Your trauma is valid ...




I saw this today and felt like it was speaking straight to me.  I know there are many out there who unfortunately can say the same.  

In the past 17 years I've been to many, many group meetings at a variety of places.  Some were focus groups, or women's shelters, or one-on-one counseling, drop in support groups, all sorts of groups in all sorts of places with all sorts of people.  For the most part they are helpful, very helpful, because (ideally) you get a chance to open up in a safe environment and air some things that you normally have to keep to yourself.  You can get information, or opinions, other resources that may be helpful to you in your situation.  

Sometimes, though, they're not all that helpful for me because they can also be very triggering.  I know that's not just my own perspective, most groups will state right at the start of the meeting that you may feel triggered and that it's important to do your own self care to make sure you're okay.  Nobody's going to hold you down and make you listen to something that is setting off all the alarms in your head and making you feel worse than you did when you got there.  

One incident that stands out to me was my first meeting ever to a group.  There were probably 8 women in the group, from all different backgrounds and histories, we were all there for our own reasons.  I was the only new person to the group, the others had known each other for some time.  I'll freely admit I was terrified to even just be there.  It's always scary going to a new group.  You don't know these people, they don't know you, you don't know how it will go, what the normal flow of conversation is like, there are a lot of unknowns and possibilities, but you have to start somewhere.  

It turned out that all of the women in this particular group had been emotionally/mentally/psychologically abused.  I won't say this is all they had experienced, as in an "is that it?" kinda way, I just mean they had not been abused in other ways.  I had experienced all of that too, but I was the only one who had also been physically and sexually abused.  I was the only one that had been raped.  I was the only one who had been punched.  I was the only one who had experienced someone trying to kill me.  We did our check-in and as the new person I was encouraged to tell a little bit about myself, only what I was comfortable with.  I didn't say much, as it was my first time there and I didn't know these people.  I was pretty quiet for most of the meeting, as I am for my first time at pretty much every meeting I go to of this type.  I have to get the feel of it before I'll speak up.  It doesn't take long, but I'm definitely not going to spill my guts at my first visit.  

It was a 2-hour meeting, and about halfway through, just before we were about to take a little break, one woman stated that emotional abuse is by far worse than physical abuse.  As I've said, she'd never experienced anything else, none of them had, and all of them agreed with her.  They went on to talk about how physical wounds heal but emotional/mental ones are with you forever.  The facilitator didn't comment, just said it was time for a break.  I left and did not return.

They had a point in one way, that emotional/mental/psychological wounds DO stay with you forever.  You can't just turn off the memories, the feelings, the nightmares ... they affect what you do, how you conduct yourself, how you react to situations, literally everything.  But they are not worse than any other kind of abuse.  No abuse is better or worse than another.  The woman that said that couldn't see the gigantic bruise on the back of my shoulder.  She didn't know that I couldn't use my right arm for 3 days.  She didn't know I'd had to have jaw surgery and have my mouth wired shut for a month because of damage done to my face.  She hadn't seen me crying as I got an x-ray on my chest to check for a cracked sternum.  

Many people who don't experience physical trauma don't realize that it in itself causes mental trauma.  The fear of it happening again, the crack it makes in your self, the way it makes you brace yourself every time you're near someone just in case you get hit again.  

I sincerely hope she never does experience any of those things, that none of those women do, but I also hope that at some point they see or are told exactly what the above quote stresses ... that ALL trauma is valid.  Whether you experience one thing only one time, or many things many times, it is a trauma and it is valid and should be acknowledged as such. 

Trauma isn't just abuse either.  It can be anything that you experience that affects you negatively, like a death in the family, or a car accident, or a natural disaster, there are so many things that can cause us pain and stay with us for a long time, whether we realize it at the time or not.  

Often you hear someone say people are too sensitive and need to "grow a pair", walk it off, rub some dirt on it ... I'm guilty of this myself in some situations, though usually just in jest.  But when it comes to mental health I think that is the one time we need to be sensitive to what other people have gone through, whether we know the details or not, whether we know anything at all about it or not, just for the simple fact that we are all human, and all trauma is valid.

Down the rabbit hole .... or raccoon hole ...


I hate to say I suffer from PTSD and depression ... suffering sounds like such a self-flagellating word.  Kind of like people who have a disease ... they say they are "living with cancer" rather than dying from it or suffering from it.  It may not mean anything different, they still have cancer, but it sounds better.  

So I have PTSD and depression.  I live with them both.  We are close room-mates who do everything together, go everywhere together, joined at the hip.  More accurately joined at the heart, that's how closely we live together.  

Depression has had a good sturdy grip on me for a long time now, but he's grabbed on a little tighter in the past few months.  When I lost my grandfather in July and then recently a dear friend passed and that kick-started a roll down a hill that seems to have no bottom.   

