Learning to Stand, again.

I feel defeated. I’ve let my cPTSD, and the anxiety and depression that have come from it, take over. It has been so long since I’ve read a book. Which is not me in the slightest.

It’s also taken over my ability to do much more, but to me this is the worst.

This is extremely difficult for me to say. Even as I’m typing this now I’m having heart palpitations and feeling a tightness in my chest. I know that talking about it- letting friends and family know what’s going on will make a huge difference but I’m still scared.

My cPTSD coupled with the high emotions of this pregnancy have increased the depression to the point where I’m not able to do anything at all most days. I can’t work, can’t read, can’t even watch tv. I just want to sleep.

I know I need to reach out, that getting help, both from friends and professionals will help me get through this, but the anxiety is making me feel as though I will be judged or worse yet- a burden to friends and family. Logically I know this isn’t going to happen. I know my friends and family are not like that. Even that knowledge doesn’t stop the fear.

I’m not ready to post this on Facebook. That is way too public for a first step, but most of the people who I know I really need to explain this to will see the links on Twitter and Goodreads.

To those people who I should have told a long time ago- I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t feel like I need to apologize, but I do. Not only have I been hiding the true issues, I’ve been slowly withdrawing myself from everything. It makes me feel like a horrible person. Just another symptom of the anxiety.

Lastly, I just want to make it clear that while I know I’m going to feel relief that I have got this off my chest I also know that I won’t always be up for talking about it. Please don’t feel offended if you bring it up and I shut you down. Once again, after re-reading that I know that these thoughts are most likely yet another symptom of the anxiety.

A first look.

I think it is time that I push myself farther than I think I can go.

I know that my Trich is primarily a direct reaction to my extreme anxiety and childhood PTSD. I am tired of always hiding the evidence 100%. This picture doesn’t show the worst spot, but it is the best I was able to convince myself to post.

I want to learn how to control the urges. I want to fight back. This is the next step.

Maybe I’ll post a ‘better’ view in a couple of weeks, and hopefully it will have grown in some.

PTSD, it’s more common than you might think

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I’m not a w  OMG!  I just wrote out the start of that sentence and put w instead of v (I meant to write very) but because I put the w by accident, I had a mini panic attack and just sat there thinking about what word I could write instead that starts with a w.

All of this happened in a notebook, in pen, of course, while I was sitting at my desk, in my house.  Why was the simple act of crossing out a letter so difficult for me?

My anxiety can get so bad, and my annoying OCD tendencies so strong that I couldn’t just cross it out, at least not without an internal fight.

There are the good days, where I manage to fight my anxiety before it consumes me, but more often than not there is always something.  When it comes to my blog– I think about it al the time. I come up with ideas that I want to write out– but then I feel this overwhelming sence of dread towards writing it.

For some reason I get the same feeling when I go to use my credit card when I don’t know if the payment I made has cleared and I worried the payment won’t go through.  Actually, I do know why I feel like that.I’m afraid of being embarrassed.  I don’t like the idea of someone making fun of me, judging me, or even feeling sorry for me.  And if I dig a little deeper, I guess a therapist would tell me it come back to my childhood.

I  used to get in trouble if (insert anything I did that annoyed my mother at any given moment) was to her standards, exactly when she wanted it.

The level of expectation for perfection was also a loose variable–not a constant, but she would never indicate what the level was at any time.  Eventually I just always expected it to be the highest level.

The summers before high school wasn’t spend hanging out with my friends– not at all.  I got the pleasure of baby-sitting, and there was no getting paid, no, this was an expectation. My sisters were ten and four, I was fourteen.  I was excepted to not only watch them ALL THE TIME but make lunches, and often diner, complete a daily list of chores, AND keep the house spotless.  Otherwise I would lose privileges– having to miss an outing with friends, no tv, no computer, or more chores.

At twenty-six with an almost four-year old and a very messy dog, I often have trouble keeping up to my own standards — let alone hers.

