So, apparantly once again those little issues in the back of my subconscious brain are squirming around looking for a way out. Lovely. I'm absolutely exhausted and I can't sleep, and I'm trying to get my brain to the point where it will calm down enough to rest. So. Maybe my life has just been going too well this past month. I've noticed that before; when everything seems like it's going smoothly and without any major issues my past says "okay, she can handle it now" and dumps a whole new load of memories on me. It wouldn't be so bad, but...

It's harder and harder to blame myself for being raped. It's harder and harder to insist that I was somehow at fault for being molested as a baby when my daughter is laying on my lap, looking at me with bright and happy eyes and smiling at me. I expect her to start laughing any minute now, and I just can't see how I, as a child of that age, could have prevented any of the crap that I went through. I've had umpteen years of therapy on these things. How is it possible that I failed to really understand any of this until now?

Any day now I'm going to get another letter in the mail from my estranged father. And the nightmares will only get worse, and I'll only get more tired. The nights will only get longer over the next several weeks, and I'm going to get progressively crankier. Somehow I'm going to get through this one more time, and it'll only make me stronger for the next round.

But still. It sucks. It sucks most suckfully. Today I was talking to a woman who shares some of my diagnoses, and she said that her shrink has just told her that she's doomed to be a career mental patient and never have a good relationship, because she's so nuts. That she'll abuse her husband and her kids until they won't be able to be around her, because that's just the nature of the illness. I used to think that. Then I decided that hell no, I wasn't going to be doomed like that. So I worked my ass off in therapy and I worked my ass off in my relationship and now I have a happy and decent marriage to a good man.

But this chronic PTSD shit- it keeps me up at nights. That's something else altogether, and comes with it's own warning label. And my shrinks tell me that I can't cure it, because there is no cure for it, and the best I can do is learn to live successfully with it. Like a fatal disease in remission. Not so bad, I guess, except in those awful long nights when I'm scared to close my eyes because I know what's waiting in the darkness for me.
I'm just scared.