Startlingly enough ....

One of the symptoms or effects of PTSD is an exaggerated startle response.  Loud sudden noises or unexpected sounds cause immediate panic, often resulting in hyperventilating and crying.  It can take literally hours to come back down.  And it doesn't have to be from something done TO or AT me, it can be anything. 

Not long ago I was going through some of my things that I have in storage, and as I walked away from the boxes I wasn't looking down at the floor and stepped on some bubble wrap.  It was unexpected, it was loud, and it sounded like gunfire ... and the more I tried to get away the more I stepped on it, making it exponentially worse.  Once some gentle hands helped me away from the spot, off the bubble wrap, then the crying started.  I was enveloped in a big hug until I got it under control.  I'm so lucky to be surrounded by love these days.

The only thing is, although I can usually control the things that I do, where I go, what or whom I surround myself with, I can't control everything.  Nobody can, or should.  And as a result, stuff happens. 

A broom falls over from leaning on a wall.  BOOM!!!

A kid sneaks around a corner and jumps out to scare his brother.  BOOM!!!

The dog hears a sound outside and starts barking at the door.  BOOM!!!

A random car backfires.  BOOM!!!

A television commercial comes on and starts out suddenly with a loud burst of noise.  BOOM!!!

None of these are things that are aimed at me, or intended to surprise me, or have anything to do with me at all, yet every single one of them and many other random similar things keep happening and every single time they startle the crap out of me.  I shake, sometimes scream, hyperventilate, can't think straight, I'm disoriented, and often I cry. 

The people around me know that I have this "problem".  That I don't like to be startled.  I appreciate that they don't want me to be scared, but I also don't want to be a special case that can't take a joke, or can't handle some good-natured fun; yet every time it happens, no matter how much I try, I get the same reaction ... shaking, can't breathe, confusion, crying ....

I hear a lot of people saying I should seek counselling, find someone to talk to, etc.  Well, here's the thing.  Because of Covid, the local Women's Centre is closed.  Plus over the past 16 years I have been to enough one-on-one sessions, group meetings, PTSD study groups that I could probably teach a class on it myself.  There's really nothing to talk about, I'm all talked out.  I've gotten so used to telling my "story" to everyone who needs to hear it (doctors, lawyers, counsellors, etc) that I've become numb.  It doesn't help me to talk about it, I have nothing to talk about. 

Instead I think I need to work on settling my mind.  Physically he cannot hurt me.  But my mind still attacks me all the time, awake and asleep.  Either through daytime PTSD issues or nightmares when I'm able to sleep. 

A few people have commented that they find it odd that one of the main things I had to take with me when I left were my books.  I'm talking real paper books.  I don't do e-books.  I have to feel the book in my hand, turn the pages, smell the paper -- I love books.  Yep, they're heavy, especially when you're shipping them in boxes and you have as many as I do.  And I really didn't even take ALL of my books, just the ones I value the most.  I took my favourite cookbooks, quilting books, novel series for various authors, mysteries, historical fiction, magical tales, collectibles, and some books on spirituality and mindfulness.  Those last ones are the ones I think I need to read now. 

I also have one that I should get back to that will help my body and mind. I had started dabbling in yoga a few years back and I liked it.  When I did it regularly it helped me feel physically and mentally more at peace, more relaxed.  Both of those are things I'm in desperate need of now more than ever.  I think if I get back into doing it on a daily basis (as much as my sprained knee will allow for now) I'll end up much more the better for it.  My yoga mat stands rolled up right within sight of the computer as I'm typing this, it's literally right beside me and has been since I arrived here.  This book was behind me on the shelf with the others.  They're both just sitting there waiting for me to pick them up and get back to it.  As they say, there's no time like the present. 

There are a lot of things right now that I have absolutely no control over.  I can't control how fast or slow the legal system works.  I can't control what my lawyers are able to do for me or how quickly they can do it.  I can't control the people who live with and around me that unintentionally startle the crap out of me on a regular basis, nor would I want to.  But I can control how much effort I can put into helping myself heal.  Like I said, I've done the classes, the groups, the sessions, I've talked about all the stuff to all the people, and I'm done.  It's time to work from the inside out.  Here we go ...

Tiptoeing through life ....

Since I've been away from him, every day is a learning experience.  I spent the last 30 years of my life with one abuser then another, I've spent a lot of time having to be who I was told or expected to be, to behave as expected, to say or not say certain things, to basically keep quiet and stay out of the way or face the consequences.