And then the self-shame kicks in.  It always happens after I realize I “should have known” something, but kept it buried inside.  Which I know is illogical. I know PTSD, or in this case CPTSD, is not my fault.  If I were listening to anyone else tell this same story I would tell them that, but I have trouble listening to myself.  I also know that I shouldn’t blame, or even hate myself for not noticing earlier, but I do.

Sometimes it feels like the rational me is locked in a cage and a very sadistic me (I just realized how much of this example comes from Inside Out, if you haven’t already, watch it, I think it’s a must see) is dangling the key in my face while letting my anxiety take over completely.

I want to stop listening to that horrible voice in my head when it tells me my fiance doesn’t really love/want/trust/belive me.  I know that he does, but logical me can’t take back control.

Honestly though, I am so tired of being pushed around by my anxiety.  I want to be proud of who I am. I don’t know how long it will take to get there, but that’s the ultimate goal.

Adults I was supposed to trust and look up to (my teachers, my mother), made me feel worthless at times, like I was choosing to complain about a non-existent issue, or purposely failing to meet ridiculous standards.

Now that I’m a parent it is much easier to sympathise a little, and understand that my mother (most likely) did not purposely cause the pain she did, and I am fairly confident that non of my teachers believed that I was in serious pain and purposely ignored me. (Read this post for details) That knowledge eases some of the pain, but dealing with CPTSD is an ongoing battle.


Side note.  I spent about two weeks fighting with myself to type something up.  I finally picked up a pen and the words just started flowing out.  The typing up is still a little hard, but much  better than before.  Handwriting rough drafts, it worked for me in school, I guess it will work for me now.

CJP Reviews

Momma's House of Books

Recently, my son asked me what I was doing on the computer. At the time I was writing out a book review. I told him that after I read a book I like to write about what I liked and didn’t like. He saw the stars and asked what the stars were doing there. Asking if that meant it was “about space, or something”. I gave a breakdown of the meaning behind the stars, and he helped come up with “CJ’s Book Stars”.

★✩✩✩✩ Don’t like it.
★★✩✩✩ It is ok.
★★★✩✩ Liked it.
★★★★✩ REALLY liked it.
★★★★★ My Favourite.

His first official review: Our Love Grows, and a giveaway will be coming to Momma’s House of Books April 1st!

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Challenging the Past

I’m honestly not even sure what to think any more. So much of my beliefs have been based on my childhood memories– some of which, as I am now finding out, were wrong.

When I was younger, some physical activities would cause me pain. The biggest trigger was running. It was either in grade three or four that I first remember bringing up my pain with a teacher. I remember so vividly that this teacher would dismiss my concerns and even go as far as (loudly) telling me that I should stop trying to get out of gym, and that everyone has to deal with “pain like that”. I remember some kids teasing me about it, they would say that I was only trying to get out of gym because I wasn’t good at sports and that I wasn’t really in any pain.

I think it may have been the combination of embarrassment and belief that my teacher, someone who is supposed to be a trusted adult, that I have spent my whole life ignoring ‘minor’ pain. I believed that everyone got the same ‘minor’ pains that I do, because up until now, I have never had any reason to believe that what my third or fourth grade teacher said wasn’t true.

On the one hand, even though I understand now that this is not true, I still pass off so many things because I feel like they are nothing to concern a doctor with. I feel that if the pain doesn’t last more than a couple days at a time it is not a problem. I never take into account that the pain, while most times never lasting longer than two or three days at a time, reoccurs five or six times a month.

Is it normal to lose feeling in your hands or feet after as few as five minutes in the same position? Is it normal to have a headache for at least twenty days out of each month? Is it normal to go to bed at 11 PM and wake up at 9AM, and feel like it is physically impossible for you to stay awake? Is it normal to have a couple of days each month in which your hands just feel stiff, all day, with no relief? Is it normal to have a dry mouth all the time, no matter how much water you drink?

The problem is that I don’t know anymore. I feel as if I may fixated on the idea that I may have fibromyalgia because I just want to finally figure out the source of my pain and maybe get some relief. Is is possible that I have fibromyalgia? I do think it is, my sister was just diagnosed with it and many of my physical and mental issues are common symptoms of fibromyalgia.

