Normally, I am the most prepared person in the world. I am calm, and collected, and even when my emotions are raging on the inside, I can compartmentalize things and be “hyper-rational” to get whatever needs to be, done. But a few nights ago I came a little unhinged.
I have mentioned my PTSD before, but when it comes to actual episodes, it rarely comes up. I’ve learned to manage it, without medications, after more than a decade of dealing. But there are things that are necessary for me to have such a good handle on things. First, there is my ever-patient and loving husband. Next there is a hardcore alarm system and many deadbolts or special security doors/locks. Because again, it’s not paranoia if that shit actually happened before.
If my husband wanted to go to bed early, but I wasn’t ready, he used to just doze off on our couch in the family room, until I was. I never asked, but he knew I wouldn’t feel comfortable downstairs at night by myself. This was before we got our alarm. But last Friday night, he wasn’t feeling well, and I knew he was super tired, so I said, “You know you can go to bed. Now that we have the alarm, you don’t need to stay down here with me.” I had said it before, but that night was the first night Roy (my husband) took me up on the offer.
