Can I Tell You a Secret?

My list of confessions:

• 5. I used to belt out Broadway Show tunes, at the top of my lungs, in my parents living room. I'd even move furniture around to create "sets" and act out full shows. This was nothing compared to the encore act in the shower each night. 
• 4. At times I can throw tantrums like a 3 year old. Seriously, I act like a 3 year old. I know this because I've watched how my 3-- now 4-- year old's and I think, "Hey, that looks familiar."
• 3. Compliments are the only fish I like to catch, and I go fishing for them frequently.
• 2. I can be very vain about my looks. I often pretend that I don't think I belong among the super gorgeous. But truth be told, I think I'm pretty hot.
• 1. And my ultimate number one confession, that I have really struggled to share openly,-- which for me means I still share it, I'm just not as confident when I do-- is:

I suffer from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. 

One reason this confession is so hard is because I have never been formally diagnosed. I have talked to people, who have gone through the same thing as me, and we've discussed the recovery. We both have had extremely similar experiences and they say that they were diagnosed with PTSD. And, a year after the emotionally traumatic event in my life occurred, I started to wonder why I was sinking even deeper into my emotional pit. By all means I should have been getting better. Well I came across a definition of PTSD and, based on the fact that my counselor had told me that I had suffered emotional trauma, I decided that must be why I was relapsing so bad.

So I get a little sheepish when saying it, but, even if I have misdiagnosed myself, I think this still gives a pretty good idea of what I've been going through for the last year or so. And since I struggle to talk about it I decided to throw myself in, whole hog, and write a blog post about it.

So here is my story.

Right after the emotionally traumatic event I started to notice things would trigger certain emotional responses-- the terms "trigger" and "trauma" actually came from my counselor. These responses would be different then anything I had ever felt. It would take all of my mental focus just to concentrate on functioning baseline normal. But even so things slowly got better. I still had triggers everyday, but I was getting more on top of them. Then the year mark hit. I started falling fast. Things got worse, more debilitating and more frequent. I could never fully recover from one days occurrences to then be able to cope with what came the next day. And that's how I lived for a good while. Never really fully functioning, always just getting by. My mental capacity was working overtime just to trying to cope with what was triggering my emotional responses everyday. There was no room to cope with anything else. This led to other things causing milder forms of trauma. I kept thinking I could find the answers within. I had learned how to handle emotions and situations before. But I didn't realize this was bigger than me, and I would need help from the outside.

They say what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. Well, that's not always true. What hadn't killed me was making me weaker. Everyday my strength would seep away, and I would slowly lose the will to fight my emotional demons. I would try to envision myself as a fallen hero. One who seemed to have just taken the last hard punch they could possibly take. They fall to the ground and all appears to be lost. Then slowly, a strength ignites inside and a force beckons them to stand up. With every ounce of strength in their muscles they work to gain back their ground and continue the fight once more. But then came the question, "What is it that I am fighting for?" I didn't know. And until I knew, my hero could never fully rise. 

So what happens when something triggers one of these responses. I've worked really hard on fully assessing my situations.

One thing that happens is I get cold, so I'm often seen with a sweater in hand. Being cold and unable to cope do not go hand in hand. In fact, when it was really bad, I would take a hot shower, and spend several hours under blankets, just to get to a place where I could start thinking/talking about what had happened.

I will often get really fidgety. I will move around in my chair a lot just trying to find some position that is comfortable.

I will also start taking deep breaths. Sometimes I won't even notice until my lungs get really tired and I realize I had to take a series of deep breaths just to get to the car, or walk down the hall.

I can also get extremely over stimulated. I've pleaded with my 4 year old to "just please go downstairs" because I was so over stimulated his obstinate attitude left me feeling like someone was rubbing sandpaper up and down my skin.

I will usually phase out. My social skills will go completely out the window. I'll get a sort of zoned, or dazed, look on my face. I'm aware enough to try and bring myself down to a fairly normal level, but it's one of those things that takes a lot of mental strength to do. Usually when I phase out it's because I'm trying to find a place where my stimuli can take a breather. I try to sink into a world where I can possibly cope with what just happened, but in order to do so I have to try and become numb to all my surroundings. When this happens what I really need is someone to talk me out of it. I won't take the strength to start a conversation-- that requires too much of my concentration. But if someone would talk to me and start asking questions it would trigger the good response, I've tried to create, where I try to answer any and all questions, to the fullest extent and as honest as possible.

Another major marker of these episodes is the desire to cry. Back when I struggled everyday, whenever I left the house I would just want to break down and cry. I would go to the grocery store and I would pep talk my way through each isle, "One foot in front of the other. Just keep breathing. We can do this. You don't need to fall down in cry." The sad thing is as I did this I would look at people with such desperation. I kept hoping someone would be able to somehow sense that there was a war going on inside me. Sometimes I would wish I could just collapse, so that everyone would rush to my aide. Maybe then I could get the help I was so desperately seeking.

I felt so trapped by my situation. Because of what had happened to cause this trauma I was advised by many to keep it to myself. I understood why they said this. They all had a point. But having to keep silent when I was up against this battle had become intolerable. So intolerable I was almost ready to run up to strangers in grocery stores and ask if they would please help me. It hurt to keep silent. In fact it was torture.

So what now?

I lacked the skills I needed to get through this and I couldn't come out of it enough to gain those skills. Everything was so suffocating. I was fighting a battle where the battle had started to fight me. The light at the end of the tunnel diminished. I tried to stick to my plans. I tried to stay on track with life. I just kept going thinking one day, I would get through it all, the hard parts would be over and I would come out of it thinking, "Whew! That was hard, but it's over and I'm better for it." Well then things got even worse. I started school and the stress just started to crush me. I felt stupid and inept. I couldn't get a handle my class. I couldn't see why I was going through all of this. I couldn't see a future where all of this work felt worth it. I tried looking at online groups of people who had gone through similar things. But all those proved to just be more triggers. I couldn't bring myself to read their stories. It hurt too bad! I tried to stick with the church, but I was too far gone for those things to touch and inspire me. I was lost. I didn't know how to go back. My emotional trauma had given me trust issues. How could I put my trust into something that required faith, and faith alone? Some will complain about friends who are negative all the time, but the truth is sometimes positivity just hurts. I had reached that point.

Well, it took some drastic changes, and hard decisions, but I finally found my hope. Suddenly I could see a future worth working towards, worth fighting for. I learned how to look for help outside of me. I learned to have faith again and I could see God's hand in my life. I honestly love my life! I love my kids! I am just awestruck with how content and happy I feel right now. I haven't felt this way for almost 3 years. I love being a mom, and I love that I love it again. And most importantly, I'm learning to love me. I love who I was before marriage, I love the incredibly awesome person I am now. I'm so excited for what my future holds, and I can't wait to show the world what awesome things I'm made of. It will take a lot of hard work, but I think I have found a good path. And I think I've learned how to stay on it.

Now sometimes I do relapse. I have had two episodes since then. One took almost a full week to recover from. But its OK because, in reality, I'm grateful for these moments. They are so hard to get through, but they are reminders that what I went through was real. I didn't just make it up in my head. The things I felt, the way I felt, was all real. And it really impacted me. 

So there you go. The "incredibly open me" has opened up some more. Like I said, I don't officially know if they would classify what I have as PTSD, but at least know that what I went through, and am still going through, is real :).