Now I'm out.  I'm free.  And I have no idea who I am.  I know who I was, many years ago, but not who I am now.  I don't know how to react to certain things because there is nobody to tell me.  I don't know how to even do certain things or how to function in regular daily life because I have nobody to tell me how to do it, how to behave, what to DO.  It should be liberating, but in truth it's terrifying. 

Every now and then I find myself saying something that to me makes sense.  I have always had strong beliefs in certain things, I'm very passionate about the things and people I care about, there are some things about myself that I know for sure, others that I believe I know, and still others that I'm afraid to find out. 

I am so grateful to be able to stay where I'm staying and know that I'm safe, that sometimes I get a little too comfortable and I let things slip.  A month or so ago I made a comment about something to someone I hadn't seen in a while.  It wasn't a particularly bad thing I said, just an opinion.  I was told that I was wrong and that I should reassess my thought process.  So I will.

I have often referred to my first ex as "the idiot".  It was my opinion that if someone has beaten, raped, berated, smothered, tortured, threatened to and tried to kill me, and abused me in every single sense of the word over and over, I have the right to call him an idiot.  By definition an idiot is a stupid or foolish person or someone who does stupid or foolish things; that description fits him pretty well.  It was suggested to me that by calling him this, it made me look bad and that I was stooping to his level and that it would be better if I didn't.  I wasn't told outright not to do it, it was just suggested and not in a nasty way, it was said to me by people I love and respect and who have my best interests at heart.  And so I will.

Last night I was watching a movie with my sister and something she said struck me as particularly funny and I made a joke about it on Facebook.  I didn't mean anything by it, it was just a silly comment, only made in jest and other people agreed.  My sister wasn't particularly pleased by it but she can take a joke and made her own comments about it.  Then someone told me in no uncertain terms that it was insensitive and that I should remove the post immediately.  So I did.

I have been well trained over the past 30 years to do as I'm told or face the consequences, so if I'm told to do something, I do it.  No questions asked.  Just do it and hope for no further repercussions, keep my head down, be quiet and stay out of the way.  Now that I'm out in the world, I'm finding that I'm going to have to start censoring myself.  I need to be more careful in what I say, who I say it to, and how it may affect more than just that person.  That sounds like common sense, but to someone who was allowed to say very little to anyone for many, many years, it really isn't. 

Everything is new to me.  Common things are not common to me.  Seemingly ordinary life is not ordinary to me.  I've mentioned getting used to the seemingly little things in daily life like turning on a lamp if it's not bright enough, putting butter on a potato, not having to account for every single move I make in a day.  These things, and more, are all alien to me.

I have a lot of big decisions coming up to make, things I've never had to do before without someone over my shoulder watching every move, directing me as I do things, so I'll have to make a point of listening to those more wise than I am, with more experience than I have, and I will tread lightly so that I can hopefully avoid being censored again as I tiptoe through my new life.   Fortunately I am very lucky to be surrounded by people who love me and will help me along the way if I'm brave enough to ask.

Getting over things .....

Often I feel like the girl in that song Luka by Suzanne Vega ... "my name is Luka, I live on the second floor ....." if you know the song you know what I'm talking about, if you don't, then look it up and you'll catch on quickly.

People have been asking me where I am, what happened, why did I leave. The answers are pretty simple, yet not. Where am I? I'm somewhere safe. That's all anyone needs to really know right now. What happened and why did I leave? He abused me ... physically, mentally, emotionally, he ran the gambit and I left because it was either do that or kill myself and I chose the former. I'm glad I did most of the time. Sometimes I feel like I'm losing my mind, or like I've made a mistake because there is so much unknown ahead of me, but I'm surrounded by people who care about me and would never, ever hurt me, and they will help me navigate the coming stormy seas. And the stormiest ones are behind me.

People hear about women being abused all the time and comment about how they'd never allow anyone to hit them. What if he does it to you while you're asleep? Like you're lying there sound asleep one minute and suddenly he's screaming something in your face and punches you full force in the chest? Or you're sleeping back-to and you make a little noise in your sleep and he clobbers you in the shoulder or back? I didn't "let" him do it, but it happened all the same.

