Not a Feral, Unhinged Gremlin Today

More human. Functional. Slightly regulated.

Thursday hit like a wrecking ball and left me completely smashed.

Not the usual “I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.”

This was more like being on a boat caught in a fierce storm no stability, no control, just motion sickness and surrender. Definitely not a pleasant experience.

No warning. No gentle lead-in.

Just straight up: “today, you’re doing nothing.”

Standing? Hard no.
Walking? Absolutely not.
Eating? Felt like a full-time job.

Everything shrinks down to the absolute minimum.

Living with PPPD is a mind-fuck

PPPD brings a mix of migraines, vertigo, nausea, and this heavy, dragging sensation through the body like you’re carrying something you can’t put down.

One minute you’re out here showing up, moving your body, doing life.

Next minute you’re horizontal, wondering how everything flipped so fast.

And that’s the part people don’t see.

They see the good days.
The pool sessions.
The effort.
The discipline.
The “you’re doing so well.”

They don’t see the crash.

They don’t see the days your body taps out without asking you.
The days your nervous system says “we’re done here” and you don’t get a vote in it.

It’s unpredictable.
It’s frustrating.
And it messes with your head because you start questioning your own body.

The part I keep coming back to

What I didn’t realise for a long time is this:

Trauma doesn’t just happen and pass.

It stays.

It stores itself in your body, your nervous system, the way you react, the way you cope, the way you survive.

There are things I’ve been through that have changed me permanently.

Not in a loud, obvious way.

But in the quiet ones how I respond to stress, how my body holds tension, how quickly I can tip into overwhelm without warning.

This isn’t weakness.

This is a body that has reached its limits.

Some days, survival is the win

As much as I hate the unpredictability of it all, I keep coming back to this truth:

Some days, surviving is the win.

Not every day is for pushing.
Not every day is for proving anything.
Not every day is for “getting back on track.”

Some days are just for staying here.
For existing in the most minimal way possible.
For being held together by the bare minimum and still calling that enough.

If you’re in this space too

If you’re flat.
If you’re frustrated.
If you’re over it and questioning your body, your progress, your progress that doesn’t feel linear

You’re not alone in it.

This sh*t is real.

And so is your strength, even on the days it doesn’t feel like it.