Picture Postcards from PTSD a Diary Entry

I just moved back home. Into one of the homes where the abuse happened. It's not as bad as I thought it would be. I mean, I was alittle depressed at first. About the first nine weeks anyway, with the move and the holidays. I felt kinda useless, but I'm starting to feel alittle better. I still need a job, but no one really hurts me.

That guy is still alittle narcissistic, but he's pathetic. I think he's more depressed than I am.

He hides in his room and avoids life most of the time. He's nice to my son. 
My husband is losing mobility in his legs, so until the dissability goes through, I need to socialize. I need to get a job,and be out in public more. I'm more than alittle uncomfortable with it. The worst part is how noone understands, or if they do, they buy into the common belief that because I don't socialize or do work when they see that I must be lazy. That I amsomehow ignorant of the fact that everyone needs to make an income. That I must think I'm privliged. It is with all these pressures I must wake up each day. I must take care of my son, look for a job, try to continue with my life. I dont want pity, far from it. That would be more stressful. I don't want to be anything but me, doing what I have to for my son, and happy in my own skin.

And there have been days where I can almost be that.