It was after the shower it got me; the desire to claw at my face. I kept it up right until the others got home. I greeted them then hid in the shed to pick some more until thewife came in and asked what I was doing."I am hiding in here so I can pick my face," I said. She asked what happened to the cream-plus-bandaid-after-shower plan, after having put a fresh dressing on me in my sleep to stop this sort of shit.
Articles from Harrangue Man
My safe place is the shower. It's what I think of when stressed and when stressed it's something I like to do.I spent the morning backsliding on OCPD picking of my face. I did it knowingly and with malice to my own self. It felt good to do it and I was sane enough to know I should not be.I felt I could tear the scar tissue from my face again and tried to do that.
I had the free Miedicare scan for a 40+ male and sat with a nurse to hear the results. I got weighted and measured too. It was mostly awful—too much bad fat, not enough good and too big in the tummy. I protested I was genetically six foot three but I don't think she believed me. My sugar level is still below six but I had gained four kilos since the last weigh two years before and they said if I kept going I would end up a type two diabetic.
My favourite bit is the old lady running.
In addition to horror dreams a repeat offender is the "we've moved into the old house".I don't know why. But I'm there, showing theboy where we're putting things or we've been there as a family for a while. When we left they renovated it and removed carpet for polished floorboards. In the dream it's the shit carpet we had as renters. Sometimes there's a spooky extra shed that was never there when we were there and is not there now.Before this house it was the place we'd lived in the most.
I know this sounds sexy but it's super not. I had to wash chicken poo from the patio as we'd let them out for the afternoon. Since it was near dusk I needed to do it now by light of dying day. So with the nozzle on flat setting I draped the hose over my shoulder and down to foot level and swung it back and forth like a censor. That got the poo off. The chicks were still out though and they'd sully my efforts if they stayed out.
I wanted to read my paper and eat hot cross buns and it was too hot outside. So I put on a pair of my ear protection safety gear items and sat at the dining room table and got to survive the playing of the YouTubers. She screamed again, the British girl, but it was muted; like hearing a Hitchcock film playing in the next room.It's silly the screams of a British woman can put me on cusp of fight flight but then it would be the same no matter the gender or nationality.
I was feeding the adult brown hen some seeds from a cupped hand when she tried to eat my thumb. I said "hey" and then she did it twice more. She literally was biting the hand that fed her.Fucking hell, today is a day for clichés.
With PTSD comes the hand trembles, the severity increasing if you're anxious. I had a poor grip before I got whacked with the P stick so that combined with the injury and the meds means my fingers will spring open of their own accord. They have a meeting without me, there is a binding vote, and whatever I am holding has been dropped by the hand finger workers soviet.Sometimes the trembles and finger spring arcs up for no reason.