So in therapy today. I finally vented out my most disturbing issues. Which I guess are hallucinations. Flashbacks mixed in with reality is the easiest way of describing it. There are other terms that were given to me regarding hallucinations when PTSD is involved. Which is interesting. Because I’ve been around people when these hallucinations happen. Sometimes I’ve even had panic attacks and seizures depending on the hallucination and how real and what memory it is. It’s hard to talk about. I wish I could just explain it all and get over it all. But according to my therapist the only thing I can do at the moment is just learn how to cope with them and not get pulled in deeper. Sometimes it makes me feel like a freak. A broken down, freak. I feel like I scare people. When really, I am scared. And alone. It’s gotten to the point where my therapist says talk it out. The best thing is to talk out the things that are stressing or bothering me. Ha! There’s so much to that. And then as soon as I do. It gets to crying point. And I am so sick of crying. I’m sick of being weak. I’m tired of feeling so small and alone – because I can do everything to change. I can do everything to heal. But the reality is… I don’t think I will ever fully heal. Honestly. I’ll be able to move on. Move forward. But to heal. It’s scars that will always be there if not physically, emotionally. I wish I could kick these hallucinations. I wish I could just heal fully. It sickens me to think about the future and living with another person honestly and it scares me. I’ve thought about it. I want that for my future. But at the same point I don’t want to re-experience the ownership. I don’t want experience someone coming home to take out all there frustrations on me. I don’t want to feel and be told I am a piece of trash repeatedly to the point where I give up on everything for myself because I eventually believe it. I don’t want my kids to be exposed to unhealthy words and actions. I don’t want to be forgotten that I am a person. I don’t want to be pulled back into the bunker and buried down with no escape. I escaped and I don’t ever want my freedom to be ripped away from me just because a person loves me. Love is a word – ugh getting dislocation as I type this so I gotta stop there. Dissocation. Things being so far away. Being pulled back… Ugh…

Okay. Took deep breaths. Walked around. Listened to a song. Bit my fingers. But the dislocation has gone. The hardest part of all. Is trying to cope on my own. Talking it out. It’s hard talking it out. Because no one wants to hear the dirty details or the events or memories. They’re dirty. They’re uncomfortable. I guess. Maybe if you’re lucky you have someone to talk to about stuff. But when it comes to all that I’ve experienced. Almost no one really wants to hear it. Or if I do have those people, which I’ve debated – i do have certain people I can turn to; it’s just so personal that I think they’re going to try to treat me differently or judge me in certain ways if I do tell them certain things. And also, theres just stuff Ive not talked about or admitted out loud yet. I feel like a giant yarn ball that is unraveling. But a lot of the knots are just going to be there in the process of detangling. I wish I could just come out the other side unraveled with a perfectly unraveled yarn. But that’s just not doable. Or realistic.