mental vomit.

I have nothing to say. I have everything to say. This continual paradox haunts my soul . So do the decisions that I made. I struggle with somethings that many have no idea about with demons tormenting me daily, nightly, weekly, yearly, and with the only sword to battle with being my mind. Yet my mind is weak at moments when my heart has time to stop and think.

Darkness shrouds me often. I try to dance my way out of it, but am currently failing. To say I am depressed is not quite a description that I would use for the feelings I have. I go to therapy often, yet learn that the more I speak, the more I realize, the more I remember, the more I want to forget.

How is remembering supposed to make better? Forgetting worked but forgetting made me act not like myself. Sometimes though I can't remember what myself is because I forget so much, so often. I forget big parts of my life. I don't remember much of my past. Anything traumatic is forgotten. Anything.

When Eric left me. I remember coming home to nothing because my Mom reminds me. I can't remember the pain. I can't remember the hurt of it. Or of anything. That is called disassociation. Disassociation is my best friend. My greatest friend.

My worst enemy are Triggers. They are everywhere. Television. Touch. Sights. Sounds. Thoughts. I can't escape them, even when I try. Disassociation battles Triggers and leaves me numb without memory.

In case my cryptic post has left you puzzled I am going to speak in a journal, public for open eyes something that I tell almost no one. I don't know why I have made this decision, and may change my mind tomorrow. I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and it rules every part of my life and every decision, bad and good that I make. I don't remember exactly why I have it. I don't exactly know what happened. Part of me wants to keep it that way, but part of me wants to know. Part of me knows exactly what happened later in life, which I have PTSD from as well, but the real "meat" of my disorder stems from things of my youth. I have compulsions, I act impulsively, I (used to) seek attention. I work on all of these daily.

I sit at home by myself almost every night and think of all of these things. Having ruined friendships intentionally, for reasons that my therapist calls "normal to PTSD", I call idiotic and thoughtless. I miss Arizona because I miss having friends. Out here I have no one. But in reality, out there I really have no one too. Just my mom. Even she doesn't know the truth. She just helps me not feel so lonely.

I thought having a corporate job making good money would help me. It doesn't, It just means I buy more stuff and have money in a retirement account.

My boyfriend and I got back together, which is great, but he is far from me and has his own thing going on, and in effort to not be a super clingy girlfriend, I am trying not to sweat not speaking to him as much as I want, trying desperately not to disassociate because it is hard. I fight my best friend everyday. Because my best friend is really my worst enemy.

This is just the surface. This is just a glimpse of "me", but most people will never try to find out more. Most people just don't care. They pretend well, but they don't truly care. They will whisper of this behind my back, if they catch word, as they do everything else, and never truly look me in the face and talk to me about anything. I think that is sad. But I think all of this is sad. People that get second chances are willing to give none. People make judgments off of what other people say without speaking to the person they are judging. I hope I have grown out of that. But sometimes I do it too. I pray that I don't do it one day.

Maybe one day I will be okay.