Well folks, it’s that time of year again. In nine days it will be nine years without my Daughter Number One. Fuck, hey? Monday was Son Number One’s eighteenth birthday and I was not with him. The day before that was my baby girl’s, my Daughter Number Two’s fifth birthday, and I was not with her. I was, however, right where I need to be.
I’ve been speaking to a friend who also has PTSD. He’s staying at a residential treatment facility (sounds cosy, I know, but it’s a 5 star Victorian building with pool and golf course attached apparently). He calls it his ‘safe place’. I am lucky because I live in my safe place, or rather, with my safe place. My home, with The Man That I Am In Love With is my safe place. This place, with this man, has always been a sanctuary to me, from the first time I ever crossed the threshold. Calming and peaceful and safe. Here the constant noise in my head quiets to a dull roar; it soothes me. Which is a good thing. Even before I lived here, this is the place and the man that I ran to, sometimes literally by plane, train and automobile, sometimes virtually over the interwebs, oftentimes in my head; imagining myself here, in these rooms, with him. Sometimes it was enough, as I’ve said before, just to send a text off into the ether and know he was receiving it at the other end.
I’m not good around people at the moment, and taking the bus and train to see a new psychiatrist was fairly well torturous. It was a gorgeous day but the sun was too bright. My head won’t stop hurting and the noise and the people, being out of my comfort zone – all of it – too much, too hard, too big an effort. The shrink, an asian Doogie Howser, made a further diagnosis of Generalised Anxiety Disorder, because every girl needs a third mental health diagnosis to add to her collection – sigh. The reality is that it is the same old crap manifesting in a new and exciting way. When I said the same to The Man That I Am In Love With I stuttered slightly and said ‘manifestering’ and you know, I think perhaps that may be a better description.
That being said I haven’t had the huge downward slide from Daughter Number One’s birthday to the anniversary of her death, and comparitively speaking the countdown to the actual anniversary is easier so far. And my Son Number One and my Daughter Number Two are cared for and doing well. They miss me, and I miss them, but I am where I need to be.