PTSD - 2

As much as I would like to shout from the rooftops that I am cured from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), I am not. I have good days and not-so-good days. Today would fall under the latter. I have made some significant steps with the help of all of the people that support me and of course God.

I have been going back to therapy. I see Cheryl Wolf, a wonderful and very empathetic therapist (www.integralhealercwolf.com). She has been helping me through cognitive therapy. In my sessions with Cheryl, we talk through how I am handling triggers. A trigger is something or someone that sets off a chain of associations, thoughts, emotions, and memories. She also helps me work through the aspects of PTSD that I do not understand. Cheryl is also very reassuring and answers any questions I have about thoughts or behavior.

I have also started to see a psychiatrist in town. I see Dr. Xu at Provena St. Mary’s Behavior Health Network. Dr. Xu works mainly with medication. He helps me to understand which medication would be best to help me and how to take it appropriately. He also helps me to understand side effects and the adjustments I will see as a result of the medication. I see him every few weeks to talk about how the medication is working. If I need an adjustment in medication he will take care of that. I have only seen him twice, but so far he is pretty nice. He has prescribed a new medication to help me work through the symptoms of PTSD and the subsequent depression. I will readily admit that in the beginning I was hesitant about taking medication. I have had several conversations with people about it. I have come to the conclusion that there is medication for colds and the flu. We have medications for headaches and stomach pains. Why not take a medication that will help relieve the symptoms of PTSD and depression? Few have argued that this type of medication is not necessary and should not be taken. My response to them is to come back and talk to me when they have been dealing with an issue like this for a week or two (or in my case years).

The next step in my recovery process is trying something new. I am willing to confess that I am very nervous about this step. I am seeing another therapist, in addition to Cheryl, that specializes in a process called Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing (EMDR). EMDR “attends to the past experiences that have set the groundwork for pathology, the current situations that trigger dysfunctional emotions, beliefs and sensations, and the positive experience needed to enhance future adaptive behaviors and mental health. During treatment various procedures and protocols are used to address the entire clinical picture. One of the procedural elements is ‘dual stimulation’ using either bilateral eye movements, tones or taps. During the reprocessing phases the client attends momentarily to past memories, present triggers, or anticipated future experiences while simultaneously focusing on a set of external stimulus. During that time, clients generally experience the emergence of insight, changes in memories, or new associations. The clinician assists the client to focus on appropriate material before initiation of each subsequent set” (EMDR Institute, Inc.) If you want more information on this process you can go to www.emdr.com. I will be seeing Mr. Jon Dodds for this therapy (www.jondoddscounseling.com). Therapists have to go through training to become certified to use EMDR. The therapist that I currently go to does not have that certification. I am lucky that Mr. Dodds is willing to work alongside my current therapist. So far I have only spoken with Mr. Dodds on the phone. He seems very nice. I am very nervous about going and about attempting the EMDR process. Confronting the issues head on that terrify me the most is not something I look forward to.

So why am I writing about this? I have a few reasons. First, I want people to know that while this is a scary issue, it does not need to be hidden. This is also not a problem to be ashamed of. I am not proud of having PTSD, but I do not feel that it needs to be hidden. I have it. It is here and it is part of what makes me who I am. I also want people to understand my never-ending pleas for prayer. This is a terrifying time for me. Every now and then I will have a moment where my body completely relaxes. Almost every time that happens I get a text or an instant message saying that someone is praying for me. That is proof to me that prayer works and that God is, in fact, here with me. I have times when I doubt. I have doubted a few times today to tell the truth. The important part is that deep down I know that He is here and He is carrying me through this. I know this must be true because I am still getting out of bed and I am still pushing through the day. I am pretty sure that this would not be happening if God was not carrying me through. Finally, I write this because it is somewhat therapeutic. It makes me feel a little relieved to see it all written down. I am not completely able to release it, but I think that when I write this all down I am able to give up a small part of the load that I am carrying.

Thank you to all who been so supportive.

Something New!

I am excited to announce that I will be attempting something new. I am going to try to learn how to quilt. This probably isn't thrilling news for many, but I am pretty excited about it. I have so many ideas floating around in my head. I cannot wait to try them all out. So far I have learned some quilting vocabulary. For example I now know that:

batting is the lining between the top and the bottom layers of the quilt.

binding is the part that finishes off the edge of the quilt.

lattice is the fabric that frames each block of the quilt.

Okay, so it's not a vaulting start, but it's something, right? I have been emphatically looking at different patterns (very easy ones) and different types of fabric. I have been looking at the possibility of using a quilt kit to start. Mostly I have been daydreaming like you wouldn't believe. But then, daydreaming is what I do best.

One of the best pieces of news to come from this is that there may be a Stitch-n-Bitch group forming. This is fantastic news! How much more fun will it be to figure this all out while spending time with friends!

