never going away

E is still sick.  I'm going crazy trying to figure out what's wrong, what I must have done to make her so sick, how to help her feel better, if it's time to go back to allopathic care, or if I just need to be more patient with E and her body so that it can heal deeply and fully with the naturopathic care.

I am too tired to hear my own inner voice.

I haven't had a break from E in a really long time.  She's miserable so she's been miserable to me.

Anyway, so I had to leave the house last night after D got home.  E was crying and screaming for me, but I had to leave.  I felt horrible, but I needed a little bit of space from the screaming and misery.  The intensity of her wails was not from pain.  Her bottom is sore because she's holding poop in again (because her diet got screwed up when she had an ear infection, which is still healing) because that's her "comfortable discomfort pattern."  She was screaming at me because she gets baroque and complicated when things aren't happening exactly as she wants them.  She wants comfort and then pushes us away when we come close.  There's no pleasing her.  She wants to wallow in the misery and drama.  So I had to leave for awhile because yesterday her moods were like a ping-pong ball.

After I got back, D and I watched "Waitress."  I thought it would be a little lighter than it was.  There were passages that hit me pretty hard.  In fact, one passage -- which I won't describe -- brought on a panic attack.  After the movie was over, I couldn't breathe or relax.  My head was just pounding.  My muscles were twisted up. 

D said, "Did that movie make you sad?"

"Yes, do you know why?"

D said he did know why and proceded to tell me why I felt sad.

"No.  That's not why.  Would you like me to tell you?"  And I tried -- because there was a particular part of the movie that echoed a really hard experience in my life.  But D kept inserting words when I was searching for my own.  I got so mad.  I so rarely cry and talk from the bottom of my heart with him these days, but I was trying -- and there he was talking over me and getting it wrong.

I told him to shut up, then couldn't imagine telling him what I had wanted to say. Then I just breathed for a bit and said it.

Then the panic got worse and I couldn't sleep.

I get so tired of the PTSD.  It's never going to go away.