The New Face of PTSD

I read an interesting article the other day on Medium about PTSD. The writer opined that PTSD has changed from the war torn soldier facing demons from what they encountered during operational duties to one that affects many people in day to day lives, and how this change causes people to react differently to someone who has PTSD from abuse, a serious medical injury, severe emotional bullying from parents or witnessing horrific acts, or being made to particiapte in horrific acts, from someone who has PTSD from being in the military or a police officer.

Interesting as I was just talking to my husband about this very topic last week. The typical spin on PTSD, or, as it is called in the military and RCMP, an OSI...Operational Stress Injury, kind of confirms this line of thinking; PTSD from an operational perspective is somehow more damaging psychologically than PTSD from being beaten and raped as a child, being traumatized by another adult or facing a life altering event.

After studying trauma for the past thirty years, and extensively for the past three years, I can tell you, trauma is trauma, no matter what you call it or how you dress it up, or under what circumstances it was conceived in.

The reactions are the same: sever anxiety, depression, grief, drug and alcohol abuse to numb the pain, hyper vigilance, hyper startle reflex, insomnia, nightmares, night terrors, anger, uncontrollable rage. Then there are the physiological responses: ulcers, severe acid reflux, digestive problems, internal organ damage from the onslaught of cortisol coursing through the body, vagus nerve damage, headaches, nausea, migraines, tinnitus, vomiting, heart palpitations, angina, internal bleeding, brain aneurysms, muscle and nerve damage, fibromyalgia, and much more.

What you do not hear about is how many women commit suicide because of horrific abuse suffered by the hands of their parents during childhood. Or, how many people have severe PTSD after being beaten and abused, emotionally or mentally from their partners. Sexual crimes against women are still being debated as to whether it is consensual or not, regardless of the emotional damage.

Coaches, Priests, and Boy Scout Leaders that systematically traumatized boys in their care, either verbally, physically or sexually, are not outed until the victim comes forward. And then, typically, the victim has to fight the stigma of being a male that was raped. And then he gets the added benefit of PTSD.

We have to start making the connection that any type of assault on people, verbal, sexual, or physical creates long lasting, damaging consequences. Bullying of any form on anyone, whether in the workplace, schools, homes, universities or the hockey arena creates damage that is not easily repaired.

We need to understand the depth of violence we create and are responsible for, with our actions. And most of all, we need to support and help the people that are injured. We need to listen. We need to sincerely apologize, and we need to acknowledge their pain.

Far too long we have been silent or silenced because it makes others uncomfortable. That is unacceptable.

If you suffer from trauma, speak out, get help, talk to someone you trust. There are numerous resources available in Canada and the US either through your work, in the mental heath community or through the medical community. Reach out. Say something, say anything. You matter.

If you cannot speak out, write it out. Take twenty minute and write or draw, anything. Let the feelings and the emotions pour out. You do not have to be grammatically correct, or an artist to release the demons. Draw and write whatever spews forth, and then burn it. The very act of pouring out your thoughts rather than stuffing them down, and then burning away those thoughts can bring about a feeling of catharsis. And maybe, one day, you will be strong enough to seek help. Do this for yourself. Do this for the people that love you.

Sometimes, we are harder on ourselves than we are on others. We believe we are at fault, we deserve the crappy life we are wallowing in, because somehow we said or did the wrong thing, we were in the wrong place at the wrong time, we dressed inappropriately, we said something that upset the balance, and nothing could be further from the truth. We keep ourselves locked up from guilt and shame, because it is easier to believe we had control over the event and that somehow we can prevent it from happening again, if we dress correctly, not speak up or out, if we follow the rules, if we tried harder, if we remain silent. This is reinforced by others who fear the same thing can happen to them, so well-meaning friends and relatives will tell you, if you hadn’t been walking alone at night, you would not have been assaulted; if you had not been drunk, you would have been safe; if you were not alone with the coach or priest, you would not have been molested; if you had not made your partner angry, you would have not been beaten.

I’ve had trauma survivors tell me that their children have disclosed abuse, and the children are lying because they are seeking attention. These adults are so damaged, that they cannot see what is happening in front of them and choose to believe their child is at fault, and consequently, they are at fault as well for their own abuse.

Years ago a small town in Alberta had a disproportionate number of rapes. The solution? Do not allow women to walk outside after 8:00 PM. Instead of locking up the men, they locked up the women.

This magical thinking serves two purposes: it keeps people scared so they do not repeat what you did and they believe that keeps them safe, and it reinforces the lesson that you are at fault.

Change is difficult, and the people in our lives will be uncomfortable with changes we make to keep ourselves healthy. Be prepared to lose friends and family. But, also look forward to having some control over your life. Accept that you deserve peace, stability and love. People who love you, will support you. There is hope.

