Relapse – 123

Where have I been? Where am I going?

Things were getting better. Almost normal, it was nice…

Tense and time, they test me still – the burden is heavy this time.

Our trip to Japan had refreshed us for a year. 2016, the year of our renewal was short lived… After graduating from therapy on my own choice and moving forward with personal projects and events – I felt stronger. I was making choices for myself again.

We both were doing so well. I could almost forget about the fear of triggers or the waxing and waning of my chronic pain waves. I was falling into a new normal.

Slowly stress would creep up on me, slipping her fingers through the cracks and into my fears. My new position arrived on lipservice and lies – broken promises began to show their colours as I was denied a position I thought I earned. Only to have everything taken away from me, all I could do was watch as everything I worked for began to fall apart, there was nothing I could do because I had already lost my “power”.

Finally, as a last kick, I was denied full payment for my hard work. Work that stressed me to the point of breakdown. Payment I earned fairly, all while feeling like a failure, losing my grip on myself in the empty event parking lot- letting my friend and coworker hug me as I tried to hold on to what little strength in myself I had left.He was equally stressed and upset and there was nothing either of us could do to save it.

So I walked away. Months later… Knowing I may never see all the money they owe me. Knowing all my ideas and future projects probably meant nothing to them from the beginning.

One.

Knowing I may never bring anything I envisioned to light. I settled my heart, wanting nothing else except to find peace-  I did my best, I met people I love and care for. That was enough of an experience to push me forward despite the embarrassment.

It should have been. I should have kept moving forward despite the stress; because it was something I enjoying doing with friends I love, for the country and culture I love. It was just one stressful thing – I could jump the hurdle soon. I only need to push a bit more and be a bit more patient with everything…

Until the accident happened, and everything spiralled down out of control, again. Only this time there was no warning. Rear-ended and caught off guard. The noise of the accident, bumper on bumper – blacking out – it triggered me; but the whiplash, minor concussion had me in the hospital on a painful spinal board for hours. Later it would turn into severe back/shoulder/neck pain and constant headaches. I wasn’t broken yet…

Two.

What is “Chronic Pain”, again? Why couldn’t I just move forward in my life with the pain I already learned to live with, why did the accident have to make everything worse? How many more years of physical pain do I deserve? How horrible was my past life, how many more karma cycles must I endure the price?

Physiotherapy. Registered Massage Therapy. I’m told to get them both.

“You need time to heal.” Right? WRONG!

Instead, the ICBC Physio “Doctor” assigned to help me recover, assaulted me… he pulled down my pants to massage my bare ass… what part of my ass is healing the pain in my back/neck/head? How can a doctor in a position of authority and trust, try to see through my open hospital gown to my chest. Nothing felt right. Nothing feels right since. Is this what it feels like to break again?

Three.

How many more times must I be a victim? How many more years of emotional/psychological pain do I deserve? How many more times must I register for a therapy wait-list? How many more times must my PTSD triggers relapse? I wanted to be better, but instead, I’ve fallen 3 steps behind again. 3 blows to my healing soul, 0 protections against the darkness of my mind.

My body aches every day, I struggle to smile with such heavy thoughts drowning me out. Calling doctors offices give me anxiety now. I have panic attacks thinking about making appointments or getting on buses to get to those offices – I feel heavy and burdened.

I hate my life right now. But more than that… I hate myself.

私は引きこもりなりました…
体が痛いし、いろいろと重い考えとつらいよ。
ちゃんとがんばりたいなのに、最近元気ない、
何もできない。
やっぱり自分は嫌い、穴があったら入りたいよ。

もし自分はいないのに世界が続くのよ、でしょう?
私わ消えるがいいと思う

これらの言葉ですらいつか消えてしまいます

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Universe be fucked

I guess you could say this entry is almost a direct follow up to my post two weeks ago; Depression is Hard

I don’t believe in God, but the universe seems to be screaming at me.

On July 6th, I lost my friend Greg Potocky to suicide.

I’m beginning to realize his death haunts me so deeply because I had JUST been contemplating the same, a mere week before. To be honest his death still doesn’t feel real. Shock or denial; I still can’t believe he’s really gone.

The ones you leave behind hurt the most. But pain blinds you; you can’t help but end up destroying yourself. That’s all you can focus on, because the hurt won’t stop.

I had begun to tread back into a semi “normal” life, slowly, lightly. Nightmares aside, I could feel myself relaxing ever so slightly. Then reality smacked me in the face, again. Life has a strange way of leaving you breathless, but this breathless isn’t the good kind of breathless. It’s the punch to the gut-pain heats your lungs-you can only gasp for oxygen, kind of breathless.

I made a video in his memory... I believe everyone should know his name and know who he was. Amazing, talented, charismatic, sweet, hilarious, nerdy, goofy, strong; a comedian, actor, writer and director.

“The person you love isn’t here to live his life anymore- that means you have to live your life twice as hard, for him.”

I will live my life twice as hard, for you.

Please go visit Greg’s channel: https://www.youtube.com/user/CockyPotocky

Donations to BC Mental Health in Greg’s memory is greatly appreciated: https://www.bcmhf.ca/donation

Our last project together: http://youtu.be/rMJOxKXu5jI
Bloopers: http://youtu.be/SNjIZdy8gts

Rest in Peace, friend.

Please believe me

Ephiphanys can be a bitch.

Lost in your own thoughts, when suddenly- something clicks!

“Oh! That’s why…”

I begin to see patterns in how I have let people treat me and talk down to me before. And I am beginning to understand my fear of telling others who my rapist is or that it really happened. I’ve been through a similar betrayal of “I don’t believe you”, out of the blue before…

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