I have noticed lately that I’ve been feeling things I haven’t felt in some time. That tingly feeling you get when you want to get a little bit.
My sex drive left home a few years ago. I have prayed that it would come back and I would once again be a horny housewife. For the past few weeks I have had yearnings. I really didn’t give it much thought at first but when it began to hit me multiple times in a week I begin to get a little excited (pun intended).
I wanted sex. I wanted to touch and taste. I’ve been real gentle with these longing as I don’t want to scare it away.
I’m hoping it’s not just a visit, I’m hoping against hope it’s back to stay.
I talked to the youngest two today. It was a short conversation and just a few tears were shed.
I told them that I love them far and wide. Though I may not love them in the way their daddy does. My love is ALWAYS here and it’s always true and deep.
I saw the tears in their eyes as I explained that my lack of emotion for them is NOT a lack of love. I told them everything I do is for them, but I will have to express my love for them in writing and small gestures.
I told them about the panic attacks and how my brain now works differently than it did before my deployment. In those moments I realized the PTSD me is the only Mama they know. Baby girl was 3mths old when I deployed and baby boy was only 3yrs old. I hadn’t thought of it in those terms. This is how they know me. This is how they will remember me.
I only hope that in time they will understand how I love them and that the words I put on paper are enough to make them feel it.
I often wish that The Mister was more expressive, open with his love for me. I understand that he “speaks” in the way that feels natural to him. I’ve tried to adjust to that, but for a lover of words and emotions it hard and at times I yearn for more.
Last night he played this song for me and held me as I cried in the kitchen, while we cooked dinner together. He even sang (which is not his gift!).
I was so full of love for this man. God sent him here for me and me for him. Even when it’s hard, it’s worth it. I have to remember that. Gonna keep praying. So blessed.
My sister has plans to become a drug and alcohol counselor. We come from humble beginnings but are meant for great endings and I’m so proud of her!
She is my very best friend and I am better for having her as a steady support in my life (hard to believe we weren’t close growing up)
She currently runs a clinic for Veterans. We talk often about how the government doesn’t do enough for them.
Last night we talked about motherhood and PTSD. My PTSD. I was diagnosed in 2003 after my last deployment. I have put off treatment for 10yrs just getting by and surviving. I am now seeing a counselor AND a psychiatrist. I refuse to medicate myself for mood issues. I tried that before and those meds just killed my spirit. So it’s a long road to navigate.
I feel guilt for not being strong enough NOT to have PTSD. Though I had a weapon pointed at me, my deployment was much less violent than those who have continued to serve. It makes me feel weak to know I can not get back to the me I was before that deployment. I feel like that person wasn’t perfect, but I kind of liked her. I am now without feeling most of the time. I have moments of break through but they aren’t nearly enough to make me feel like me.
My sister says I should tell my children about my PTSD so that they understand that it’s me not them. I cried during that part of our phone call. I don’t mind telling them about my disability, I am just broken at the thought that they may have damage because I am damaged. That makes me angry and very sad.
I have to pick a time and place. My hope is that my babies know that I love them. I have found those things I can no longer express in words, I will put pen to paper and show my love.
These are not the terms I wanted for motherhood, but this is where I am.
I laid awake at 0356 this morning and wrote a character for a book I hope I’m able to write. He’s not what I had originally pictured but as I sussed out his detail it seem to fit better than the character I had “written” before.
I laid awake for over an hour a bit pissed that I wasting sleeping time (which is a hot commodity lately) but he came to me so strong and real I had to let my mind wonder all over him. His flaws are many, but I felt my heart full of the man he WANTED to be. I even got a fuzzy vision of his mother.
All I can say is he’s came to me as a wounded biracial man. Half black and half samoan. Which isn’t how I envisioned him at all, but there you have it. I don’t even have a name for him yet. Nothing that is rolling around in my spirit fits yet.
I’m hoping more will come to me and I’m able to write what I envision. It’s hard because a part of me believes when I write this tale, it will cause people in my life to question me and I’m not ready to face that. I’m hoping to avoid it all together.
I feel like a fish in a bowl, just swimming in my think tank for all to see and judge me. I don’t want to answer those questions I just want to write this book. This story.
My book is coming together in my mind, need to get to writing. I’m having issues with imagery. I’m also thinking that there may be things I write about my characters that may disturb some folks spirit including my own.
Can I truly embrace characters who have flaws that are “unacceptable” and will readers enjoy reading about characters with flaws that have no societal consequences?
he spoke my love language
I could write this book
I felt confident in my Grad work
I was gentler with me
I knew what was PTSD and what was bitchiness
I felt safe
I knew you were safe
I wasn’t so angry
I could do the therapy work and fully heal
I could win 350 million in lotto and take care of the ones I love