In the introductory posting, I noted that part of my problem may have grown from a seeking after attention in the wrong ways. Today, that thought occurred to me once more, and so I thought a little beating up on the ol' self is in order. After all, who is here to beat up on me except myself? If I suddenly shrunk down to mouse size, the cats would cheerfully beat the stuffing out of me, as they do with their toy mice. Other than that rather remote possibility, I am currently low on bullies in the immediate vicinity.
Actually, I have been moving upstairs to get out of what appears to be a toxic environment down in my dankish basement. A little rest for my weary and ill body may help this afternoon. Moving bookcases is among the more labor intensive of activities. First, unload all the books onto something else, and stop to wonder why I am keeping some of them; then, move whatever is in the way of where the bookcase will go, move the bookcase, and reload it with books kept and books from the next bookcase to be moved. Finish unloading the next bookcase... and so on, until the old injuries, age, weight, and other factors demand a break. This is the third day of this sort of thing, and a break to write up a blog sounds pretty good right now.
While the aches and pains built up to a crescendo of anxious thoughts, I recalled how we as PTSD sufferers tend to make things bigger. Many persons deny the early warning signs of heart disease or cancer. Anxious folks, on the other hand, tend to have an indication of dreaded diseases each and every day. The problem is that part of me wants to have some dire event so that I can get some more of that attention thing I enjoyed back in the day. This is especially strange given that most of the time I can't stand to be noticed and get anxious about even the possibility.
For about a year, perhaps more, people often asked after my health. Not the shallow 'how are you doing' greeting that we all get in hallways and parking lots at work, but actual concern and interest in the latest surgery or healing. The carnal fellow inside kind of thought that he could get used to this attention thing, and he wanted more of it. Unfortunately, it was in the time immediately after the accident when gifts and cards rolled in - Christmas gift-getting that year lasted from about December 4th to around May - that the fellow deep inside that wants and likes, and doesn't know stop or reciprocate, learned to like attention of this type in a big way. His suggestions for how to get more of this gifting and asking with interest was in the wrong way of injuries, hospitals, and other imagined disasters. The body that must suffer these things along the way to the good part was not asked for its opinion.
Obviously, a body in this life cannot continually suffer auto accidents of the magnitude I suffered or one day, in rather short order I should think, the body will not get the chance to do the rehab and recovery thing. Gifts in that case are usually donations to some charitable fund that the honoree does not get to enjoy. This desire of seeking after attention is a dreadful burden. I work on stopping those anxious thoughts before the imagining makes me hurt again. If the attention-seeking imagination would just take a moment to remember the pain of that catheter in the emergency room, he most certainly wouldn't want anything to do with another visit to that place! However, trying to remember pain is probably not the best solution to anxious visions.
Some days it seems that in the anxiety-depression cycle there is never room for nice visions. You know, the daydreams we once had before the trauma made every day a struggle? Some of those would be nice for a change. No, no, not the idle ones about the attractive classmate in fourth period biology. Those daydreams tend to cause trouble of a different kind. Put down the video game and make one up. If you like fishing, make up a nice fishing vision, and leave out the parts about rapids on the River of Death, or the mugger with the .75 caliber recoilless pistol. Stick with a nice imagining; it may take some practice to regain this skill for those of us with PTSD. Just remember not to live in your vision. The real world is a tough place, but we do need to operate there.
Praying and hoping that your struggle is victorious. God bless you!
Bucky
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