It is hard because I need to talk it out. If I don’t, I wake up in the middle of the night and vomit.
I wish I was kidding.
The more I talk though, the more I realize what I’m saying is not logical, not sane. It’s one thing to ask T to deal with my physical illness and quite another to let him in to really see what my mental illness is like. It should be easier – he has his share of depression and anxiety too.
But this anger… it’s coming from the PTSD, from the need to fight. It’s a different kind of triggering experience than flashbacks but no less difficult.
I’m grateful that I have T. He keep me stable and grounded during the process. He keeps me safe and in the present.
It’s priceless and more than I could ever openly ask someone to do.