Or they say they'd never let anyone treat them that badly. What if it came out of the blue, for no reason at all, completely unexpectedly? One minute you're having a perfectly normal conversation, the next he's screaming at you, calling you horrible names and throwing things at you or threatening to kill you or your pet. I didn't "let" him do that either, but it happened.

A relationship can be compared to climbing a tree. You find what looks like the right one,you try it out, you work your way through some good parts and some not so good parts and if it's the right tree and it all works out you get to the top intact and the view is fantastic.  

 

But what if it's not the right tree?  It might look like it is at first, but then as you go along some branches start to give a little.  You press on, because surely not all the branches are bad, but then you could get quite a ways up and suddenly it starts to crack ... things can fall apart slowly or quickly or both at the same time and then suddenly you're falling and you don't even know where you went wrong.  Maybe you did everything right.  Maybe you tried so hard you were physically and mentally exhausted from it all.  Or maybe that tree just kept throwing you to the ground but you were too stubborn or determined or blind-sighted to see it.  So you end up battered and bruised, inside and out, and one day you finally realize you just can't even be near that tree anymore or it will destroy you.

So that's what happened ... he broke me in many ways and now I'm away from him, I'm in a safe place surrounded by hope and love with many people helping me get through it one day at a time. Part of the healing process is "getting over" all the things that had become normal after so many years, that to outsiders were obviously very NOT normal.  I've been keeping a list and telling people I'm close to when I jump a new hurdle, they probably seem like silly little things to most people, but to me these things are HUGE.  

 

Like a couple of weeks ago I had dinner and was given some butter for a baked potato.  I held the little container of butter in my hand, my plate in front of me, and just cried.  It's not that I was denied food before, or that I wasn't allowed to have butter ... but if I did use it I would be given a speech on how it's fattening and how I didn't need it, and what's wrong with me that I can't just eat it the way it was.  It was a small luxury that I had denied myself for many years just to avoid the nagging and criticism, and then here I was just offered it like it was a regular thing.  Because it IS a regular thing.

 

I've been exercising the freedom to throw away used ziplock type plastic bags, used tinfoil, used Saran wrap, because this was NEVER allowed before.  They would have to be washed and reused until they just couldn't be used anymore.  It was disgusting, unsanitary, and plastic wrap loses it's effectiveness very quickly but still I would be literally screamed at if I threw any of them away.  It's quite liberating to be able to throw away a smeared up plastic bag that had raw chicken in it rather than have to wash and reuse it for something else.

I opened the microwave when it was finished and was still beeping.  This was a HUGE no-no.  I wasn't even supposed to be looking at it while it was running, much less open it before the beeping stopped.  And if I opened it while it was running, look out!  But I opened it and as expected the microwave actually stopped like it's supposed to (or actually had, since it was beeping) and the sky did not fall down around me.

I've had dessert quite a few times, if I felt like it, like right after dinner.  And then a snack again later!  Nobody gave me the fat speech or anything and it was wonderful.

A few times I've even left the evening dishes in the sink and on the counter overnight to do in the morning.  That's a hard one, because I've gotten many, many speeches about my incredible laziness if any dishes were left in the sink when I went to bed.  I still do them most of the time, it's been drilled into me for 16 years and it's really hard to break that one, but once in a while I leave them.  I feel guilty when I do sometimes and actually got up and went back to the kitchen to do them before I could sleep a few times, but I'm working on it.

I bought a ringtone for my phone.  I had wanted a particular one for as long as I've had a cell phone but didn't even dare ask if I could buy one because of the speech I'd have to endure about the free ones not being good enough for me, and what made me so special that I had to buy one, and why couldn't I find one like it for free somewhere.  But I decided that I would splurge and I bought the Chicken Dance ringtone for $1.49 and every time my phone rings it makes me smile.

This morning one of the guys came in the back door with a container he was going to empty into a bag, just commenting as he came in that that's what he was doing.  I just stood there, frozen, totally unsure of what to do.  In my world if a man wants a bag, or anything, I was to immediately GET IT, no questions asked.  I had to somehow anticipate what kind of bag or whatever it was that he needed and have it ready asap.  Not today, he was just telling me why he'd come in and got the bag himself while I stood there dumbfounded.  

