PTSD

When I was first diagnosed with PTSD over 10 years ago, it had been after I was horribly beat by my, at that time, boyfriend.  I remember being told it was this “thing” that I had because I was having nightmares and anxiety attacks.  I’m like okay, whatever.   Never thought much of it.  I have depression too, which makes me sad and tired all the time.  I’m borderline (personality disorder), because of blah, blah, blah.  Sure I was put on meds, sure I was recommended counseling, but no one ever really, sat down with me and said because you have this, you act like this, because of this.  Never  I never really understood what having any of these things actually meant.

Especially not PTSD.

I’ve been convinced it was my severe ADHD that was making me act the way I did and my more recent discovery of how anxious I really am (when I learned what anxiety really was!). I just started with a new counseling office (about three months ago) and I explained that now that I understand more of what ADHD was, I wanted to be put on medication to help me throughout my day.  I also shared my history as a survivor of sexual and physical abuse for most of my life, the cutting, and drug addiction that followed and my story of how I got sober (charged with a felony and thrown in rehab with a big help from becoming a born again Christian while incarcerated) and how I wanted to start counseling again.

Then I met Lucy.

An older Hispanic woman, who I chose to counsel without meeting her, only because of her bilingual capabilities.  I had been wanted a bilingual counselor for several years so that I could bring in Andres at times to help us work on our marriage.  I was drawn to her right away.  She has proven to be the best counselor I have ever had in such a short time.  I don’t know what it is about her, but I like her and my husband likes her.  He said “She seems very interested in you.”

Haha, she’s a counselor babe. That’s what they do.  In Mexico he hasn’t had any experience with counselors or really what they do.  He was poor and if someone was struggling mentally, he didn’t realized it and they most currently did not go seek a “counselor.”  He literally told me they don’t have counselors in Mexico.  I doubt that’s true. He’s just crazy. haha.

Lucy led the discussions, which I liked, Nicole (my last counselor) was basically like okay what’s happening with you this week.  I basically used her to vent and sort out my thoughts.  Don’t get me wrong, I really liked Nicole, I just wanted someone to press a little more, give me assignments, work on myself more.  She did help me learn to have time to myself and say no when I don’t really want to do something for someone else.  She helped me learn that I deserve respect and I need to put up more boundaries.  I’m grateful for that.

However, Lucy is the one who recognized my PTSD.  That is was very severe.  I had shared an entry I had written, expressing how anxious I was when I heard or saw people or cars near by, among many other things.  She mentioned that it sounded more like PTSD than ADHD and that the two can mirror each other at times.  I wondered if all this time it was PTSD and not ADHD.  And over the years, I have seen my symptoms progress and progress to the point where they’ve taken over my life.  I just assumed it was my ADHD getting worse, which is why I finally sought help for it.

In that same session, we discussed a little bit about PTSD and I shared how when I remember being raped at 10, I was always on the outside looking in, like a movie or something, but at times, I try to put myself in the 10 year old’s place, trying to remember and imagine what was happening and what she (I) was feeling at that time.  I don’t know what happened, but in that session, something snapped.

As soon as I got to my car, I started bawling hysterically and couldn’t stop.  I tried to process it. It felt as though, I felt very vulnerable, like a small, scared child.  I thought maybe me visualizing me at ten, broke that little girl out of her bubble because I no longer saw it from the outside, I was living it.  I partially felt like I was mourning.  I remember telling my sister that that little girl died that day.

That night, I read up on PTSD, which caused me to have more panic attacks, more triggers.  As I sat learning about what PTSD is and its symptoms, I felt some kind of relief, like OMG, that is exactly how I am! Or now I know what’s wrong with me.  I had a tribe.  I still felt like no one else could possibly understand me.  I tried to tell my sister what I was going through and she admitted that she felt like I was just trying to get attention.  That really upset me, cause I have fought so long to be a strong, sane person and here we are again, with me having a mental breakdown.  I was so strong before, I had moved on, right?  I couldn’t afford to have a break down, with all my responsibility and I also felt an immense amount of shame because I shouldn’t still be stuck on the stuff that happened to me.  I felt unworthy of my pain and tears.  I felt I was being dramatic or stupid.  I even questioned myself if I truly was just seeking out attention.

I came to the conclusion that I am not.

I was scared to leave my house for days.  I arranged someone else to work for me for two of my work days.  I cried constantly and learned new triggers which brought back new memories. Everything I do, everything I see, everything I hear or think, leads back to me being abused.  I even tried a guided mediation, which has always been helpful in the past, and the things they were asking me to imagine, only caused me to imagine horrors happening to me.  One was asking me to envision a shadow or spirit standing over me, might have even said, protecting me, but it doesn’t matter, once my head went there, I envisioned a dark, huge shadow looming over me (perhaps even on top on me like my brother was that night), so of course, when she said, the spirit puts his healing hands on you, I first envisioned those shadowing hands massaging my shoulders (which bought back yet another flashback) which quickly traded into choking me.  I was completely tense and breathing hard trying to force myself to relax, but my the time I have that last flashback, I forced my exhausted body up out of bed to change the mediation to something else.  The next one even caused flashbacks and triggers, so I decided to stick to mediation music and binaural beats for relaxation.  Its been impossible for me to sleep and I most certainly don’t get the much needed 7-8 hours a night since starting my new job and not getting home until 2 and having to be back up at 7.  I try to squeeze in naps whenever I can, which is often or for very long.

I have came to accept that I have PTSD.  Possibly even CPTSD.

I long for others who are like me to talk to.  I long to have people who understand me.  Ones that won’t judge me, that won’t abandon me or say I’m making it up or that I need to get over it.  Or tell me I need to calm down or control myself.  That’s the worst thing, when my husband tells me to calm down or control myself, because in that moment, I can’t.  I can’t control my emotions, I can’t calm down, and so I just absolutely lose it when he tells me that.  Either I pull within because I feel like I must be being ridiculous since he said that.  He’s not really emotional and is just learning to understand whats wrong with me, like I am. I’m convinced I have to control myself.  I’m not allowed to yell or scream, or fight or cry.  I’m not allowed to feel.  I’m not allowed to be me.  I constantly try to control how I react in situations so when I lose it, it extremely affects me because I want to control myself but can’t. I feel so much shame when I get to a high level of anger and frustration and have an angry outburst to Andres or the kids.   My heart breaks when I make my children cry because I’m screaming at them to pick up their toys or go to bed.  I feel like such a bad mother most of the time. And even worse because as much of a great person I am and how controlling I can get, I can’t control myself.  So much regret and guilt.

I just feel so alone and scared that I won’t ever escape this hell I’m living in.

I feel so alone.