My ex-husband let me think I'd cheated on him all this time, when he'd understood the entire time that it was an assault. It tears me apart that I've hurt several people whom I cared about very much because I was so convinced I was incapable of being faithful to someone who wasn't nearby.
I don't know how to process all of this, but it hurts me clear down to my soul. I let this man get into my head so much that I believed I was this horrible, cheating, out-of-control woman who was incapable of taking other people's emotions into account when she should have. I'm so disgusted with myself for all of this. Until recently, my ex-husband and I have been friends, but, right now, for the first time, I am so disgusted by the fact that I allowed this man into my heart and mind to such an extent that he could hurt me so badly for so long that I can't even speak to him.
Mr Nice Guy and I have been dealing with a lot of stress with an upcoming deployment that was recently announced, my medical board, all the fun PTSD stuff and just day to day life as newlyweds- not to mention the incredible amount of trouble I have gotten from the army side of the house as of late. Yesterday, we had the closest thing to a fight we've ever had. We've been discussing trading in his gas guzzling pick up for a car. Originally this was his idea, as he prefers driving cars. I prefer trucks, but $100/week in gas is enough to make anybody rethink their stand on that. Yesterday, I guess he was questioning his feelings on this, but he made the first passive-aggressive comment he's ever directed at me when he took a shot at my truck- which is paid off, mind you.
I went off the deep end, quick fast and in a hurry.
I'll spare you the gruesome details, but, eventually, the biggest reasons for me to feel so strongly about my truck being taken from me came out. Yes, I'm insecure and still believe my husband may leave me. The part that surprised me, though, was the part where I realized that I have nothing to plan for but a number of months without my spouse. Despite having put in for a referral for in vitro, they haven't so much as sent me paperwork to fill out, so I'm plenty aware they probably looked up my records in the computer system, realized I have chronic PTSD and scratched my name off the list. It's been months, and, well, they think it's alright to play God as long as they're doing it with someone who has no control over their conception without them. We can't start fostering or adopting while the other half prepares for deployment and then getting out- and while he's in college will probably be a pretty bad time to do it all, too. So, about five years from now, maybe we'll stand a chance. We called off the full ceremonial wedding because we didn't have the time and money to put into it and I was going through a med board and wouldn't be allowed to take leave to do it. We were planning on getting the actual ceremony done with family and friends this month. I don't know when I'll be out of the military, whether it will be before, during, or, God forbid, after he goes on deployment, so there's no way to plan for anything during that time frame, either.
I've taken up running to give myself something to focus on- we did another run last night, longer than the previous- but, really, I'm not sure what I'm doing all of this for. I have no goals that I can even plan for at this point, I'm not high-functioning enough to work once I'm out, and I don't even know how I'll manage to get through a deployment- what living condition, what state, what anything- without him around.
I feel like the ground has been pulled out from under me, and I'm just free-falling. Nothing I knew has proven real, not about myself, not about the world or people I trusted, and I'm really, really tired of fighting.
Showing posts with label anger. Show all posts
Showing posts with label anger. Show all posts
Sunday, April 8, 2012
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
Save Me
Today is my daughter's almost-birthday.
It would have been her birthday if I hadn't miscarried her a few months into the pregnancy, when my fourteen year old body, riddled with drugs my mother forced me to take every day, which I didn't need, could no longer keep both itself and a child alive.
I still love her.
She would have been eleven today.
It's been a long day, and the new therapist at treatment is most assuredly the devil incarnate.
Fortunately, I bring my journal to treatment with me- well, one of my journals- and I get more therapy from that than this woman most days.
Today, I cried- just like the last two days. The husband and I are still happy together, but the PTSD, in a combined effort with the military, is making our lives a living hell. Between flashbacks, ab responses, nightmares, blackouts, and field exercises, when we're together, we're mostly struggling just to avoid hurting one another.
I made a decision this afternoon that I'll have to make again in the morning. I'm going running tomorrow morning. I'm not going JOGGING in the morning, I'm going RUNNING. I'm going to run down the street, with my dog, around the corner, to the light and back, and if we have to stop, we will, but I'm going to try really hard to just let loose tomorrow morning. I don't want this primal side of me to be caged anymore. I can't open up at treatment most of the time, now because I don't trust the therapist, but also because of the guy who admitted to being a sexual predator and the guy who won't talk about anything but his penis and sex life. Maybe if I push myself to the brink, if I stop being scared of feeling fear or anger and just feel it anyway, and RUN like my life depended on it, maybe then the tears and sweat and pain and weakness will have a place to go. Maybe if I open the floodgate, I won't have to prod anything to come out.
