CPTSD, Canine Chaos, and the 13-Gallon Cap
The Tactical Strike
Today began with a direct hit. Parker (my 40lb heat-seeking missile) decided the best way to alert me to his bathroom needs was a full-body pounce onto my injured shoulder. I get him outside, but the "frozen in time" vibe is already setting in.
The Time Warp is Real
While Parker and Evan are collectively driving me up the wall, I’m trying to focus on my health—chatting with people about peptides and trying to find a moment of peace. I finally decide the only escape is the shower. I get in, I scrub, I get out... and the world has fast-forwarded. It’s 10:30 AM, I haven't left yet, and I still need an oil change. Panic Meter: [||||||----] 60%
The Waiting Room Limbo
I spent an entire hour sitting in that oil change waiting room, feeling the "pressure meter of time" exploding in my chest. By the time I’m done, we are officially running late. I scramble to load up Evan and Parker.
The Gas Station Potty Dance
We still need gas, but by this point, my bladder has reached a "Code Red" emergency. This is why I had Evan pump the gas—I was doing a literal potty dance as I sprinted for the station bathroom. I barely made it.
The 13-Gallon Mystery
I come back out, thinking we're set. Evan tells me he’s done, but the tank is only 3/4 full.
Evan (Autistic Logic): "Mom, it hit 13 gallons and I got scared. I thought it was full."
So, we’re heading into a 50-minute drive on the "other" side of town with a partial tank and a thumping shoulder.
The Midday Meltdown
I get Evan dropped off at his birthday party and The "Weird Shit" really peaked once i hit the road. I was cruising along only to realize I’d pulled up to my brother’s old house—my phone had crashed the weekend prior and failed to save his updated address, sending me on a trip to the past. Right as that realization hit, my phone—already struggling with the heat from my car's "Surface of the Sun" defrost-only heater—overheated and died, leaving me stranded without a map. All the while, my 40-pound dog Parker was shivering and freaking out because that damn massage table was in the trunk again; he’s terrified of it, and his anxiety was just feeding into the tension of being lost. By the time I finally cooled the phone and made it to the right address, the madness followed me inside; Daffnie was so overstimulated that she immediately peed on the floor and launched a greeting that left my right thigh shredded from her claws.
The CPTSD Trigger
On the way to pick up Evan from the party, the tire pressure sensor dings. For someone thriving through CPTSD, that ding is an instant activation. I’m 85% a ball of sunshine, but that other 15% was in high-alert survival mode. I drove with my side mirror aimed at the pavement, staring at my rear left tire like a hawk.
The Soft Landing
By the time we finally made it back home safe, my internal pressure meter was done. I decided that "Netflix and chill" was the only thing on the menu for the rest of the night—a much-needed sanctuary after a full day of crazy chaos and adrenaline spikes. To top it off, I went with the ultimate comfort move: breakfast for dinner. Scrambled eggs at the end of a long, weird Sunday? Yes, please. It was the perfect way to reset the vibes and remind myself that while the day was a total scramble, I’m still the one holding the spatula. Tomorrow is a new day, but tonight, the sun has officially set on the madness.