Things at home continue to get progressively worse; I recently had x-rays to confirm that I have significant arthritis in one shoulder from repeated trauma (i.e. being punched over and over and over again).  The pain from that affected me in a few ways ... there's the physical pain that is often debilitating, I take T-3's on the bad days.  Then there's the emotional/mental pain of the actual event(s) and knowing that there's likely more to come, particularly when he admires his handiwork (when there's an obvious bruise) and boasts about what a great job he did.  This exacerbates the depression, it makes you feel hopeless, helpless and unable to conceive of a way to make things better.

Which brings me to this lovely picture.  Yep, it's a dead raccoon.  I was out for a walk last week and there he was.  I stopped to look at him for a bit to make sure he was actually dead, though it was unlikely he was sleeping there in the middle of the morning, but he could have just been hurt.  Then the practical, responsible part of me opened up the app to contact the city people that deal with this sort of thing and told them to come get him.  I felt bad just leaving him there, so I stood with him for a few minutes then went on my way.  

I was already having a bad day.  It had been a rough week all around, but yesterday was particularly bad.  A person can only stand so much yelling, berating, mocking, and when it happens every single day without reprieve it tends to build up until it threatens to smother you.  So when I came across this little guy, as I walked away from him I was crying.  Some people cry at the sight of any injured or dead animal, I'm not one of those people.  I didn't know this raccoon personally, he wasn't my friend, I'm not super-sensitive to these things.  But I was already on the verge and this was the tipping point.  I found myself feeling kind of jealous of him.  He was done.  He didn't have to deal with predators (in this case likely a car) anymore, he had no problems, no worries, he was finished with it all.  

I just went home after that.  Outside I'd let some tears quietly slide down my cheeks as I walked, but when I got home and closed the door it was like a tsunami ... it was uncontrollable, I completely fell apart.  I've never been a fall-apart person.  I usually handle stress pretty well; I get things done that need doing, I can get crying babies to sleep like magic (a nurse at the children's hospice once called me the baby-whisperer), I'm the person people talk to or the shoulder they cry on when they need someone there.  When my daughter is having a problem I do my best to talk her through it, get to the root of the problem, offer suggestions, work out the kinks, figure out what can be done to fix it.  But when it's yourself, it's not that easy; it's hard to be objective and unbiased and just figure out how to get through it.

You see commercials on tv all the time about depression.  I've seen it often described as walking up a down escalator, or swimming against the tide, trying to work your way through something that is pushing against you.  All valid perspectives.  For me it's like being in a deep hole.  The hole is deep enough that I can't reach the top no matter how high I jump.  There is nothing to stand on or hold onto to climb out.  The sides are slick and smooth.  Sometimes they are bright and glaring so I can barely open my eyes, other times they're dull and dark.  There is no way I can get myself out of that hole by myself.  I know this.  I know that I need to reach out for help, but I am resistant to doing it.

People that don't understand depression sometimes think that's just ridiculous.  Why would you not ask for help when you know you need it?  That's all part of the core of depression ... you may not feel worthy of help, or of even asking, you may not want to burden other people with your problems, you might even just want to be completely done with it all.  And by 'done' I mean finished, like the raccoon.  When a depressed person hits that point, often referred to as "rock bottom", that's when things get really scary and dangerous.  They may be reckless, or even do something to hurt themselves.

Right now, I am in a hole.  I know I need help.  I get offers or suggestions of ways to fix my problems all the time, literally weekly if not daily.  A lot of people think they know what is best for me.  They send me hearts on facebook and say "keep your chin up" or "get out of there".  Thank you for the hearts, it does mean a lot to know I'm thought of and loved.  It doesn't change anything but I appreciate it.  My chin is up, I'm not moping, I'm doing my best to not drag anyone else down with my problems.
It's the "get out of there" that is the issue.  Get out and then what?  How?  Walk?  Do they propose that I beg friends and family for money to travel to impose on other friends and family for a place to live?  What about the things I have where I am?  Sure, "things" are only things, people think they can be replaced.  They can't.  Not all of them.  I lost pretty much everything the first time I just Got Out of There and I just can't do that again.  Could you?  I'm betting not.  So getting out itself is a problem, plus I do own things that I need to take with me.  And I won't force myself on other people to house and support me.  I can't do that to them, they have their own lives.  So it's as simple as that ... very NOT simple.

Recently two of my uncles were diagnosed with cancer.  Growing up they lived with their families, my cousins, on either side of us.  We were all very close and this is hitting me hard.  So I'm doing what I can do, getting things done for other people, while still stuck in this deep, dark hole of my own.  I usually manage to put on a pretty good show of "normalcy".  Anyone looking at me on the outside would never know what's going on inside me, inside my home, the physical and mental pain I'm in all the time.
Then every now and then when I least expect it, the facade I put on for everyone else just shatters and I fall to pieces.  I head down the rabbit hole and that's when things get really real ... scary and dangerous.  Today I had the sense to reach out to my sister via text and she talked me down.  I don't know what would have happened if she hadn't been around, if she'd been off doing her own stuff, too busy to check her phone.  I'm so grateful she was there this time, but what about next time?