I put a spell on you…

I’m still all about the staying at home. I have a heady schedule of resting, drinking fluids & FaceTiming cute little people. I haven’t forgotten what season it is, though. Halloween nails continue!

It’s not Halloween without some gore. A manicure ode to one of my fav scary movies is a must.

Scream themed nail art . Ghost face, knife & blood

I also can’t help going a little batty at this time of year.

Halloween manicure with bat silohoutres against purple skies

My fingers are currently adorned with some paranormal looking skies and very spooky trees. I’m loving it.

Halloween nail art with spooky trees and spider webs.

My familiar strongly objects to all this nail painting as it diverts attention from his needs. He’s very demanding, but so cute.

Black and white sleeping on cushions

Keep on keeping on…

It doesn’t make any sense, but I think before I went into hospital I had fragments of hope. Delusions might be a better word. I knew the pregnancy was over, but a part of me hadn’t accepted it. I couldn’t bring myself to take any pain relief, sleeping pills etc because I felt that I’d be betraying my child. Even as I write these words they aren’t comprehensible. My thinking just seems crazy. 

Now, I feel certain it’s over. That’s awful, but necessary. Accepting that intervention was essential has given me a sense of finality that I needed.

The flip side of that is the very things that brought about that clarity will be with me forever. I’ve already had some nightmares consisting of images that also intrude on my waking hours. 

Delicate grey tissue & stained blue gloves.

Bright red urine samples & bloodied speculums.

Flashes of gore have imprinted themselves on my already traumatised brain. I don’t know how to wipe it clean.

I think I am ok & then I’m just not. I feel fragile & sad.

But

Also so angry.

There’s nowhere to put this fury. I was doing alright. Life was a manageable feat with some unexpectedly sweet incentives. Now it’s tip toeing & coaxing myself into normal. Often, it’s trying not to want that baby more than I want to breathe.

Ultimately, it’s all very simple. I just keep going. One day at a time, right? Weird that the biggest, emptiest seeming cliches are what get you through. 

All I can say is I’m breathing…

PTSD is a persistent foe. You can make progress & start to think maybe, just maybe you can actually defeat this bastard, but it knows you think that. 

It’s waiting for you to relax your hyper vigilence. The moment you begin to let go of the breath you’ve been holding for 17yrs it will suck it in & grow.

Folks in your life see you gaining strength & think you’re better. There is no ‘better’.  There is managing ,

coping,

trying to live,

daring to live?

The good days can start to stack up. You can feel a safe distance from the horror, but you can never be sure. 

You can never be certain that a flashback won’t stun you like lightening. 

And stuck in that hot, white memory you could loosen your grip on the here & now.

The relative calm & safety could be shattered. Perhaps only for that instant. You could be lucky, those smells & fears could melt away. Current achievements or delights may well wash over you. It’s possible. That happens. 

You’ll make plans & take steps. But you’ll always be looking over your shoulder. The knowledge of the cruelty of your own mind will keep you rigid.

Because lightening does strike twice & thrice & ever & on.

With every thump of your heart you know you’re only one more squeeze from disaster. Where little sleep becomes none. The crazy creeps out from behind all those positive walls, it brings terror & tsunamis of grief. 

And the pills don’t work

Or Dr’s 

Or the life jacket you had to make with your bare hands. 

There is only one way to row to shore & it’s brutal. It’s hot blood dripping from your fingers; slippy yellow fat & an uncontrollable urge to cut a little deeper. 

Bleed a little more 

Wrapping up the unthinkable pain in the easy hurt of butchering yourself. 

This illness is being  awake in the night & writing so you won’t do. It’s ignoring the destructive comfort because you so desperately want this new, real life. 

And, yes, all those yous should be I’s. 

It’s my past, my pain, my ongoing battle for a future. 


Listen, I’m a really perfect song.