Anniversaries in 2020s

Instead of being woken up by storms, I was jolted awake by a nightmare about Tom falling on his back. He was kneeling on the edge of his bed, playing with the rat, when he rolled backward and hit his back hard. I freaked out and asked if he was okay, and he said, “They don’t care.” I knew he was referring to himself even though he used the word “they,” and the fact that he didn’t care meant he was very hurt. I began to panic, screaming for him to say more, but he didn’t.

Surprisingly, I managed to fall back asleep half an hour later and slept for nearly three more hours! Yes, I definitely love this bed.

I tend to remember more dreams after I nap. In one dream, I was in a closet that looked like the one in the master bedroom of this place. In another, I was hanging something over the bathroom door that didn’t quite look like this one. Then, I was deciding what lamps to set up in my two offices, which didn’t look anything like this place. Finally, I dreamed Tink somehow got into the bed and started licking my fingers.

It’s raining and softly thundering now. I’m not quite as awake as I was last night, but I have enough energy to function. I’m going to work on a story I don’t plan to share and finish ride three of five of the challenge.

Today marks three years since we moved here and a decade since the most terrifying day of my life. I got a little emotional for a minute. I didn’t think I would, but I did—more because I’m relieved to have survived than due to the horrible memory of the day it all began, even if it began a little beforehand and I just didn’t know it (feeling wired and my lungs being tight).

If I’d known I would be in for eight years of pure hell, I would have ended it right then and there. 2014 to 2022 was definitely a nightmare, with the teens being the worst. That’s about how long they say you suffer, too. I just didn’t think I would suffer nearly as much, and I probably wouldn’t have without the poison in the equation. I remember reading an article where a postmenopausal woman said that had she known the anxiety would eventually go away, that would have helped. She said she had good news and bad news for us ladies. She said the good news is that it will eventually get better, but the bad is that it will take forever. Yeah, that was a long eight years!

Having PTSD, I can truly empathize with those who have gone through a traumatic event that leaves them with these horrible memories. I totally get how surviving something terrifying, like being held hostage or witnessing a murder, can mess with your psyche for years. So, while I would definitely prefer the size of the old house to this one, I don’t know that I would literally take that house back. Too many triggers. Even things like some of the songs I listened to back then and fragrances I had when I was really into wax melts.

Last updated July 12, 2024