PTSDog: Healing for Kace
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PTSDog: HEALING FOR KACE
Mine is a face of invisible disability.
My name is Kace. I also go by K. C. Alexander, an author of SF/F. I'm a genderqueer human being (occasional outer god) that struggles with bipolar swings and complex PTSD.
I have always had traces of depression, but as time passed, they got worse and worse. I used to think it was simple seasonal cycles. Some time ago, I started having extremely painful menstrual cramps, the kind that could only be contained by staying on hydrocodone for one week out of every month. During this time, my depression got so bad, I committed physical acts of self-harm, mental acts of self-loathing, and considered suicidal options.
Turned out it wasn't depression. Not really. I've since been diagnosed bipolar and PTSD. A lethal combination.
When I spiraled down into suicidal depression again, my psychiatrist, doctor and therapist and I all agreed that its finally time for a service dog—who can love me unconditionally, be trained to apply deep pressure when I wake up near-screaming from recurring nightmares, and remind me I'm worth loving. He will also create space for me in crowds when I need it, interrupt me when I start mutilating my lip in my version of PTSD picking.
As I write this, my inner demons are screaming that I don't deserve this, that emotional PTSD and depression aren't real disabilities, and that everyone will think I'm just faking it—voices, my therapist and friends gently tell me, that stem from the lying liarpants of depression brain and post-trauma conditioning.
So, I'm asking for help. Because I don't know where else to turn, and how else to make this happen.
THE FUNDING
Why is it so important to build up the last of the funds now? Because the dog is ready—much MUCH faster than I'd thought. I was so close to covering the rest! But Frankenstein, whose picture you see here, needs to be trained with me and picked up as soon as possible.
I need to travel down there. Find a place to stay for 5 days. Pay the rest of Frankenstein off. And I need to do it fast because they don't want him to languish, and also because they want to make room for the next dog to help the next person.
WHY IT MATTERS
This is a thing I am undertaking to save my life. I know that sounds melodramatic, but I can't make it any more clearer than that.
I need to heal. I want to heal.
And I need help to do it.
Please, if you can spare some change, I'd be so grateful. I want to be here to keep writing, I want to experience the things I haven't yet, I want to leap this wounded chasm of past trauma and current bipolar struggles.
Can you help?
Mine is a face of invisible disability.
My name is Kace. I also go by K. C. Alexander, an author of SF/F. I'm a genderqueer human being (occasional outer god) that struggles with bipolar swings and complex PTSD.
I have always had traces of depression, but as time passed, they got worse and worse. I used to think it was simple seasonal cycles. Some time ago, I started having extremely painful menstrual cramps, the kind that could only be contained by staying on hydrocodone for one week out of every month. During this time, my depression got so bad, I committed physical acts of self-harm, mental acts of self-loathing, and considered suicidal options.
Turned out it wasn't depression. Not really. I've since been diagnosed bipolar and PTSD. A lethal combination.
When I spiraled down into suicidal depression again, my psychiatrist, doctor and therapist and I all agreed that its finally time for a service dog—who can love me unconditionally, be trained to apply deep pressure when I wake up near-screaming from recurring nightmares, and remind me I'm worth loving. He will also create space for me in crowds when I need it, interrupt me when I start mutilating my lip in my version of PTSD picking.
As I write this, my inner demons are screaming that I don't deserve this, that emotional PTSD and depression aren't real disabilities, and that everyone will think I'm just faking it—voices, my therapist and friends gently tell me, that stem from the lying liarpants of depression brain and post-trauma conditioning.
So, I'm asking for help. Because I don't know where else to turn, and how else to make this happen.
THE FUNDING
Why is it so important to build up the last of the funds now? Because the dog is ready—much MUCH faster than I'd thought. I was so close to covering the rest! But Frankenstein, whose picture you see here, needs to be trained with me and picked up as soon as possible.
I need to travel down there. Find a place to stay for 5 days. Pay the rest of Frankenstein off. And I need to do it fast because they don't want him to languish, and also because they want to make room for the next dog to help the next person.
WHY IT MATTERS
This is a thing I am undertaking to save my life. I know that sounds melodramatic, but I can't make it any more clearer than that.
I need to heal. I want to heal.
And I need help to do it.
Please, if you can spare some change, I'd be so grateful. I want to be here to keep writing, I want to experience the things I haven't yet, I want to leap this wounded chasm of past trauma and current bipolar struggles.
Can you help?
Organizer
Kace Alexander
Organizer
Bellingham, WA