Later I thought of another thing I've been working on overcoming and called someone into the room to tell her.  I can lock the door when I'm in a room now.  Even the bathroom ..... ANY room!  This was strictly not permitted before, he had to have access to any room in the house at any time.   Closing the door wasn't allowed unless I was actually going to the bathroom, and even then I had to go fast because if he wanted to go in and I had the door closed he would stand there and kick or bang on the door until I opened it.  So I called her to come to where I was ironing so I could tell her this new thing I'm working on doing, and when she walked in the room she commented that it was kind of dark (morning shade) and turned on the light.  I couldn't even tell her my thing for a minute, I was crying ... he didn't allow lights on if it was daylight, and even if it was night, lighting was minimal and only if absolutely necessary ... it hadn't even occurred to me that I could turn on the light, I've been just making do with whatever light was available to me at any given time. 

 

These are just a few of the things I've been working on overcoming so far, I'm sure there will be many, many more as time goes on.  I hope one day I won't even be keeping a list anymore, but for now it helps me feel good knowing that I can do these things and not get in trouble or get screamed at or hit or anything.  

 

That was definitely not the right tree for me, nor was the last one.  I may just stay away from all trees for a long time now, until I get back to whoever I am now.  I don't even know what's normal anymore, I don't know who I am or who I'm supposed to be, what I'm supposed to do.  Everything is uncertain at this point, I'm just making my way through it one day at a time, sometimes just one minute at a time.  I'm not crying every day anymore, that's a huge step right there.  Once in a while, like with the light this morning, something will hit me, but overall there's very little crying.  I don't cry because I regret leaving, that is one thing that I know I definitely got right.  I should have done it a long time ago, but here we are.  And from here we'll see what comes next.  Tonight we're having steak for dinner and baked potato and I will most definitely be putting butter on mine, just because I can.

I survived you.

You were bigger than I was.

You were physically stronger than I was.

You held me down, forced me to the floor, couch, table, bed to do as you pleased to me.

You used your size and strength against me to keep me physically, mentally, and emotionally down.

You did unspeakable things to me because you could.

You bruised me, inside and out.

You berated me.

You called me names.

You diminished my SELF.

You controlled every aspect of my life.

You hit me, punched me, pinched me in places I won't say.

You spat at me.

You slapped me.

You screamed at me.

You told me I was stupid, ignorant, useless.

You raped me.

You made me feel worthless.

You terrified me.

You threatened me.

You tried to kill me.

You humiliated me in private and in public.

You gave me permanent physical injuries.

You made me cry almost every day.

You told me that you care only about yourself, and you meant it.

You reminded me daily that I was not important to you.

You told me that if you didn't teach me, how would I learn.

You told me many times that nothing was holding me back, that I was free to leave at any time.

So I did.

I am smarter than you are.

I am nicer than you are.

I am a more decent human being than you are.

I am mentally stronger than you are.

I am more creative than you in every way.

I don't think about you.

I don't cry over you.

I don't care about you.

I don't worry about you.

I forget nothing.

I don't need to forgive you for myself, because you mean that little to me.

But I survived you.

I walked into the fire and I emerged stronger.

I took what you did to me and used it to strengthen me.

I have family and friends who care more for me than I ever knew, and I value them deeply.

Nothing you can say or do can destroy WHO I AM.  

*****

And there's the big question.  Who Am I?  

I've spent 30 years dealing with everything listed above from two separate individuals.  I won't call them men because a real man does not treat a woman the way they treated me.   They both completely fit the profile of a narcissistic sociopath, and somehow I ended up tangled up with them.  Different circumstances, different times, different reasons.  They come from entirely different walks of life, education, work experiences, families, yet inside they think the same way.  They think they're special, as do all narcissistic sociopaths, yet they are all alike.   Maybe that's why we don't see them coming, we don't expect it because this one doesn't seem at all like that one on the surface ... but then when you get right to the core it's like they were cut from the same mold.  

Living with one is scary.  Doing it all over again is terrifying.  It completely wears you down, takes away everything you thought you knew about yourself, makes you doubt everything you think you know for sure.  I had PTSD from the first one, then add 16 more years of it from the second one, and what do you get? 

People keep telling me I'm brave.  They tell me I'm strong, smart, loved.  I've heard this Winnie the Pooh quote more times than I can count in the past week.  I'd like to think it's true, but I'm not sure it is.  I don't feel brave or strong.  I know I'm smart, I'm not bragging, it's just a fact.  Though I've doubted it a lot over the past years. 

