Saturday, January 23, 2016

Avast, there be pirates

We sat at a café near the pirate-themed play area at Woden plaza when a child started screaming—a great panicked 180db yell for their mother. 

Their mother was nowhere.

The screaming was like a chainsaw had carved through the top of my head. I dropped tools and ran and could still hear the screaming a hundred metres away. I trekked back to a chemist on the far side of the complex, bought some ear plugs, then made my way back. The child apparently still arcing up now and then but with no sign of the parent. Our table had been relocated well away from the pirate ship to inside the café but I had to keep the ear plugs in just in case. My fibro flared, then my IBS kicked into high gear with shrieking pain killing me inside as we drove speedily for home. I clutched the Jesus bar for dear life just trying to mind blank through the agony. I got in, made it with green water and spasms the result and now I am sitting in front of a fan recovering.

Probs fuck, that was a nasty one. Other people were afflicted—no one likes a screaming child screaming for an absent mother—but I presume they lacked the anxiety that caused me to bolt.

I had Valium, I've had codeine and other meds and my body aches like it ran a race. I'll now need some dark time, where I lie in the study, curtains closed and white noise on as I recharge from it all. I might sleep, I might not. 

My psychologist said that psychological injury is a see-saw, in that you end up in some wild swinging states and the idea is to get the see-saw just lightly rocking up and down within bounds of normalcy and coping.

If this was a real-life see-saw then some arsehole just thudded down on the other end and threw me into the air. 

Back I'll get back up; I always do.


(Crawls off to recover)

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