Triggering Tuna – F*** PTSD

It’s amazing. The little things that can be a trigger. How something so small can blow your whole world and day up. Seriously, somedays I’m reminded how much I hate the past, hate the people of the past, hate dealing with C-PTSD. How in the hell can a smell cause anxiety and nightmares? It’s bullshit.

Tuna. My mind is a disaster over freaking canned tuna. I don’t like the stuff. I did once. Yet, I haven’t made it since I filed for divorce. Never really thought about this. Always just assumed tuna didn’t sound appetizing.

Yesterday I got home and lunch and Max had made tuna croissants. Initially I thought that sounded good. Got close to them and wanted to puke instantly. Anxiety. Just odd. Like almost the feeling when you’re pregnant and a smell kills you. (I’m 100% not pregnant.) I didn’t think much about it. We grabbed lunch. I worked on feeling okay and went back to work. No second thoughts.

Got off work at 10 pm after a 14 hour day. Showered. Max comes walking in with a plate of tuna crackers. I lost it. Keep the tuna away from me. I don’t want to see it or smell it. Hell no. Go away and don’t come near me. Super strong reaction for tuna right? Like ridiculous. It’s tuna. I like tuna. Wtf.

I finally fell asleep at midnight. Just to be plagued by nightmares. The same ones as usual lately. Trying to find Captain Douche. Him telling me I’m not good enough, he’s drunk, constantly ditching me for other people. I’m sad. He’s being a douche and so mean. Allllll night. Every time I woke up I’d go back to the same f’d up dreams. What the fuck.

I woke up mentally and physically exhausted. Shook. Sad. Upset. Feeling lonely. Angry about these dreams and this control that resurfaces. Initially I blamed it not the Clomid and continued with my day. But with an awful anxiety I just couldn’t shake. Just feeling purely miserable.

After work I just went to lay in bed. Watch tv on my phone. Feel pathetic and miserable. Be confused on wtf I’m so off today. Max comes and lays and is playing on his phone. Again, the anxiety is rising. I suddenly smell it and asked if he ate more tuna…. Uhhh, yeah? (What the hell is his obsession with tuna this week?)

And suddenly it all comes back….. The tuna. The tuna was present from day one of my marriage. Literally. Our wedding night Captain Douche ate a tuna packet and then forced me to kiss him.  I remembered that feeling vividly. It was awful. I felt awful. I knew inside I’d fucked up. Fast forward, years later he always wanted tuna melts. On broke days it was cheap. Broke days also often meant he was angry and high. Tuna Melts flying across the room. Tuna Melts being thrown at me. Smeared on the floor. Told how awful I was. Because I didn’t do something right.

A full flashback. Full memories of this – The feelings, the smell, the pain. The years of abuse. The abuse from day one. It all returned. Like a flood gate opening.

And it suddenly made sense why tuna is suddenly causing me panic attacks. Fucking tuna.

It’s ridiculous. So f’ing ridiculous. The body keeps score is right. The body remembers. I may not mentally remember but my body wants to run from the memories.

Now I get to acknowledge why tuna is a day ruined. Breathe. Tap. Pray this passes. Pray I sleep without nightmares.

Fuck him. Fuck that the memories of him still fuck up a simple day. Fuck what he’s done to me. And god damnit, fuck tuna, fuck ptsd, fuck triggers.

But hey, at least I’m healthy enough to recognize this I guess. Small victories?