I need this.
It would have been her birthday if I hadn't miscarried her a few months into the pregnancy, when my fourteen year old body, riddled with drugs my mother forced me to take every day, which I didn't need, could no longer keep both itself and a child alive.
I still love her.
She would have been eleven today.
It's been a long day, and the new therapist at treatment is most assuredly the devil incarnate.
Fortunately, I bring my journal to treatment with me- well, one of my journals- and I get more therapy from that than this woman most days.
Today, I cried- just like the last two days. The husband and I are still happy together, but the PTSD, in a combined effort with the military, is making our lives a living hell. Between flashbacks, ab responses, nightmares, blackouts, and field exercises, when we're together, we're mostly struggling just to avoid hurting one another.
I made a decision this afternoon that I'll have to make again in the morning. I'm going running tomorrow morning. I'm not going JOGGING in the morning, I'm going RUNNING. I'm going to run down the street, with my dog, around the corner, to the light and back, and if we have to stop, we will, but I'm going to try really hard to just let loose tomorrow morning. I don't want this primal side of me to be caged anymore. I can't open up at treatment most of the time, now because I don't trust the therapist, but also because of the guy who admitted to being a sexual predator and the guy who won't talk about anything but his penis and sex life. Maybe if I push myself to the brink, if I stop being scared of feeling fear or anger and just feel it anyway, and RUN like my life depended on it, maybe then the tears and sweat and pain and weakness will have a place to go. Maybe if I open the floodgate, I won't have to prod anything to come out.
I need this.
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Women
Two people who I trusted very much- Buffalo Boy and one other- put down women, particularly female Soldiers today. It started off with comments about us receiving special treatment and turned to our perceived physical inequalities.
Then another guy, one who I've already had issues with and identified as a possible predator, drove by on his way in and whistled at me.
I lost nearly all control. I was angry after the first bit, but figured it would blow over. The second incident left me fuming, angry and enraged. As I came in from break, I yelled at the latter guy to never whistle at me again. I managed to keep my mouth shut to the guys until one of them said something about me being angry. It came out without me meaning for it to, but I told him I was still pissed off that he felt it was alright to put down women. He said he was just joking- a pretty common defense for him- and I said it wasn't a joke, and walked outside. Buffalo Boy saw me walk out, obviously upset and on the verge of tears. He came over to where I was and tried to talk to me. More calmly than I was sure I'd be able to, I told him that I was still upset over the derogatory comments about women, so I wasn't in the best mood. He got angry at me, made a comment about me and the other female in the group taking things too personally, and walked away.
I tried to clear things up with him, sending him a carefully-worded text message explaining why it upset me. I told him: "You'll always be my brother far as I'm concerned, and maybe if you were the only person pointing out our shortcomings, I wouldn't feel like I needed to defend myself. But there isn't one person or form of media that hasn't shown bias, either intentionally or without even understanding that they are. I'm sick to death of feeling like I need to be protected and taken care of and tired of being scared because men are bigger, stronger and faster. I'm done believing that."
He responded with another "you're taking everything too personally and blowing this out of proportion" bit, essentially saying that I was making everything about me. I told him I had tried very hard not to put him down or be disrespectful in my text message, and I wished he'd done the same.
I am done wishing I could be stronger or better or safer. I'm done being scared. I can't continue to live this way, because this isn't living anymore.
It's time to make a change.
Then another guy, one who I've already had issues with and identified as a possible predator, drove by on his way in and whistled at me.
I lost nearly all control. I was angry after the first bit, but figured it would blow over. The second incident left me fuming, angry and enraged. As I came in from break, I yelled at the latter guy to never whistle at me again. I managed to keep my mouth shut to the guys until one of them said something about me being angry. It came out without me meaning for it to, but I told him I was still pissed off that he felt it was alright to put down women. He said he was just joking- a pretty common defense for him- and I said it wasn't a joke, and walked outside. Buffalo Boy saw me walk out, obviously upset and on the verge of tears. He came over to where I was and tried to talk to me. More calmly than I was sure I'd be able to, I told him that I was still upset over the derogatory comments about women, so I wasn't in the best mood. He got angry at me, made a comment about me and the other female in the group taking things too personally, and walked away.
