Glamazon, DegenerateCPTSD life is getting up, taking your meds, happily cleaning the bathroom listening to music. Full of joy.
Then while scrubbing the back of the bathroom door, the landlords shoddy work had left an exposed piece of metal under a towel hook.
I sliced my thumb open because I assumed that the top hook I could see was mounted properly, so the bottom one must be also.
After tending to the wound, the adrenaline spike and resulting internal feelings had to be calmed.
Which means I had to stop cleaning and go meditate in a dark room because my brain will not calm down unless I remove all stimulus that may be a threat.
My locus coeruleus is scarred. It doesn't work properly. I don't handle surprises well. Trying to teach my brain that not everything is an immediate "flight, fight or fuck" response is an ongoing process.
I think I am most sad because I was feeling cute, but it's really hard to feel cute when your brain is screaming at you that you are under attack and that you need to fight inanimate objects.
"There is life after survival." - Buddy Wakefield.