The Constant Threat of a Relapse

The annoying thing when you're a survivor with PTSD is that you've got to manage the things that could make you jump off a cliff. 

If you're lucky, you've got someone (or many people if you're really lucky) helping you and holding another sword next to yours, and ready to have your back against the Void. I've got a lovely brother who instinctively understands how easily I could snap (he's the only one seeing my seems come loose when I've got an attack, and he's always found the right words to generate some light in my darkness - last December, the Void caught me by surprise, and I collapsed like I hadn't in a decade within a day. He was there as I navigated the Void).

The medication I take against the Void is mostly working, but it's not 100% efficient, and negative incidents can push me towards the Void in the wink of an eye.

Over the past week, I discovered that the business plan we had had to be modified because we simply can't afford to start that kind of business as we'd dreamt it. What's petty and sordid is that we're asked to buy a kind of insurance that we've already got from another source, but noooooooooo! We must have that special one (and whether we're successful or not, we must pay - and we'd get absolutely no advantage since we're already protected). After a few hours when we pictured our lovely plan going down the drain, we found our Plan B, which is going to allow us to work, but within a very different frame (and we're not entirely out of the wood registration-wise, but there's still hope - I think).

Then... a manipulator Apparated to my doorstep, and I didn't spot the trap until I'd already done what that person wanted. Oh, it was nothing bad, but when you've been in the claws of an abusive manipulator, such a tiny thing makes a lovely last straw.

I've had a mild panic attack for not spotting the trap, but I've done everything I could to manage keeping the Void at bay, but I'd rather not have to deal with such bipeds.

It started as a joke on Twitter, but there's a plaque on my door, and I'm very seriously considering writing "By appointment only" there.

As well, I swore to myself to no longer answer the door unless all the building's fire-alarms are going off and there's a brigade of firemen begging me to open the door. Even though I know most of my neighbours (and I've known them all my life!), we never visit one another, so only strangers would come bug me, and the threat of meeting another manipulator is just too scary.

I'm probably turning into a misanthrope light, but allowing strangers in my life's too big a danger with no benefit for me. I need my home to be a safe haven, a refuge where I don't risk being hurt.

I guess I'll feel better after a good night of sleep (or two), and with some lovely sunlight around, but I was lucky that my meds work well and that I spotted the sign of the impending panic attack and did the one thing that works against it.

I bet it's tough to imagine how tiny bumps on the road of life can look like the Himalayas to survivors, but that's how they feel... And it sucks.