20-2-25, Thursday

I woke up. I had only slept 6 hours, and I wake up wide awake

my blood sugar is high again and i search for my Snufkin gummy. he's still there.

Today I have Diddy's class again.

it's a dangerous game we play, no?

4:55

Today was worse than before. As it always is. I covered my ears. Full body shaking. Noisy sobbing.

Diddy asks me - “Are you okay?”

“No, no I’m not okay”

And so the principal and vice principal come over. They tell me to calm down. They don’t ask me - they even tell me I’m wrong when I decline - they force me to breathe deep. I don’t. I tell them I’m perfectly calm, but my body isn’t. They tell me that’ not what they’re seeing.

I don’t show when *i’m* mad. I know I can be mad for irrational things. This was my body being driven to madness, that’s what this was.

The nurses came over and actually comforted me. My main once said she knows I bounce back quick. She knows that isn’t what I’m like. She said i should get my accommodations eventually. Not you can, not it might - it’ll happen eventually.

Then I got taken to the main office. Sharky didn’t tell me much. She said - I can’t do anything right now. She said she’ll get me the meeting eventually.

She ended her statement saying this is good for me. It’s trigger management.

Trigger management. 

Trigger management. 

She said it’s trigger management.

My social worker. The 504 manager.

Can you - am I the only one hearing this? Trigger management? The vice principal didn’t say a thing for me. He walked me back to class and I was comforted by my peers. One of them was so upset and worried about me that she started crying herself. Her face was red before a tear was shed. She was holding it back.

Students all around trying to help me, asking me if I’m okay, if I’m okay, if I’m okay.

I need to get my parents involved.

Trigger management. Fucking hell.

14:00

I talked to Bingo's mom. Her birthday is tomorrow, but she didn't mention that. She did, however, re-direct me to my counselor - and if the counselor doesn't help, then I go back to her.

I came home, happy. I felt supported. This is the small support I needed during my PTSD event, and it feels good to have gotten it this time, to have looked in the right places, to have had the right places to begin with.

No one is there. The table is full of food. The plates are half empty. My brother's ipad on the couch. I assume there was an emergency. I think about if someone died. I think about what could've happened. I pictured my mother hanging. And I didn't feel all that much. I put some of the chicken kebab on my plate, stole some cheese, took my share of the treats to give out, and went upstairs.

Espurr keeps joking about stealing and damaging my jacket. And my Snufkin gummy. It's not funny. I don't want to lash out on her.

I can't read, I can't work. Can I hold myself back?

I better. We need to play smart today. Me and my Snufkin gummy, and the muted group chat.

I put on music and enter this. My aunt is fast asleep.

17:09