PTSD.

My PTSD has been rearing its ugly head quite a bit recently. It's pretty much been full on for the last week or so.I'm very susceptible to triggers, whether it be a song, a newspaper article, a place that I drive past or something I see on TV or hear on the radio. For example, I am simply unable to listen to Another One Bites the Dust by Queen, ERA or Pirates of the Caribbean soundtracks, all of which were some of my boy's favourite sounds. We played ERA for him in his hospital room. He used to go to sleep to this every night for years.

This is really hard to write about.

I've recently stumbled upon several articles about meningitis. The very appearance of that word is horrible.

These triggers make me think about the night before N was taken to hospital. We didn't know he was sick at the time, but with the benefit of hindsight it's obvious. He was simply incapable of doing his maths homework. I actually got quite angry with him, said something that I will regret for the rest of my days and left the room. I later put him to bed, and as he had always had difficulty getting to sleep, stayed with him for our nightly cuddle. When I got up to leave he said that I could stay and that he'd make more space for me. I didn't stay... I'm balling my eyes out here. Need a break.

Of course I relive these moments constantly. I relive getting the phone call from my wife telling me to come immediately. My first sighting of N in the hospital as his bed was wheeled past us on the way to the ambulance to be transfered to Rennes. His final words and him telling us that it hurt. The hours and hours we spent in his room talking to him, helping to try and get his temperature down, trying to get him to do 'pee pee'. His heart failure and the cries from one of the Doctors for help. Being ushered away from his room and waiting for the inevitable. Haunted. I'm haunted by these day after day, year after year. They simply have not become any easier to deal with, you just get used to them. These memories sit with me always, sometimes more vividly than others. They will be with me until my dying day. They are ruining my life; have ruined my life.

I had so much more to say, but this has been incredibly hard to write.  I'm going to stop now. Incredibly sad. Je t'aime Son. To the moon and back...

Meltdown.

I had a meltdown on Wednesday night. At the time I wanted to top myself. This, as you can image, was a horrible experience. Obviously it is not something that I'd like to repeat. The feeling passed reasonably quickly, but not before I had contatced my Sister and posted on Twitter. I now wish that I had done neither, but in their own ways they probably helped me work through the feelings.

Now, however, I am extremely whakama (embarrased) to go back on Twitter. I told myself that I'd take a break, but managed only 12 hours. The little interactions that I have with people on Twitter help me get through my days; manic, lonely, depressed, overcome with grief, happy as...All manner of moods (thank you Bipolar). I appreciate them more than I can say.

As for my Sis, I should never have contacted her. I have no right to make her deal with my problems when she is so far away. So much for me being the big brother and being strong. Sorry Sis, from the bottom of my heart.

So, why did I have these feelings? Well, I've been dealing with my PTSD a lot recently. I am reliving the time spent at the hospital watching our son slowly slip away. I experience this during the day, often at work too, and then have very vivid dreams during the night. I hate to imagine what ex-soldiers have to go through.

The fact that it was la toussaint yesterday didn't help. I thoroughly dislike this day and yet felt absolutely terrible that I had not done anything at our son't grave. I can't bring myself to visit at the moment, but the guilt is a physical ache. I'm even having a wee cry as I write this.

So, all of these thoughts and feelings came together at the same time making me think and feel that enough was enough. I'm tired of all of the problems that define my life. I'm turning 50 next year and find myself making no progress or climbing out of the financial hole that I'm in. I have experienced so many terrible things over the last 10 years, some self-inflicted, and it's time that I got a break. The fact that I have a teaching job through until 31 August 2019 is a godsend. It gets me out and about, helps with routines, enables me to interact with my colleagues and most importantly with the children. I love it (even if I'm shit at planning and keeping up with my paperwork). I am thankful.

I am also thankful to my little Sis as well as so many of you on Twitter who 'came to my rescue'. I remain whakama, but am working through it. Merci.

Chugging along.

Long time, no post. Oops. I'm just chugging along and am actually feeling quite good. I've restarted my Ph@tt diet and am nudging the 20kgs lost mark! Woot! I'm really proud of myself but still have 15kgs to go to reach my objective of getting as close to 100kgs as possible; my 'normal' weight. I highly recommend the program.

I'm also going well with my English lessons and have 7 a week. As I'm not allowed to earn too much while on the invalidity allowance, this is pretty much perfect. What's more, they're keeping the old brain ticking over. I'm even on the verge of being able to save some pingers for another trip 'home' to New Zealand.

The hidden talent as a domestic god seem to be coming to the fore. I managed a three our clean up of the bachelor pad yesterday, and made headway with the neverending French administration.

The above may seem like very little, but each thing is a great achievement for me at this stage of my life. I did have my Bipolar 2 confirmed along with borderline PTSD. Remembering to take my medicine and monitor the beer intake is very important obviously. It's a tad difficult to sit down for an afternoon of six nations rugby without a jar to hand.

So, that's me for the moment. Chugging along. I'll try to come up with a more profound post in the days to come.

Ka kite ano.