Wish me luck. I have big plans!

adults

I am extremely tired of trying to deal with life in the adult world. I am thankful for my everyday issues and the happenings of each new adventure, but I must say that I am truly confused by what I can only assume is human nature. Why must adults always act as though they have no clue about life. I spend a fair amount of time with children and have found that their dealings with the heavy issues makes so much more sense.

Rather than beat around the bush, I will simply get to the point. I don't understand some of my co-workers when they act out in angry, teenage-like gestures. I don't understand when people say that they are being supportive and then turn and walk away. I literally had someone come on chat today and tell me that if I felt like talking he/she is a good listener. I started typing my response and this person signed off. What was that?!

At this point in time I prefer eleven-year-olds. Simplicity Simplicity Simplicity!

Days like today and posts like this make me glad that no one reads this blog. I just need to vent and publish.

PTSD - 1

So here it is. I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder or PTSD. I was diagnosed with this thorn in my side when I was about sixteen years old. At that time I was given medication to help me work through the symptoms, but I really didn’t get any counseling for my PTSD. Looking back I can’t imagine why someone didn’t recommend I be put in counseling specifically for PTSD. In my defense I was only sixteen and I didn’t really understand what to do. In everyone else’s defense I had struggled with an eating disorder and had been in counseling for that, so they probably didn’t think pursuing anything further was necessary. Either way the counseling for PTSD didn’t happen.

For those of you that are hearing about PTSD for the first time, according to The Nebraska Department of Veterans’ Affairs, “PTSD, or Posttraumatic Stress Disorder, is a psychiatric disorder that can occur following the experience or witnessing of a life-threatening events such as military combat, natural disasters, terrorist incidents, serious accidents, or physical or sexual assault in adult or childhood. Most survivors of trauma return to normal given a little time. However, some people will have stress reactions that do not go away on their own, or may even get worse over time. These individuals may develop PTSD. People who suffer from PTSD often relive the experience through nightmares and flashbacks, have difficulty sleeping, and feel detached or estranged, and these symptoms can be severe enough and last long enough to significantly impair the person’s daily life.”

My life threatening experience was an accumulation of events from my childhood. I believe the hub of this disorder is rooted in my step-mother’s attempted suicide. This is a life-threatening event that I witnessed, so it would make sense for it to be a major contributor to my PTSD. My step-mother survived her attempt, but assured everyone that she would, in fact, try again. This happened when I was thirteen years old. Upon her return home, I spent every moment expecting to find her dead. I was not sure how she would attempt to end her life so my mind began to see everything as an opportunity for her to finish what she’d started. I would walk very slowly around corners looking for shadows and listening for any indication of what might be waiting for me. I was on watch every moment of every day. While this was all frightening, I was also terrified that she would hurt me or even my father. I had overheard someone say that if she can do that to herself, imagine what she could do to someone else. Therefore, when I was not watching to see if I would walk in on her second attempt, I was watching my back at every turn to be sure that she wasn’t after me or my dad. Obviously, this was a terrifying time. It lasted solidly from when I was thirteen to when I was eighteen and able to leave.

So I lived. I left. I went to college. I earned a bachelor’s and then a master’s degree; both related to education. I am not married. I do not have children. I do have a wonderful roommate. She is my sister in Christ and I love her dearly. I have a beautiful family in her and her two beautiful children. I have a wide spread support system. I go to a lovely church that is filled with some truly lovely people. I have a job that is stressful at times, but can be rewarding. My life is filled with beautiful blessings. Why then am I stuck in the past? Why am I dwelling on what is over and done with? The answer to that question is agonizingly simple: because my brain won’t let me do anything else. The thorn in my side that is PTSD will not release the images of what I lived through. Instead my brain replays the horrific events of my past as if it is stuck on repeat. I have nightmares and flashbacks. I have anxiety attacks. I have debilitating fears. While I have physically moved on to a safer and more beautiful surrounding, my brain has remained trapped in the past.

So now what? Do I just live this way? Is my life always going to be enveloped in fear? Can my past really control my future? The answer to all of these questions is painfully complex. I can take medication to help with the symptoms. I can receive cognitive therapy to work through my past and the symptoms of my PTSD. I can push through each day and continue to fight for freedom and peace of mind. I do not have to live my life this way forever. It may seem that way at times, but I do not have to be trapped in my past for the rest of my life. My past can control my future, but only if I let it. What my step-mother did not know all of those years is that in between the torturous fear that she created I was praying and calling on God. I was developing a support system. I was making plans for my future. I was educating myself and pursuing a life outside of the abusive walls she was putting up. What she didn’t know is that I’m a fighter. Not physically, though I would like to think I could hold my own, but mentally and emotionally. I’m a fighter and I have the most amazing support on my side: Jesus.

I AM SPARTACUS

Life is taking a slight turn. My roommate is currently getting her master's degree in professional/school counseling. She says I'm having an early mid-life transition (aka midlife crisis). Because I am so confused, I have decided to agree. My life was consumed with volunteer work up until June/July.

