Twenty-six

Today I turn twenty-six years old.

Birthdays as an adult seem far less important than when I was a child. Of course, as a child, I was hitting milestones and fun ages like one, five, ten, thirteen, sixteen, eighteen, and twenty-one. After turning twenty-one, my birthdays seemed less important. Not to say that my birthdays are unimportant, but that there is not as much to celebrate it seems. I was growing up and less self-centered, so I was not expecting many gifts, if any, and it just seemed like another day.

After I turned twenty-five last year, I was not excited for my birthday. I felt old. Now, I know that twenty-five is in no way “old”, but I felt like more of an adult and less than a child. I also realized that I was still living at home and was nowhere close to living on my own yet and being independent.

That hit me hard. I was twenty-five years old and still financially dependent on my parents. This is not how I imagined things. Then again, neither did any other person my age. All of my friends are also still living at home with their parents. Times are hard financially. I accept that I am no alone in this predicament.

As I turn twenty-six today, I stop judging myself for what life has thrown at me and the finical situation that I am in. Instead, I accept the way things are, and see what I can do to slowly work on changing them.

Turning twenty-six does not feel old to me as when I had turned twenty-five. Instead, I simply accept it for what it is and celebrate a new year of life.

Buddy

Losing a pet is difficult. Actually, it is very difficult. I never thought that losing Buddy would be so hard. That was until it came time that he needed to be put down.

Buddy was fourteen and a half years old in human years. I’m not sure what that is in dog years, but I am pretty sure he was around ninety. I hear that most dogs don’t make it past twelve years old. I was in elementary school when we got him, and now I am a young adult. He was with me for more than half of my life. The thought of not having him around was unimaginable.

On January 4, 2012, Buddy stopped eating and was looking at everyone with this terribly sad look as if to say, “Please, help me. I don’t feel well.” It was hard to see him like that. We talked about it as a family, and decided that if he did not improve the next day, that we would take him to the vet. On January 5, 2012, Buddy was not any better. He was looking worse and refused to eat anything. He would not even eat his snacks and he always ate his snacks.

We decided that that day was the day. We drove to the vet in silence. Buddy wouldn’t sit or rest. He was uncomfortable and knew something was up. Never before had three people taken him to the vet before. We went in and talked with the vet, tears streaming down our face. She agreed that putting Buddy down was the best choice. It was hard to do, but we did it. My Mom, Dad and I were with him when he went. It was good to see that he did not suffer and went peacefully. It was the only comfort that we had in the situation.

I keep trying to think that Buddy had a good, long life and that it was his time. That helps some too. But, I still miss him. I look for him when I drop food, but he doesn’t come to eat it up. I look for him to come running when I come inside, but he isn’t there. I look for him when I go outside a night, so that he can protect me, but he is no longer here to protect me and provide comfort.

Before he passed, I never thought that I would miss him or that I would even cry when he was gone. I didn’t realize how important he was to me, until now. I miss him dearly and he was such a great dog.

Now, I will value the life of my new puppy, Chucky (short for Chuck Norris), even more. I will be sure to enjoy those little moments like taking walks together or when he is there to comfort me while I cry.

It's a Nightmare

Living with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder is nightmare. Really, it is. I have so many nightmares each and every night, that I lose count.

I wake up in a puddle of sweat, the bed covers kicked off, my heart throbbing and I’m struggling to catch my breath. I don’t recall running a marathon, but it sure feels like I have.

I’m scared. I want to move and find someone who feels safe. But I’m scared. I’m too scared to move out of my bed.

I lie here silently. Well, I try to lie here silently. I’m trying so hard to stop panting and quiet my breathing, but it’s only getting louder. What if he hears me?

I want to stop these feelings of fear, but they only seem to be getting worse. Am I safe here alone? Will he come hurt me? What if I get up to go find someone who will make me feel better? Will he hurt me on the way?

I’m scared. No. I am terrified.

I reach to turn the light on, but I stop myself. What if he is waiting outside of my door? What if he can see the light shining in a thin line from under my door?

I lie here in the puddle of sweat. I remember to focus on my breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Okay. I’m breathing normal.

I’m a twenty-five year old adult. I’m safe. I’m not a little girl anymore. I am safe. He is not around to hurt me. I am safe.

I’m relaxed. I fall asleep, knowing that I will wake up again, and the cycle will repeat itself. Eventually, around four in the morning, I will give up sleeping and will get up and begin my day, even though I am exhausted and do not feel like I have rested at all.

A Long Time Off...

So it has been a while since I've blogged. Life got to me. I was doing better and then worse and then better and then worse. In those better moments, I was living my life and doing fun stuff. In those worse moments, I was in too much pain to even think about blogging or have the energy to do it.

What I'm noticing in my life now is that I am always extremely exhausted. I'm drinking caffeine throughout the day to stay awake and then at night, I can't sleep or don't sleep well. I know that I need to get off the caffeine, but it is easier said than done.

I have started going tot he gym. I joined a new gym with a heated therapeutic pool. It is so nice and I feel amazing after getting out. I took my first swim class the other day. I was the only person in my 20's. Actually, I was in the only person under 50. It was weird, but the ladies where so welcoming to me and understanding of my condition. I have to say, some of the oldest ladies, did much better than me. They informed me that it gets easier with time. I am hoping they are right. I was exhausted afterwards because swimming does make me tired and I already had very little energy, but my body was pain free for most of the day. It was awesome. I plan on taking up the yoga classes as well. Hopefully they will help too. I hear they are good for those with Fibromyalgia.

Today is a bad day. I'm hurting a lot so this is all I will write for today.