It baffles me how quickly joy can turn into sorrow, but once again, I find myself drowning in a pit of despair because of one well-intentioned but misspoken word, at least to me, when it was simply an innocent remark.

Trigger: hypersensitivity to certain words toss me into the throes of a horrifying memory locked within my mind.

I write what I heard into my Trigger Log so that I can recognize the words and phrases that upset me.

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I realize the difficulties and tediousness of constantly caring for another. However, without one’s help, I cannot eat, brush my teeth, bathe, or do anything else. Often, I have to wait or sometimes go without because I have no one around. Also, most of my caregivers are weary, and even though they try their best, I feel as though I am an imposition. And that frightens me.

Trigger: helplessness induces fear due to the loss of my independence

Another entry into my Trigger Log.

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Nevertheless, I feel it looming. All it takes is one slip up to my case manager (when depression overcomes me) and she will remove me from my home, thinking it’s for my good and put me into a nursing home. I spent over a year between two nursing homes over the last decade. The thought of going back to another horrifies me.

Trigger: the memory and word – Nursing Home – reacting to impulse on a whim instead of considering the often irreversible consequences of making a rash decision

Trigger: Self-inflicted self-pity – conjuring up scenarios in my mind that may or may not happen, causing me terror

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It is not that my caregivers are not purposely insensitive to my suffering, but rather, the long years of caring for me seem to have desensitized them to my plight.

Trigger: Assumption because of past abusers, yet my present caregivers have never abused me

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Guilt and shame are my constant companions. It matters not that I was a victim and because of that now debilitated. I cannot come to grips with the fact that I am not at fault. I long for someone to talk to but I have no one I feel comfortable with, and cannot afford a therapist although I need one desperately.

I have no family to care for me. Most are dead. My present is dark, my faith shaken, and my future bleak.

Trigger: Am I a fortune-teller now? Maybe I have a wonderful future coming my way. Who am I to say? And, only parts of my present are dark, like when I shut down. As for my faith, well, that’s always been a rollercoaster ride.

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Somehow I have an uncanny ability to hide my fears and despair behind a smile. I don’t want anyone to know my secret emotional pain. I do not seek pity. I am simply pouring out to my trusted friend inside my laptop screen – my blog. At times, I feel so lonely, even though I have people who love me.

The thread of hope that I cling to is fraying, which is why I am counting on my trigger log to help me recognize each speeding bullet before it hits so that I can strike back just like Wonder Woman and recaptured my inner joy. 🙂 I think it’s working.