This morning it was a dream I woke myself out of at around 6:00am. Not a nightmare but not a pleasant dream either. It needed to end and the only way I know to do this is to tell myself in my dream to get up. It works so I do it.
It's been suggested I have PTSD. Doctors I'm told hate it when patients self-diagnose. I can appreciate that. I've decided to un-self-diagnose (work with me here) and have decided I don't have PTSD. I'm just stuck.
"You're emotionally constipated," a friend said to me today. Between verbal constipation in not being able to find the words to express myself and emotional constipation in not being to let out said stuck emotions there's a running theme here. Not a pleasant one at that.
I keep telling myself a good cry is all I need. This elusive "good cry" is yet to come. There are moments where I choke up but as far as I'm concerned these aren't proper meltdowns. A proper meltdown, according to the medical/psychological definition of Amya (dictionary to be sold soon) includes a good proper outpouring of tears. No tears, no meltdown. No meltdown, emotional constipation and vivid and disturbing dreams.
How to solve this? Inquiring minds are asking. (Is "inquiring minds want to know?" copyrighted? Just in case it is, I'm using different words. To quote Thai taxi drivers, "Same, same.")
When I return to Iwate, I plan to sit by myself in front of the ocean, curse at it, call it names, blame it for death and destruction, throw rocks into it and then walk away and ignore its beauty. I hope I can cry as I do this. Three weeks and counting and the ocean will get a very proper scolding. Next stop cursing nature.
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