At the same time, I feel as if I’m jumping to conclusions, and that most of my issues can also be explained by other causes. It is not easy being in my head, and all of my newly founded uncertainty with truths of my childhood is only making it harder.

Hi, my name is Katlynn and I have Trichotillomania.

A little background, from www.trich.org

Trichotillomania, also known as trich, is currently defined as an obsessive-compulsive related disorder but there are still questions about how it should be classified. Most recently, it is being conceptualized as part of a family body-focused repetitive behaviours (BFRBs) along with skin picking and nail biting.

For as long as I can remember I’ve always felt a need to play with and fix my hair. Sometimes I’ve been able to identify the reason; when I find split ends, or when I am positive that it is a gray hair, for example. Unfortunately, more often than not I find myself just mindlessly pulling my hair.

Before this blog, a VERY select group of people knew about my trich.

I am still trying to pinpoint the exact trigger(s) behind this, but tonight I cut my hair. More specifically my bangs. I cut them fairly short and combined with my already short damage zones I think it is a little too far out of my comfort zone.

I’ve been thinking a lot about letting other people know about this part of me, this part of my mental health, and I finally, after reading a post on Facebook by one of my elementary school teachers I  realized that this is the best time, today specifically is the best day.

I know that talking about my mental illnesses, specifically this aspect of it, one that is actually visible, and that I have spent so long trying to hid from everyone, is not going to make it go away.

Some days are going to be better than others, some days are going to be much worse, and I know that how I feel about letting everyone in on my secret will change from day to day, but I know, that it is a step in the right direction. It is the first step towards coming to peace with who I am.

Happy New Year

The holidays are always the best and the worst time of the year for me. I love the romantic side; the theory behind the holiday if you will. But I detest the actual holiday. We spend so much time and money on presents, and wrapping presents, wondering if the recipient will like/want/enjoy it, and two seconds after unwrapping, it’s already over. 

New Years Eve is another big let down. The only times I remember being super excited (ok, more like ecstatic) about midnight was the couple of times I was super drunk at midnight. When you are that drunk, everything is exciting. 

Every other time it felt like any other night. 

This year was no exception. It was fun, getting drunk and playing cards with my fiancé and his brothers, ringing in the new year with my over tired son and niece. 

But the expectation that I grew up with wasn’t there. I suppose I allowed myself to put such a high level of excitement on New Years that I can almost never live up to it. Or maybe society as a whole shouldn’t make the new year out to be a huge deal. After all; it happens every year. 

Anyways. My ‘new year’ is usually in September. I always found it relaxing to start fresh each and every school year. With new school goals, and new school supplies. It’s my favourite time of year.

Love Me Challenge: Day Nine

Share something beautiful


I know what you’re thinking–childbirth is supposed to be the most painful natural experience. And while that is true, the overwhelming love and wonder that you feel is indescribable. Only another woman, who’s been through natural* (read: vaginal-with or without drugs) will understand. Even with an epidural, you feel a sense of pressure release from your body, that is replaced with immediate love, wonder, and admiration.

I remember the first wave of feelings being relief. He was finally out. The ten months (yes it is actually ten) that I was pregnant were the longest of my life. [Followed immediately by the shortest ten months.] Then I remember feeling the overwhelming love for my son, knowing in that moment that I wouldn’t change anything in my life-if given the chance, everything I’ve ever done brought me to that moment. Holding him on my chest, feeling his little heartbeat, and slow but steady breaths, were mesmerizing. I was in awe that my body nurtured this tiny little creature. I know that many people (doctors, nurses, family members, friends) all came and said hello, but those first twenty-four hours, I remember nothing but my little boy.

*I just want to clairify that I in no way mean that a cesarian section is unnatural as in wrong, just that it is a product of modern medicine that while greatly useful and necisarry in many cases, the mother doesn’t experience the same release of pressure. While not my first choice, if needed I would have a cesarian section.