So here is my theory on the past few weeks of crazy:
Hearing someone was in love with me and not confronting the issue immediately led to a loss of taste. Dissociation. Extreme stress.
This happened immediately after I was overwhelmed with emotions that did not fit the situation. PTSD emotional flashbacks caused by a trigger.
So what happened was some sort of inner tape went on replay. Emotional flashbacks that lasted days. Then I reacted to the stress of this skew in reality by dissociating (losing my taste) and that caused me to not want to eat at all. The lack of calories kept me in the stress reactions and also nixed my ability to sleep. Like: What? We are starving? Must be an emergency!! No sleep! Need to be alert! My really experienced stress hormones kicked into overdrive and would not calm down until I force fed myself a healthy amount.
The morning after I wrote a post on it, the morning after I had a conversation with him where he assured me he had zero plans to visit me, I woke up with the tape off, and my food was food again instead of tasteless cardboard.
I have dissociated before, the year after I left I did not even once recall any abuse or abusive incidents. I had a few dreams of being afraid but no recall was available to me. I was just surviving, trying to take care of the kids and starting over from nothing.
So I can’t say I don’t have dissociation any longer. I think I do. I thought one could only have dissociation from childhood. If that is true, I wonder what happened to me? The therapist calls it emotional neglect. Surely that is not enough to create dissociation.
I knew dating would be a bad idea for me. I am so glad I don’t try. Not everyone is going to wreck my life or kidnap me- but apparently my lizard brain believes the opposite.
I have a trauma anniversary coming up in a few days and I have been very proud of myself so far. I have not been irritable or triggered that I can tell.
A few days ago I skyped with a friend I had not yet met but had corresponded with for a few years, a nice young man finishing up his Master´s degree. It was a nice conversation even though he said some nice things to me that threw me completely. I am not so good at compliments.
Even worse than the fact that I spent days obsessing over this conversation and feeling awful about everything I said is the fact that most of what I said and all of what I did not say came from cultural and abuse conditioning. I have been living in Western culture for four years, answering to no one but myself and still I am paralyzed inside, unable to voice perfectly acceptable comments because I have been conditioned not to speak to men, or not to speak nicely to men. This is a nice young man and he deserves some positive communication. I can write it, but I cannot say it. I feel ashamed to be controlled by things that are no longer present in my life.
I said nothing wrong. I just did not say much of what I wanted, encouraging or supportive stuff. I am supposed to be free, supposed to be able to talk as freely as I write.
It nearly makes me feel like crying. I never do that.
The kids are okay. I think they will wake up okay, too. But a tap on the bumper has me feeling like I was in a major wreck. I had a few accidents and a couple of beatings in my life that have left my scoliosis spine very vulnerable to sudden jarring and I can feel it stiffening up right now. I took an Aleve but I don´t think it will help much.
The other driver and I just shook hands over the little hole my hitch left in her front bumper. It would be her fault, since she was behind me. She was young and concerned and my car was fine, so I told her to have a very good day.
I ought to take some Ibuprofen.
A family that attends the same small school as my sons was hit by a drunk driver last week. The girl, a kindergartner, suffered a broken neck. I know she is awake and in a Halo device, but I don´t know what her prognosis is. I worry alot about them. One of her siblings was initially critical and another had a nasty sort of broken leg. Her mother broke both her legs. They have a gofundme site set up, and so far are at half goal. I hope they all recover, I hear they are lovely people.
My accident didn´t seem like a big deal. I have been grateful for it all evening, that it was not worse, that my kids are okay.
The other driver said she was handing a beverage to her passenger.
My rear brakes were going out. I knew something major was wrong, but I failed to estimate the true cost of the repairs.
I got a call after I dropped the car at the mechanic’s. He told me it would cost me effectively two and a half weeks worth of pay.
I told him to go ahead. The rest of the car is fine, and I need it functioning. It’s not enough of an issue to get a new used car over.
He meant to have it fixed by the time I get off of work.
I got another call just before work let out for the day. He had been given the wrong part and my car was not fixed, could not be jury rigged, and he had no loaners. I asked.
So I scrambled for a ride. Thank you, closest friend!
I couldn’t sleep all night. Not from the cost, but because I felt so vulnerable. I have no family to rescue me, not enough to rent a car (not that there is a car rental place here), and I didn’t even know the number for the local taxi or tow businesses (time to add into my phone). My friend who gave me her car arrived so tired that she should not have been driving at all, which was another worry altogether. My work is ten miles from my children’s daycare and school, which are close to home. It seems like a million at the end of the day. I would never be able to walk it before daycare got out, unless I started when I arrived.
I woke up in a bad mood. So did the children. We did not have a pleasant morning. A mommy time out was had.
I went to work, then went to pick up my car. The mechanic told me to take it. I told him I needed to hand something to my ride and then I would settle up with him. I handed a key off to my ride and then the mechanic told me again to take my car and go. I began walking to his office to pay, wallet in hand. He told me ¨Look, it’s taken care of. I am not supposed to say by who, but it’s all paid up.¨
I was stunned, I protested. I thanked him, I asked him to thank the benefactor. I managed not to cry.
I went back to work. Those I suspected in the office denied it. Not that I should have been sleuthing, it was not very graceful, but that is how I am. No one can accuse me of grace.
I got my check an hour later.
My check was for too much. I had been out sick, and I was paid for full hours. I felt awful. I had made a mistake on my timecard, for certain. I pulled out my file to find the faulty timecard and bring it to my boss so I could be docked properly the next pay period.
On top of the total hours, which I had correctly put as 16, was written ¨35.75, authorized by __¨. My boss had paid me in full, instead, using the hours from the week before as a source.
I did not cry. I did go to my boss and express my thanks and ask him to thank whoever paid for my car, if he knew who it was. He laughed at me, in a happy way.
I don’t feel lucky about the money. When you have had enough and none, money does not seem to matter very much.
What makes me feel lucky is the fact that someone, or more than one someone, thinks well enough of me to want to do nice things for me.
No one does something nice for someone they think of in a negative way. Not an expensive nice thing, because it seems worthless to invest in someone you do not think well of. You don’t trust them to use the gift wisely, or even appreciate it.
People believe in me. Such a powerful thought.
It’s not pity, either. Because no one knows what happened to me. I don’t talk about it.
I told my therapist I don’t want to see myself through other people’s eyes. But maybe the view is not as bad as I thought. Maybe the negative voice in my head is a memory rather than a reality.
For everyone who told me that people in this culture/country are sick and twisted lost souls – get an education. I love this town.