I'm trying to wrap my head around everything that has been going on. I guess this is an example of what happens with PTSD. If anyone else had asked me if I would consider taking some medication, the result would probably have been different. It's different with the therapist because he's a therapist and because of what happened with him three years ago. That was nothing at all like the conversation that set this off. And yet it didn't matter. Just hearing him talk about medication brought that day alive again and the threat of betrayal and suffering along with it. I wish it had never happened. If nothing else, he has promised not to ever mention medication again unless I say that I wish to discuss it.

Right now I'm just trying to get to okay again. I usually do the grocery shopping on Sunday, but I wasn't able this time. Monday night shopping was better late than never, I guess. I have some things to take care of for my son's house and I need to go to the bookstore for him, too. I should probably clean up the kitchen in hopes of sparking my appetite. Not a lot of eating has been going on in PTSD Land. Only the search and destroy mission.

I'm thinking it would be nice to take the camera out. Maybe Terry will come along. I should probably take a shower. I smell funky and my hair is not fabulous. I'm trying not to let this get me down. It's depressing, though. And I have no idea how I will keep my next appointment because of all the stuff that has gone down since he said the fighting word which is now on the Do Not Say List. I keep trying to tell myself how understandable this all is, but... there are so many questions and doubts. So many miserable and uncomfortable components to this thing - like the fact that it is NOT all in my imagination, it's just that it jumped the time line on me. I don't like that.

Edited to add: I think I know why this happened. Rambo cannot just jump out and take over like that unless there is a really good reason. Last Wednesday, after the medication discussion with the therapist, he offered to make the bedtime recording so I can sleep. It's for the little girl. I guess maybe Rambo thinks that might be giving the therapist too much access to the child. Maybe he is not entirely convinced that the therapist can be trusted with the children like that again. Maybe I will look for some other kind of recording to go to sleep with. Maybe Terry can help me. Maybe that's why he announced himself so boldly. I think he is here for the child. Only in my head, right? Only here would there be a confetti throwing, cross dressing nanny who dances the conga.