I tried to clear things up with him, sending him a carefully-worded text message explaining why it upset me. I told him: "You'll always be my brother far as I'm concerned, and maybe if you were the only person pointing out our shortcomings, I wouldn't feel like I needed to defend myself. But there isn't one person or form of media that hasn't shown bias, either intentionally or without even understanding that they are. I'm sick to death of feeling like I need to be protected and taken care of and tired of being scared because men are bigger, stronger and faster. I'm done believing that."
He responded with another "you're taking everything too personally and blowing this out of proportion" bit, essentially saying that I was making everything about me. I told him I had tried very hard not to put him down or be disrespectful in my text message, and I wished he'd done the same.
I am done wishing I could be stronger or better or safer. I'm done being scared. I can't continue to live this way, because this isn't living anymore.
It's time to make a change.
Saturday, March 17, 2012
Major Small Victories
Yesterday was a definite life-altering event.
Today, hubby and I did a lot- and almost all of it public. We got up early and went to the mall, where I got a pedicure and my hair touched-up, the latter of which almost ended with me freaking out... almost. I get why having my back turned to anyone freaks me out, but I can't comprehend how every other person on the PLANET seems to WANT their back to EVERYONE. My wonderful service dog even started getting upset at one point. The stylist had me sit at the back of the salon, while she had several other clients, right next to several people I didn't know, while multiple people walked back and forth in front of me. I had left Sugar with the husband, thinking it would be quick and easy- he had to bring her over to me, for which I got a great deal of dirty looks from said stylist.
Anyway, we went to see Buffalo Boy briefly after that, then lunch- at a restaurant. And then my husband took me to two different stores, and bought me a new pair of cowboy boots, a new straw hat, and a really cute necklace-earring angel wing combo.
I haven't been out in public nearly this much in.... I don't know- a really long time.
Granted, it's Saint Patrick's Day, and everything was relatively quiet (due to pre-gaming, I assume) but I did it- and without meds. I'm really, really happy. It wasn't as easy as I wish it had been, but I'm so thrilled I managed it all.
I may never be happy in the same way as I used to be, but I'm getting better, even if it's never the same... and it won't be.
Today, hubby and I did a lot- and almost all of it public. We got up early and went to the mall, where I got a pedicure and my hair touched-up, the latter of which almost ended with me freaking out... almost. I get why having my back turned to anyone freaks me out, but I can't comprehend how every other person on the PLANET seems to WANT their back to EVERYONE. My wonderful service dog even started getting upset at one point. The stylist had me sit at the back of the salon, while she had several other clients, right next to several people I didn't know, while multiple people walked back and forth in front of me. I had left Sugar with the husband, thinking it would be quick and easy- he had to bring her over to me, for which I got a great deal of dirty looks from said stylist.
Anyway, we went to see Buffalo Boy briefly after that, then lunch- at a restaurant. And then my husband took me to two different stores, and bought me a new pair of cowboy boots, a new straw hat, and a really cute necklace-earring angel wing combo.
I haven't been out in public nearly this much in.... I don't know- a really long time.
Granted, it's Saint Patrick's Day, and everything was relatively quiet (due to pre-gaming, I assume) but I did it- and without meds. I'm really, really happy. It wasn't as easy as I wish it had been, but I'm so thrilled I managed it all.
I may never be happy in the same way as I used to be, but I'm getting better, even if it's never the same... and it won't be.
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Dark
My husband has been gone so much for work, it feels impossible to talk to him.
How do you just open up about having been suicidal to someone who wasn't there or even reachable at the time?
How do you turn on the faucet to pour out emotions and stories that happened when the one you love and are trying so hard not to hurt or run from was away?
He's in bed, asleep. Despite my questions, and my attempts to talk today, I feel like my words were wasted. If he has feelings on any of what I'm going through, he's not showing them to me, and he's certainly not talking about any of it.
I hate that I make him deal with this, with me.
I feel like I'm slowly drowning in a tar pit- slow, dark, hot and never-ending.... and oh so eerily quiet.
How do you just open up about having been suicidal to someone who wasn't there or even reachable at the time?