One thing I do know is that I am loved.  I had no idea how much I was loved and by how many people until the moment came that I decided I'd had enough, I couldn't do it anymore, I had to make a plan and get out.  Then all of a sudden the Love came through and I got all the help I needed and more, and I was able to do it.  

So right now I've been out for 5 days, and amazing things have happened in those 5 days.  Things have gotten done at lightning speed, things that I thought would take days, weeks, or even months.  I'm having to spend 2 weeks in isolation because of a stupid virus that I don't even have, so there's not really anyone to talk to besides my cat, or texting, but the cat doesn't talk back and you can only say so much in a text.  I have 10 more days of quilting, watching movies, thinking, and in between all of those things is a lot of crying. I'm not crying because I regret leaving or for staying as long as I did ... I try to live life without regrets.  I figure you do what you do for whatever reason you had at the time and then you deal with it.  Regretting it gets you nowhere, you just do what you can about it afterwards, which is what I did. 

I don't know exactly why I cry so much.  Partly maybe because I'm just afraid of what comes next.  What does come next?  I have nobody to tell me, it's something I have to figure out for myself, and I just spent 30 years being told I could not make decisions.  Someone suggested I'm grieving, and that's probably true too.  I had two relationships that I had put everything I had into and I did not get back even close to that in return.  I trusted them, I relied on them, I jumped in with both feet and I literally got the crap beaten out of me.   

So despite the fact that I know I am strong, because I DID get out, and I know that I am smart, and I am so very loved, I'm really not feeling all that brave right now.  I'm tired ALL the time.  Like I'm physically and mentally exhausted.  I've never been a good sleeper but now I feel like that's all I want to do.  

What I do know is, I did survive.  Not one, but two of them.  And if I can do it, anybody can.

I wish I had a bubble ...

I wish I had a bubble.
Ideally it would surround me, move with me, so that nobody could touch me, it would buffer sounds, it would deflect anything/anyone trying to hurt me or get too close to me. Because of all of the physical violence I've endured I find more and more that I really don't like being touched. I used to be a touchy-feely person. I loved holding someone's hand, getting hugs, feeling someone's hand on my shoulder as companionship or comfort.

I learned a while back that I can't handle a massage. I was offered a free massage at a support group as a method of relaxation. I had never had one before and looked forward to it. Then as soon as it started I was immediately transported back to when my ex would come up behind me and hold me down, hands all over me, a foot or arm across my neck or throat to hold me still, elbows jabbing my back to make me stay still, a kick in the head to make me stay put. I was frozen in place and couldn't move, literally stuck there until it was finished. Thus I will never again have a massage, because although it's intended to be a good thing, for me it's literally torture. At the hospice where I volunteer they do free massages every Friday. The woman running it would see me there doing groceries and always offer me one. It was very considerate of her, particularly since they were often booked up, but every time I had to turn her down. I always felt bad that she'd think I was being rude, but I couldn't tell her why, it's not a reason I go around advertising.

A hand on my shoulder, especially unexpected, makes me nearly jump out of my skin. I startle easily, more easily than a lot of people ever expect ... they often think I'm over-reacting, and I am, but not intentionally. It comes from the same source, one of being attacked from behind, being dragged off to have unspeakable things done to me,

If anyone's going to touch me at all, it has to be someone I know really well. Someone I know 100% for sure isn't going to hurt me, physically or otherwise. That is a very short list.

The other day I was reminded that if I ever got fat I would be shot. He has always said that fat people (and children) should all be shot, as he has no use for any of them. I had mis-heard something and thought he'd called me fat and he reminded me if I was, that he could easily get a gun at any time and he would shoot me. He wasn't kidding (though really, who would ever kid about something like that). So my bubble would also have to be bulletproof.

Preferably my bubble would be slightly opaque, so people couldn't really see me completely or clearly. Then if the tears that live directly behind my eyes all the time happened to break free I wouldn't have to worry about anyone seeing. I wouldn't have to worry that someone was looking at me, scrutinizing, criticizing, ready to break me down. I could just walk through a crowd virtually unnoticed.

The problem with bubbles is that although it would keep out all the bad things, it would also keep out all the good things. Like a warm hug from a sister, the smiles of friends, conversations with normal, decent people about anything and nothing.

For now I'll keep my imaginary bubble around me, protecting me from the known and unknown..... then hopefully when the time is right I'll take out a pin and burst it and just walk right out of it and into the sunshine.

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?