I decided to write about being triggered and then being told what to do. It's a bad combination.
First, being triggered. My neighbor, without meaning to, has been playing his stereo so loud that my wall is bouncing. Not only that, but the bass is making my skin jump. I caught my back tensing up during the tunes and releasing during the breaks today. It was so loud that I could hear the treble lines. I could almost hear the lyrics. It was loud, and it started early. About 10:15 this morning. I called the office after about 35 minutes. I called again, almost hysterical, about 30 minutes later. Maybe 45. In the meantime, I got a call from Kathy asking me when I wanted to come over. Michael was kind enough to agree to an interview so I can get down verbatim what he says about diabetics for my new book.
So, I finally called her back after the second call to the office and said I wasn't coming over because I was too triggered. She called back wanting to tell me what to do. She says "just leave" and that's not only not an option, it's a "hell no" not an option. I won't be chased out of my apartment by an asshole. Whether he is or not. I wasn't in the mood to argue. I finally said I don't want to talk about it. I was truly ready to go to the hospital, I was so triggered.
So, what does it feel like? It feels really, really bad. I had physical reactions this time, to the sounds. I didn't have the TV on, and was on the internet. I had to get off as I started to shake. Being triggered is like being electrified. It doesn't feel good, and I have all this energy just rumbling around my body. It's like I'm jumping out of my skin. But I can't leave, so I'm stuck. I lose all ability to concentrate. I can't think, can't feel, can't move. I am paralyzed. I can't make decisions. I'm frozen. And I'm shaking like a leaf.
I can't confront him. No way in hell! He is OK, I'm sure. But I can't confront him. He lives in his wheelchair. I hardly speak to him.
Then, to be told what to do. Kathy has this thing where she tells people what to do. At least she does me. It's even worse than when Sarah does it. Kathy has NO CLUE what it's like to be in my shoes. At least Sarah has walked in them. Or at least some of this path. Kathy has been coddled, cared for, educated, working for most of her life. She's terrified of being broke. She has a lot of trouble with loss. Well, guess what! I have enough of all of that to make her very uncomfortable, so she tries to tell me what to do.
Yesterday, I told her I had spaghetti for lunch. It was leftovers, and i was hungry. Ok, so that's not the greatest lunch in the world, but she's on this no-gluten or wheat kick, which is a rich-man's issue. I eat what the food bank gives me. I eat what I can afford. I have to leave corn alone. I accepted a gallon of milk, but I only needed the bottle it came in, not the milk.
Being judged because I'm poor is bad enough. Yesterday, I was reminded of WHY I'm in this financial hole all the time. At the Doctor's office, we went through the history of my back, because he wanted to know why I had both rods and a laminectomy. He wants to do an MRI on my knees and I'm afraid of it. I'm afraid of MRI because of the rods and screws in my back. So, he's getting what records he can from Barton Hospital. Make sure they are OK to MRI.
That got me thinking about not being able to hold a job for 21 years between injury and surgery. Not being able to do what I want to do, no school, using drugs and alcohol to control the pain - physical and emotional - because I can't hold my own, can't produce like others of my age and race, education, background. Being afraid of moving forward. Being afraid of relationships, martial arts, pain. Being afraid of life.
And then the surgery in 1999. And not being given any direction about physical therapy. Like they just dropped me. So, I've never really recovered. I still don't know what I can or cannot do. I now have all these injuries on top of that because I keep hurting myself because I don't know my limits. I don't know what I can or cannot do. I don't know how to move correctly. My gait is messed up. I walk funny and that causes more damage to my legs and hips. My ankle is finally working and my legs are about gone.
So, yes, I get angry and sad and upset when I get triggered and then get told what to do by someone who has no fucking idea what it's like to be me and walk my path.
Anyway, I got really hungry after that and went into the kitchen to cook something. He turned on his stereo for another record or something. It was REALLY loud again. This time, I banged on the wall. Twice. He finally turned it down. I don't want to be a problem neighbor, but I need peace. He can maybe move his stereo or something. The noise on the wall is too much for me.