Canadian Resources: 
Kids Help Phone 1-800-668-6868
Crisis Services Canada: 1-833-456-4566 or text 45645
Native Youth Crisis Line: 1-877-209-1266
Centre for Suicide Prevention: 1-833-456-4566
American Resources:
Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255

https://www.mentalhealthfirstaid.org/mental-health-resources/

#mentalhealthmatters

Living with Depression

I have had one foot through the veil my entire life. There are days when the whole leg is through the veil. Today, three quarters of me was there. I did not want to live any longer. I probably will not post this for a while because I am not through the worst of it, but not ready to talk yet. Or maybe I won't ever post it.

I am so worn out by major illnesses and my body breaking down. I am worn out from the pain, mentally, physically and emotionally. So far, the past 8 years have been hell. Lots of great moments, but some very terrible, lost in the agony of screaming on the inside moments, that, I guess, once a year, I hit the saturation point and I am done.

Today was that day. Today, I wanted to kill myself. I told my husband we should divorce so I can die. I thought of my grand children, my husband, my kids and the dogs. I made him admin of all the FB accounts I have so he can tell people, she gave up. I have told him no more dogs, because if I do do it, I don't want to hurt them. I thought about my estranged son, and wondered if it would matter to him.

My son hasn't spoken to me, really spoken to me in three years I think now. I honestly don't know him. I thought I did. He and I were the closest growing up. Yes, I did grow up with my children. And he is the one that is most like me. But I do not recognize him anymore. He is married. And gone.

My mind, body and heart are broken, and pieces of me are scattered throughout world. My soul is in the Netherlands, my heart is in BC, and my mind is lost simply touring the world and wanting me to be whole. I don't think that is possible anymore. I think I will always be the person with the pieces of her soul missing. I don't know if this was the Devine plan, to never feel like I matter to anyone other than my partner and my animals and the odd person. If so, you learned me. Don't know what point is though. I would have rather walked the earth a solitary unit than have a family that is living in the same city that I don't see.

Maybe there is something missing in me. Something that people cannot stand to be around for long periods of time. Maybe I am meant to be alone. I wish I knew. I wish I had the answer to why I am always being abandoned and torn apart. I feel like Prometheous. My liver gets eaten by birds every day, and in great agony, I endure it, only to have my liver regrow to be eaten again.

When is enough, enough? Will I ever beat this demon? I have lived with it so long now, it has become a part of me. My first dance with attempted suicide was at 14, then 17, and then I thought about it more numerous times than I care to remember. Some days life is meaningless and that is okay. It is the days when the soul ripping banshee tears through my mind and body and all I can feel is pain, immense pain physically and emotionally, that I cannot do it one more second.

I have just been diagnosed with cervical stenosis, on top of the fibromyalgia, ruptured brain aneurysms, another brain aneurysm, major surgeries etc.

In my head and heart, I've been wanting to not exist since I was three, the year the abuse started. And I believe the abuse changed the biochemicals in my body to disrupt and destroy my immune system, along with my emotional centres. As I continue to age, my autoimmune system destroys more and more of me, one cartilage at a time.

I went to the orthopaedic surgeon and told him, I thought I was two decades away from this. He didn't say anything.

What does all this mean? I really don't know. But the one thing I am certain of, is without my husband, I would not be here.

Today, I choose to live. For now.

August 2016

13 REASONS WHY

I was in a bit of a quandary as to where to blog this, but I still don't know if I am going to write a book review or an op-ed piece on the content. And, I guess I figured it will be a better fit here, because I can talk about anything, not just the writing, the characters, the pace, the story line, the theme, plot or a myriad of other writerly things.

I watched the Neflix series in two days while I was at home convalescing after a somewhat serious heart condition. I cocoon and nest when I am ill because I have learned through life the only person I can truly rely on is myself. So I hide. I don't want anyone to see me and I become paralyzed until the sympathetic nervous system finally lets go a week or two later. So, for a week or so I binge watch TV, sleep and read. Is it healthy? I don't know. Does it work? Yup.

So during this time I watched 13 Reasons Why. It was profound, sad, frustrating, and so many other things that I do not have words for it. Someone mentioned on my FB post that his daughter watched it and was angry about it. I wondered why. Why would this story of a young girl being bullied, sexually assaulted, lied about and abused make someone angry.

Sadly, this is high school. It was like this when I went. It was like this when my children went, and I bet it's the same now. There was nothing this girl experienced that a million other girls didn't experience. The difference being, however, now we get photographic proof, or video proof and this abuse follows you home. It's on your laptop, your phone, on every phone in the high school. The proof stays there forever. Thirty years later, you can google and find that video of you being sexually assaulted.

And the whispers never stop. You walk into a room and the room goes silent. You know they were just talking about how you gave John a blowjob in the playground last night. Even though that didn't happen. You haven't even been kissed yet, but John decides he wants to save his reputation from you turning him down, by telling everyone what a slut you are. And remember. You are not one of them. You are the new kid in school, because your family moves every two years. So you are always the new kid.

