Winding Down

My semester is winding down at long last. I finally made a schedule to attempt to get it all under control. I've turned in my permission form to perform interviews for my Capstone project next semester for a project I'm intensely excited about. I'm slated to graduate magna cum laude. I'm trying not to think too much about next May. I can't imagine graduating without The Fiancée there to watch and cheer me on. She played such a vital role in helping me to stay at university and actually succeed. I owe so much of my success here to her. Graduating also means moving back to my home town... and out of the apartment that she and I shared. I'm contemplating looking for a full time job up here instead.

A select few people are starting to call me by my chosen name. My mother is not one of them; she doesn't like it, though it's based on my middle and last initial. She says she doesn't feel an emotional attachment to it. It seems to matter less to her that my emotional connection to my birth name is solely painful and a reminder of what I was born as. It's bizarre for my peers to ask me what my preferred name is and to use it. They're even mostly making the effort to use my preferred pronouns and apologizing for when they misgender me.

My father and my's relationship has randomly changed. After he found out that I was raped, he showed up on my doorstep two days later. We spent a week together, which was filled with the challenges I've become used to from our tumultuous relationship. He was just the same as he always has been. Since he's been back in Italy, though, he's made such an effort to stay in contact with me. He has, for the most part, even contacted me when he said we would. When I told him I had to return my service dog candidate Abbey, he legitimately sympathized with me. He's told me multiple times how proud he is of my skill at teaching. This is the first time in my 19 and a half years that I've actually felt loved by him. It's a bizarre change and I'm frightened it won't last, but I'm certainly enjoying it while I can.

I've made the decision to rehome my rats. I have my 6 little ones who I adore much more than I thought you could like a rodent. The Fiancée and I got them all together. As much as they were very much my pets, I was only able to have them because she worked so hard to help me with them. Alone, I simply can't do it. I'm broken hearted to lose them, especially after my beloved kittens went with The Fiancée when she left, but it's not fair to them for them to be stuck in their cage so constantly without the human interaction they love. I've found a lovely woman who runs a rescue who often ends up keeping the rats she takes in as pets and she's chuffed to get them. I know it's the right decision, even if it's not the best for me.

I'm in contact with an organization for service dogs. It seems to be going well, so I suppose we'll see what comes from that. I've managed to figure out ways to control the outward and acute signs of my PTSD. I've controlled about half of the stimming, and can at least feel the panic and anxiety attacks coming on. I no longer visibly flinch when people touch me, though I've still asked most people not to. I can actually hold eye contact with my family again, and I'm starting to regain that skill with people I trust, even with a male professor. (As an interesting side note, my ability to establish eye contact with a specific person seems to correlate with how much time I've spent with someone since the rape as opposed to on a whole. One of my male professors, who I'd spent insane amount of hours with and actually went to when The Fiancée left and spent days just sitting in his office, I can't make eye contact with because I haven't seen him much since the rape. Another male professor, who I only met this semester but have spent countless hours with for my interview approval and for getting accommodations, I can make eye contact with maybe 40-50% of the time now.) Now, it seems the PTSD has settled into what it will be for the long term. That constant, underlying deepseated fear and terror. The dark terrifies me. I keep my apartment lights on nearly constantly and can't shut doors. At my family's two story home, I have to have someone walk me upstairs. I still can't have my back to doors and windows, though I can almost control the need to look at someone who passes behind me. My fear for elevators is only getting worse, but now I can use them if it's physically necessary (my legs become numb if it's more than three stories up). I'm proud of my progress, even if it's something I never wanted to have had to make progress in in the first place.