When dealing with a disaster, always have a plan

I just finished The Hot Gate by John Ringo, the “final” book of the Troy Rising series. And I finished the book before that, Citadel, about 6 hours ago, give or take. They are military scifi, so if you like that sort of thing, needless to say that I wholeheartedly recommend them. But the point that is driven home by those books is that shit happens all the time, that disaster is frequently just a heartbeat away, and you never know it (frequently in this case meaning “when compared to the life span of the universe, pretty much guaranteed.”)

As you can tell by my previous entry, disaster took me this past weekend, and while intellectually I understood what was going to happen, and even expected it (which is pretty sad, given the circumstances), there was an emotional aspect that took me completely by surprise. The disaster unleashed some hellacious thoughts (and I mean that in every sense of the word) that rocked me like an emotional IED. I’m still not sure of all of the fallout from it, as there were things uncovered about myself that I had known about, but hadn’t truly understood. People always think they understand what the aftermath of an explosion is like, but until you are standing in the rubble and body parts, you truly don’t, and can’t. (There is a political statement in there somewhere, but I’m running on exhausted…)

But I have always have had a way, a plan, of dealing with immense pain: 1) Swallow it until I can deal with it (I did my best this time, but I was hurting so bad, that I couldn’t swallow it all) 2) Cry when I’m out of the public, and almost always as quietly as possible, 3) If the damage is bad enough, repeat the above two until… 3) I can get my hands on a good book or three (The real reason I keep a library of books? Because I never know when I’ll need to use some words as ablative armor… or better yet, damage control.) Thankfully, there has been a change in habit over the past five years, so I would do the above three until I could 4) find someone I really trust to talk to about what happened, as many times as it takes to get my head on straight again. And the people I trust with the damage in my head is very, very few. Sorry everyone else, but it seems when I try to confide in other people, instead of helping, you all become a extra-large pain in my fucking ass. Why is that? Because you keep prying at my carefully sealed layer of privacy.

In the end, I am a mostly self-contained person. I have lived on my own, with little need for other people, for so long, that quite honestly you could throw me in solitary with nothing but a bunch of books and some pen and paper, I would be content. Not necessarily happy, but I would survive. Which is probably why one of my safety blankets is any book in my current library (thank GOD for e-books… now if I feel the need for any particular book, I can go and download it directly into my outside mind (meaning, my Android) and I am good to go. So fuck you all very much, I’m going to read until I’m exhausted.)

And so I am exhausted, and hoping that I can get at least 9 hours sleep, but the more the better. And tomorrow I get to turn to one of the few people I trust to help and not hinder, and see if she can help me pick through this bloody mess that is my mind. Because while I might be relatively fine now, I know from thirty-five years of experience that it is only a calm before another storm.

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