The Celtic Storm

For those of you who this doesn’t apply to, please ignore. The only problem I see in this is that the people who think it’s not about them, it probably is. And the ones who think it’s about them, it probably isn’t.

So, I think everyone is aware that I occasionally have a propensity for disappearing. Yes? Okay, good. So here’s the thing, whenever what needs to be taken care of on my end, is taken care of, I return. Sometimes a little worse for the wear, but honestly, I come back pretty much as I left. And I do come back. So what’s the problem? I know exactly what it is. It’s what I say when I come back. It’s taken almost with rolled eyes. I can’t see them, but they come through in words. So here’s the thing; I’m not being pissed, or angry, or hateful towards any of you. I want to know why they’re taken with “rolled eyes”. A kind of “Yeah, right. That happened to you.” That’s what I’m talking about. Does anyone want to see the pile of hospital receipts that are sitting next to me right now? I’ve been in a hospital in the past few years more times than the average doctor. And does anyone want to see the award I was granted for being fired while in a hospital? I had a doctors note explaining that I was incapacitated and unable to tell them so, but I returned with a doctors note explaining it and they fired me. That was a nice three months, I’d like to repeat it.

“But Sean, it doesn’t happen to everyone!” is the popular remark. And you’re right. It doesn’t. But I never said I was fucking normal. I’m not. Don’t hear me say that and expect normal. You were told.

My problem is that people seem to not believe the stories I tell when I come back. It’s not like I say I was fighting international crime like James Bond, or causing international crime like, oh I don’t know, the current number 2 on the FBI’s Most Wanted list (I refuse to compare myself to Bin Laden, I’ll take Whitey, at least he’s a mick)
So, when I say something like “I got swine flu”. I get, “Really? (rolled eyes)” Is that hard to believe? Their neighbors daughters cousin got it walking around, but I’m immune? Or is it because I have innumerable instances of things like this? Please, I’m just looking for answers. Like I said, I don’t want to hear, yes-no-nothing. I want honesty, I want reasons why it’s hard to believe. For myself, not even to argue with you. Because, if you’ve read my blogs, you know I want two things. Honesty and answers. So where’s the honesty or answers? I know two things. I know what my answers have led me to thus far, and I know my own honesty.

Where does this all lead? Why am I saying it now when this has been going on for years (with certain people)? Because I’m done. I’m fucking done. I’m done fighting it all because there’s a group of people who are set in their ways. They’re friends, but they’re set in their ways of thinking. They’ve decided that I have a drinking problem. And, during the time that they knew me, they’re right. Absolutely right. But what they don’t see is that I’m not currently drinking. And haven’t been since Thanksgivingish. I’ve been in rape counseling and trying to fix that whole problem (and no, I’m not a rapist, dicks). Leave it to me to make a rape joke.
So… do I think that I have a drinking problem? Yes, currently I do. Because I have not resolved some issues. So I don’t drink. But I do have a condition known as Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I know, I tried to smack the therapist too. Because PTSD is what soldiers from war get. So just at first. Until I understood that PTSD is easily instilled when a child is molested. So as I actually fucking pour tear onto this keyboard (you fuckers), I have PTSD because I was molested. Which is why I began the entire Facebook group. I never intended to reveal this whole thing till the book (mostly because I always laughed at the Cyanide and Happiness comics about it) and intended to talk about all of my diagnoses, but what the fuck? Can’t we just make some dead baby jokes?

Why did I wanna smack the therapist? Because I’ve never killed anyone (willingly, I’m free from summoning evil spirits). My best friend growing up lives every day in Iraq. I’m sure he’s farther the man than I could hope to be. And I love him. And after he returned from his first tour in Iraq, I was deathly scared of him.

But apparently, when you’re younger, trauma effects you in different ways. But that’s the thing… it doesn’t stop. PTSD KEEPS affecting you. You can have a flashback of the event at any time. And it’s not a “flashback”. There’s times at night that I’ll wake up, at least I think I’m awake, and FEEL and SMELL the things that happened. I’m, sorry, but Social D is on, I’m done on this for now. The rest will be in the book.

But I want the Goddamned answers. Sometimes I think myself cursed. Ask people how often a street light will go off on me ANYWHERE (unless they toss the lights for kids). It’s DAMN NEAR every time. Think that’s cool? And until you can tell me that you’ve laid awake, in a hospital bed with your closest friend clutching your hand, in tears, worrying that you may die… shut the fuck up.