As for the question Liese asked earlier about whether the triggers ever go away, or lessen -- for me, I do actually seem to be easing up on the automatic fear response when I break/damage/destroy something, simply as a result of time living with a person who has a proportionate response to that. When I broke the milk, my gut was sure I was going to get screamed at, even though Tim doesn't do that, and MY BRAIN KNOWS IT, knew it at the time, but my lizard brain disagreed HARD. That was several years ago.

I ripped a hole in the bathroom windowscreen a couple of weeks ago when I was getting snow off the car roof with a broom. (I didn't gauge how far away I was from the house, and the bathroom storm window wasn't down, and I caught the screen with the broom handle, and...rrrrrip.)

My immediate reaction was, in fact, "Ffffffffuck, I'm going to get in trouble," followed pretty much immediately by "No, you're not. It's cool."

So my automatic response is still fear, but it only lasts a split second and I can remind myself what is true.

AND if my mom overreacts around me now, I just walk away. Because fuck that. (I don't think I do have a fear reaction to her any more -- thank you, therapy -- I think I just cock my head, squint, and think, "I know what you're doing, and it doesn't work any more. Go sell crazy somewhere else.")

They gave me a prescription for percocet at the hospital today, but I haven't taken any. I have taken advil (which I was told to take with the percocet), and so far I'm fine. I'm actually in less pain than I was in with the failed in office procedure.

I still have my 'sick' bunny. A yellow fuzzy creature with a creepily humanoid plastic face. I won't photograph it because it might give you nightmares. It's been through the laundry more than once.

My father threw it out after I had Rubella when I was 6, but I dug it out of the trash.

Speaking of that, I've been using a cloth stuffed squid as a sleep aid (between my arms when I sleep on my side) for the last 15 years.

Two days ago, Cagney ate its face off when I left him out of the crate while I ran errands.

Sigh.

Can't be mad. Can't stop being disappointed.

I crammed the headlike remains into an old sock.

Sigh.

At least it is still usable.

Sigh.

It's totally irreplaceable...handmade...artist no longer around.

Sigh.

Thanks, Steph.

When I was about 10, I accidentally spilled the milk i was pouring into my cereal. My father sent me to my room to "think about what I had done."

???????

I wish I could have gotten a father that's less...Sheldon-y.(And, yes, I still find it hilarious on that show when he stops everything to make people look at sputum, but when he's your dad and he's that selfish, it's really not terrific.And, yes, my dad totally does that.) I wish my stepfather would have buggered off before I'd built a relationship and gotten to love and trust him so that I could just be like "that ASS!" be over it, but on the other hand, it was from that relationship that I learned what dads really *do* besides be a dependable ride to the movies, so I guess that is important.

And, of course, my father is a loving man, who's tried his best, but the damage was done. Also, he doesn't remember most of these moments that still haunt me. I bring them up, and he doesn't remember them at all.

Well, I certainly hope you thought about it and of course came to the conclusion that it was spilled milk.

My heart hurts for all of you that had the rotten parents. Mine were the lovely variety. My mother must have told me thousands of times (and still does) that I can do anything, that I am smart, that I am beautiful, etc. This is what I always figured parents were supposed to do because mine did.

I was nonetheless a really rotten kid, really and sincerely rotten. They did not deserve me. And yet they didn't hold it against me.

Unfortunately I have a really bad memory or maybe I could figure out my one odd trigger. It is loss. Doesn't matter if it is socks or my dear late husband. I really react badly to loss of any magnitude. I had one evil woo woo therapist tell me decades ago when Steve was sick that something within me attracted this and I felt she was saying I somehow wanted or needed Steve to be sick. I reacted by getting flat out furious, but it still stuck.

Anyway, I KNOW that you can do anything you set your mind to, that you are smart and talented, and that you are beautiful. And since I clearly know everything I am right about this.

He wouldn't be the first to rewrite history. Sean. But sometimes people don't realize either.

I wish I could have gotten a father that's less...Sheldon-y.

My dad was an eccentric brainiac, but again I figured he was normal when I was a kid. He didn't really understand how to communicate with children, but it seemed normal and although he really didn't talk to us, we knew he was proud of us. We were able to communicate just fine when I was an adult. By that time I felt sorry for him that he missed so much with his inability to interact.

edit because the drugs make the English suffer