Today seems almost the opposite to yesterday when everything went so well that I was beginning to get suspicious. Nothing unusual happened but I was struggling a good part of today with that nasty attack I was subjected to Sunday by a mentally ill woman who goes to my church. This has already been referred to in an earlier post and I don't see much point in bringing it up again. What happened this morning was, after walking in the neighbourhood of my church and one of the cafes where my ex-friend and I have met I was, as we say in Mental Health-ese, triggered. I was re-living this person's attack on me as though it were happening again, which it was not. It was still an enjoyable walk, a lovely bright sunny morning, not too cold, and I really enjoyed working on a drawing while seated in the café even though I could not shut off this woman's nagging voice telling me that I'm abrupt, that I treat people badly and I will never have any friends. I don't really accept any of this. I am assertive and some people don't like that, but I don't harangue those who disagree with me. Better to get along than be right in my humble opinion.
When I arrived home her voice was still nagging me and then I realized that this was a PTSD episode, there was nothing to be ashamed of and I had only to ignore it and let it play itself out. Not easy, but worth it. I had lunch, phoned a client to confirm our appointment then walked over the bridge to my first meeting place. Knowing that my client was going to be very late, if he would arrive at all (he was detained for good reason and for reasons of confidentiality there is no need to go into it on this blog). I sat for an hour in our usual Starbuck's and got a lot of work done on a drawing, still feeling icky from reliving the event of five days ago. I was able to arm myself with humour and detachment. The scene was pretty pathetic and silly and I also knew I had done nor said anything to be ashamed of. I did not swear or raise my voice and I did not blame or accuse her of anything, knowing that it would not only be futile but cruel as well and I will not go there with anyone. I also reassured myself that this is a normal experience for any survivor of post-traumatic stress disorder and I didn't have to let it rule me. So, I forced myself to enjoy my surroundings as I walked the remaining two and a half miles to my next work assignment and even enjoyed myself at times. While with my clients at Venture, the small psychiatric facility where I work twice a week I stayed focussed on their needs and situations and during a lull period there was time to do some more work on my drawing while chatting with clients and one of the psychiatrists (who seemed also to enjoy seeing my art.)
On the way home my mood was different. I felt more emotionally exhausted from handling this threat of a relapse while juggling it with my professional obligations. Altogether I was and still am feeling better but also tired. I went to my Spanish conversation group as I do on most Fridays but couldn't stay. There were three of us at my table: a woman whose spoken Spanish is still quite poor, myself (I am very fluent) and our facilitator who is a native of Mexico. The old woman tends to be quite pushy and monopolizing and needy of attention and she easily hogged all of our facilitator's time as she often does. Having nothing to do but sit and watch I became bored and impatient and left early, possibly to the distress of the facilitator, but I was also too emotionally worn out from work and dealing with this nagging trigger to be much good. I also yelled at a cab driver whose car hogged the crosswalk (there was plenty of room for him to back up) and went home feeling simultaneously relieved and guilty. I have sent an email to the Spanish group co-ordinator asking her to reassure others in the group that my sudden departure was nothing personal and that I simply understand this old woman's need for extra attention.
I do not know if I will ever fully conquer this leftover of PTSD. I have learned to live with it and in a way play with it. Laughter often helps when all else has failed. So does writing in this blog.
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