PTSD

Finally making it to one of our women friends monthly gathering after missing a few due to sickness and the brutal sleep issues cropping up again this winter, and trying to make light of my sleep problems, I said, “There are worse things.”

One of them said, “Yes, like Ukraine.”

Going along with the flow of conversation didn’t mean agreement with her. My thoughts after coming home, do you, or have you ever had problems with sleep? I’ve asked her before and she sleeps as well as Samuel, so in her reply there was little compassion. And really, it is inside my own self where the compassion must lie.

It would be comforting to believe that this new monster raising its head, this taking off with worries in the middle of the night, meant something soul shifting to a better plane of existence, but it probably is just that in taking away food to quell the anxiety beast, sleep becomes disrupted by the excess anxiety always ready to sting.

My belief it that my childhood has caused a fractured core no amount of anything will cure. Samuel sleeps. I am awake. My friend’s husband is dealing with a bout of cancer. Well, yes, that is worse. He looks pale and has been through so much. So, there are worse things.

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