankful that I have a much stronger support system this go around and that I really don’t have to shout out into the void so much. Still, writing here is the best way to collect and decipher my thoughts in this transition, and it’s easy to keep track of on someone else’s server vs my own hard drive.
I’ve been going back and looking at dates and events that triggered my mood shift. I talked about Hubs cutting his hair which was a big part of it. There was also a local man arrested for breaking in to an apartment and attempting to kidnap a six year old girl, swearing she was his own. He was a junkie, high on a cocktail of illicit substances, and when I read the part of the article saying that this wasn’t his first break in/kidnapping event my heart jumped out of my chest.
Of course this all happened in the same weekend Hubs cut his hair, and my creeper decided to start her annual fight with me which just made me an angry, distraught, PTSD nightmare.
As I was scrolling through the article, hoping to see a picture of the guy my spirit soared and I realized that some part of me somewhere was still holding on to the hope that the Bad Man who broke into my own apartment was *not* my ex. Even after my daughter identified him, and even though my own foggy memories and circumstances of what happened while he was inside the apartment point directly to him (ie it was very personal) vs some random junkie on a bender.
The local man who was arrested, looked nothing like my ex, and my daughter had never seen him before. Hubs and I even asked her if it was the Bad Man and she looked at us like we were crazy before answered: “No, guys I told you the Bad Man is that other guy.”
So… then I emotionally crashed and my subconscious went haywire bringing up all of my partial memories from our own break in. I made it a little farther than I have in past recall attempts. There was someone else, a woman, in the apartment with my ex. I don’t know if my daughter ever saw her or not, but I remember some pretty vivid details. It was definitely a woman, but her identity either remains locked in my subconscious or I never learned it.
All I really remember is a voice, long dark hair, and her being in my bed after whatever else happened between the three of us. My daughter said she saw the Bad Man in our living room before she climbed into bed with me, and I distinctly remember punching someone in the back in my bed to move them out of the way so my daughter could climb in. Which either means there were two people in the apartment that didn’t belong there, or my daughter ran into the Bad Man a few times as he was just chillaxing in our apartment like he owned the place.
When I woke up the next morning I found several pillows stuffed behind my back. I briefly thought that maybe I had mistaken the pillows for a body, but the punch definitely connected with a body. There’s a noticeable difference between muscle mass and pillow fluff. Besides someone went “oof” when I punched. Pillows do not go “oof”. I distinctly remember mumble yelling my husband’s name and scolding them to move so my daughter could get in the bed because she had a bad dream.
I also remember the shit eating smirk on the Bad Man’s face while I was interacting with this woman. He was enjoying every damn second, which doesn’t surprise me in the least. At some point I also distinctly and very clearly remember thinking/saying: “That’s what they tell me. Great. We’re done. Now get the fuck out of my house.” While simultaneously feeling repulsed, angry, disgusted and sad.
I remember a few more details about the initial interaction with Bad Man too. I still very much thought he was my husband, complimented the way he cut his hair and changed his beard (he didn’t change a thing, my brain was like: this isn’t your husband, and I’m like YES IT IS STUPID BRAIN) so I complimented Bad Man, and asked where he got his jacket since it wasn’t something I recognized from my husband’s wardrobe. Like my conscious was SO CLOSE to realizing that Bad Man wasn’t my husband, but the dots just did not connect until I was choking/spitting/gagging on my bedroom floor.
*sigh* My memories will come around eventually. At least as many as I have after the trauma and double dose of Ativan that got dropped down my throat. I just wish my brain could heal without the emotional shit storm that comes with the healing synapses, because being stuck on an emotional roller coaster for no visible to the outside public reason sucks. It sucks hard.