(no subject)
Day Three - Tuesday
Yesterday was easily the worst day of my life. I feel…comfortably numb now, I guess. They say they haven’t given me anything other than a shot of some strong painkiller to kill the pain and help me sleep last night. It’s all a bit hazy. They hadn’t left me. They’d gone to contact one of the more senior doctors here. I told them I needed to use the bathroom. They have little amenity kits in there. Comb’s, toothbrushes, ‘safety’ razors. They say it looks worse than it really is. I still made a damn mess though and needed a few stitches.
Today was, I won’t say better, more an advancement. The guy they brought in, he’s probably about my dad’s age. He’s really nice and calm, encouraging without being pressing, warm. It’s odd I guess, but he reminds me of Bunta. Well, not really that odd. He spent near enough all day with me, sometimes not even talking about what had happened. I know his wife’s name, how many kids he has and that their pet cat lost his tail in an accident. He’s a really cute tortoise shell one, so I told him about Zig and Shirou…I really miss them.
I’m beginning to understand what’s wrong and why it’s wrong. I was dreading that there would be some horrific trauma I had repressed from my childhood, but it’s as I remember it. Slow, boring and very lonely. It’s kind of a relief. It seems that things started to go down hill from college onwards. The doc doesn’t seem to think it’s actually Dissociative Identity Disorder specifically; he seems more inclined towards something closer to PTSD1. But, it’s still early days and he wants to spend more time with me before he says anything for definite. And then there’s all the after therapy stuff. I honestly thought that they went just pull me apart, strip my heart and soul bare, stitch me up and throw me back into the community. But there’s a whole load of stuff after and I could be at it for a while. I’m…relieved.
I probably sound prematurely happy or positive. It’s a very odd feeling and I don’t like to feel it, only because there’s a fear in me that if I do it’ll all go wrong. But after how bad yesterday was, I could be in a fire fight with no ammo and be as happy and bouncy as some really disgusting pink thing, Hello Kitty?
I’m looking forward to tomorrow.
*1 = Posttraumatic Stress Disorder