I was fostering dogs. I still seem to have more than just four dogs in my house, but I'm not officially fostering anymore. Right now I have a gorgeous eleven-year-old German Shepherd. His name is Spartacus. He is looking for a home. Interested?

I was working as a hotline/hospital crisis volunteer for a sexual assault center. The work I did there was almost more aggravating than rewarding. I know that not all volunteer work is meant to be rewarding, but I didn't really feel like I was helping anyone. I had an extremely negative experience with an ER doctor and since then I have just felt a little useless.

I am currently a CASA (Court Appointed Special Advocate). I would love to vent about this, but unfortunately I'm not supposed to. I will just say that I feel like the system is keeping me from doing anything helpful or useful.

I pretty much feel useless all around. I know this is turning into a "poor me" post, but I am just trying to explain where my early onset midlife-transition is coming from.

Anyway...I am currently trying to "find myself." I have no idea how I am going to go about doing that.

My Scars

If I colored in all of my scars what would I look like? Would I be spotted with decaying drops like acid rain, or would I be covered head to toe in the everlasting imperfection that is my history? Sometimes I sit and examine my hand, my arms, my stomach, my legs. I remember the boiling pain of the iron skillet when I touch the white slash on the back of my hand. I can feel the ripping pain of wood on skin when I run my fingers across the knuckles on my left hand. The thin red line inside my belly button takes me back to the surgery and fear of the unknown. My scars go by unnoticed by others, but I can touch and remember each tearing memory. I can still feel the skin ripping and burning. My scars are constant reminders of my physical history. I wonder through, what about the part of me that no one sees. What does the inside of me, my soul, look like? Am I completely unrecognizable? Would I know myself if I caught a glimpse of my scar-covered soul?

My Meesh

This is a picture I took of my dog, Meshach, at the Kankakee River State Park last summer. It is probably my favorite and the best picture I've ever taken. I did adjust the contrast, but beyond that it's just the picture. Poor Meesh is usually my model. I try to snag my roommate's daughter, Madi, sometimes, but she gets sick of it pretty fast. I really do love photography. I wish I had more time to spend on it. I would love to be a more devoted photographer. Maybe someday.

The children who go unnoticed

I am a CASA, a Court Appointed Special Advocate. I consider this role a blessing and a curse. I hate that I have to do someone else's job. I hate that I have to watch these children go unnoticed by so many people that are supposed to care for them. It breaks my heart and crushes my soul to see the oldest boy in my case fake laughter to please the adults around him. I hate seeing someone so young look so hopeless, lifeless, and altogether empty.

When I am not being bitter, I think to myself that maybe, just maybe, I can be of some help to these children. I can help them be noticed by someone; maybe not a very important someone, but someone nonetheless. These children are, in part, the inspiration for my blog title. I am fighting for them to be fearless. I want them to live a life of fearlessness. It may not happen, but I can try.

I am far FAR from a poet, but sometimes when I write down my thoughts, they flow in a poetic nature. This is what I wrote the first time I met the oldest boy in my case.

He walks down the stairs in bare feet
Unsure of the questions that lie ahead
Mistrust mistaken for shyness
An unknown entity writing all he’s said

Traveling down a path of memories and lies
With quiet and unsure responses
Tip toeing through nameless places
Not wanting to burn bridges

Random Thoughts

Random Thought #1:

So I decided that I should finish my master's degree. Tonight was the first class of my second to last course...still with me? I am currently questioning many aspects of this program. My first clue, I suppose, was when the professor came in and announced that she would not be giving us a syllabus. Instead, she proclaimed, she would be giving us a list of what she would like to cover; however, this list is not what we will actually be covering. I left class not knowing what we are actually going to be doing. I am fairly certain and I am supposed to go back though.

Random Thought #2:

By day I fight the illiterate and generally unenlightened as the unmasked avenger of all things literature and elements of reading. I am blessed with a large group of unruly, pubescent, and often smelly teenagers. I am a ninth grade English teacher. Through this vocation I have been witness to many mishaps, embarrassing moments, life changing events, and so so so much more. One of my favorite moments happened when a class was reading "The Most Dangerous Game." This short story centers around hunting big game. When we were discussing what big game actually is, one student asked if people ever actually ate elephants. In an attempt to express her profound knowledge another student shouted, "DUH! Elephant ears!" I had to explain to her, ever so gently, that elephant ears are not in fact made from actual elephants. I am sure this will remain a source of shame for her for many years.

Random Thought #3:

Right now I am taking a break from creating an informative packet for my students. When I make these packets I spend several grueling hours trying to come up with the most effective format and the easiest to understand directions. I am usually disappointed when, after handing out said packets, students respond with what seems like five trillion questions. I am always so discouraged because when I am making these packets I am certain that this will be The One. This packet of information will be the most informative and the easiest to understand. While I know I am only leading myself on, I am going to continue with this pipe dream.