Then the jocks think you are easy, so they start hitting on you, trapping you in the hallway, the classroom, outside, anywhere they can. And they touch you. You cannot stop it. Then when you cry, they call you a whore, a bitch, a slut and laugh. This goes to all of their friends and their girlfriends, and suddenly you are walking down the hall and everyone is making rude gestures, leaving nasty photos an notes in your locker, and tweeting it to all of their friends.

You are shopping with your family and one of the jocks mimics a blow job in front of your mother while looking at you. You wince and want to die.

You're at the corner store and someone else walks in, rubs himself on you while grabbing you. You can't move because you are trapped by the counter. He smiles and says something funny.

The next time an older guy you like invites you in for a coke. He's friendly and persuasive , and then gets nasty because you won't touch him. He rips your clothes off an rapes you. Then as you leave he says, "Please don't tell anyone about this." You walk off in a daze, blood running down your leg and you feel like your head is in the clouds. What just happened?

A few days later, a friend of your parents is visiting and he is leaving the bathroom as you open your bedroom door. He goes on his knees in front of you and mimics oral sex. You are 14 and have no clue what that means, but it makes you feel dirty and ugly and you feel like it's your fault.

This happens every single day in North America. And now with President Trump saying he can't stop himself from grabbing beautiful women by the crotch I realize what a different world we live in, men and women.

I read the book after the watching the series (the series was better) and I felt so bad for Hannah thinking she was all alone. Hannah, you are not alone. There are millions of you out there fighting off teachers, parents, uncles, step-fathers, cousins, brothers, landlords, and bosses.

Reading and watching this just reinforced how ugly it can be, to be a teenage girl in this predatory world. It makes me angry that we raise boys to think this is okay and we tell the girls "to get over it."

And then we wonder why depression is so high.

Vacation, Stress, PTSD

Vacation! That one time of year where we can relax, unwind, not think about work, responsibilities, the office atmospheres and take a break. In theory, that's how it works. In reality, the hyper vigilance does not shut down. The nightmares do not stop. The tremors and muscle jerks continue along with the insomnia, nausea and feeling you are in the wrong body or the wrong mind. Unfortunately for PTSD survivors (and I hate that word also). We are not surviving, we are enduring, at the mercy of our flight and fight system and at mercy from a brain that will not hang onto memories long enough to process, but tortures us on a daily basis with flashes and glimpses of what was, and what could be again.

For me, it is the exhaustion. The every day battle that common people never face. I get up in the morning and I am exhausted, not rested, not thrilled to have to get out of bed at 0500 hours to face another day. I hurt. Every single muscle hurts. The shoulders, neck and back are the worst and my legs feel as if I am walking through jello. So where most people feel refreshed, I haven't slept, or had nightmares or woke up crying. Shower, have coffee and run out the door. Go to work where I will put in a 9 to 10 hour day dealing with interruptions, inter office politics, and office bullies. But on the positive side are the clients, my staff and a few decent people that talk me off the ledge every once in a while.

I do not handle stupidity well, or bullies, or laziness and nothing raises my hackles more than someone who can complete a job for a client, but chooses not to. So I breathe. Count to ten. Kill them in my mind and let it go.

Dependent upon the day, I come home, feed the dogs, hang out with them for an hour, eat dinner and watch some TV with la spouse. Other days, I go straight to bed. Last weekend I went to bed Friday night and would up Monday morning.

Now it is vacations. No schedules. I plan on writing....a lot. And so far have managed to pull off what I have promised. Yesterday was a great day. Wrote in the morning, shopped in the afternoon and then entertained 6 friends and laughed, told stories and generally had a pleasant day.

Watched a movie, read a little bit and went to bed. And laid awake until 0500 hours. My mind would not shut down. I would read, nod off and think great, but no. Ten minutes later I am staring at the ceiling again. I tend to get a lot of books read this way, but unfortunately the headaches and fog I am left with means that today will be way less productive. I may get in 2000 words of a novel I am working on, or I may crash the rest of the day.

I eat well, I exercise, I quit drinking coffee before 1000, but regardless my brain has a mind of it's own. After the brain surgery, I did not sleep for five months. I cat napped, but that was it. I thought I would lose my mind. I have never recovered from that state, and I don't think I ever will.

We lost a person to PTSD two weekends ago. For him seeing the incedent that wouldn't leave his mind, was the last thing he could endure. Five years later, no longer being able to deal with the pain, physical and mental, he succeeded in killing himself.  This is the path for some PTSD survivors.

A month before that, we lost three police officers to a psychopath with a shotgun. Three good men, who were loved, had families and had a vision of leaving the world a better place.

Triggers all around. And now, here in Gimli, the most serene place in the world, I write horrific things. I write about demons and human nature and the evil that men and women, do. Because it helps me keep my own demons in check. And because I know that whatever I write, the truth is always a million times worse.

Now, if I could just sleep like a normal person..........