How do you turn on the faucet to pour out emotions and stories that happened when the one you love and are trying so hard not to hurt or run from was away?
He's in bed, asleep. Despite my questions, and my attempts to talk today, I feel like my words were wasted. If he has feelings on any of what I'm going through, he's not showing them to me, and he's certainly not talking about any of it.
I hate that I make him deal with this, with me.
I feel like I'm slowly drowning in a tar pit- slow, dark, hot and never-ending.... and oh so eerily quiet.
Thursday, March 8, 2012
When I Say Husband...
When I say "husband", I mean best friend.
When I complain about him not doing the dishes, it's because I love him enough that I spent an hour or two cooking him a homemade dinner myself, rather than just throwing something in the microwave or ordering in.
When I get irritated because he left the top off the Aquafor AGAIN, it's because I know that, even if his tattoo is peeling, he can rattle off statistics and facts about what that kind of singing where they change their pitch repeatedly is called (he told me last night, I don't remember), he can do serious math in his head in five seconds flat and explain things like calculus and trigonometry.
When I talk about my husband, I'm talking about the man who can stop everything, no matter how I've treated him, no matter what mood I've been in or what I've promised him, and hold me through the time-traveling, talking to me and reminding me to stay with him. I'm talking about the man who teases me at dinner because he caught the waiter checking me out, and start playing Ms Tattoo Girl every time I get embarrassed because I know I stand out and people are looking at me.
When I talk about my husband, I'm talking about the man who has taught me that unconditional love isn't some theory or myth, or something that only God and some animals are capable of. This is the man who has seen me so angry I've thrown things, hit things and people, he's seen me cry, he's seen me at my absolute worst, and this man still puts his arms around me every single day and tells me I'm beautiful and that he loves me. He's seen me lose control of my emotions in really embarrassing situations and he still tells me he's never giving up on me or leaving me.
This is my second marriage. I've made a lot of mistakes in my life, and I've hurt a lot of people. I don't understand why God or my husband believe I'm worth this kind of love, but I know that I've met the man that I want to argue over baby names with, and the man I want to yell at for letting the kids eat junk food and the man I want to drag out onto the dance floor on our 50th wedding anniversary.
There are men in this world who get what I've been through and/or who I am better than my husband, that's the truth. There is nobody else, though, that will be open to both me getting a Nightster (you know, when I win a few million bucks in the lottery) AND vegan meals, or who is totally okay with me putting up Buddhist statues (yes, I own that one) in our living room, listening to Kick It In The Sticks on repeat for days (okay, he's not really a huge fan of that repeat thing) and for not threatening to kill me for talking about dressing our dog up in costumes.
I love my husband with all my heart. I'm not perfect, I'll never claim to be, but I am so grateful for this man.
When I complain about him not doing the dishes, it's because I love him enough that I spent an hour or two cooking him a homemade dinner myself, rather than just throwing something in the microwave or ordering in.
When I get irritated because he left the top off the Aquafor AGAIN, it's because I know that, even if his tattoo is peeling, he can rattle off statistics and facts about what that kind of singing where they change their pitch repeatedly is called (he told me last night, I don't remember), he can do serious math in his head in five seconds flat and explain things like calculus and trigonometry.
When I talk about my husband, I'm talking about the man who can stop everything, no matter how I've treated him, no matter what mood I've been in or what I've promised him, and hold me through the time-traveling, talking to me and reminding me to stay with him. I'm talking about the man who teases me at dinner because he caught the waiter checking me out, and start playing Ms Tattoo Girl every time I get embarrassed because I know I stand out and people are looking at me.
When I talk about my husband, I'm talking about the man who has taught me that unconditional love isn't some theory or myth, or something that only God and some animals are capable of. This is the man who has seen me so angry I've thrown things, hit things and people, he's seen me cry, he's seen me at my absolute worst, and this man still puts his arms around me every single day and tells me I'm beautiful and that he loves me. He's seen me lose control of my emotions in really embarrassing situations and he still tells me he's never giving up on me or leaving me.
This is my second marriage. I've made a lot of mistakes in my life, and I've hurt a lot of people. I don't understand why God or my husband believe I'm worth this kind of love, but I know that I've met the man that I want to argue over baby names with, and the man I want to yell at for letting the kids eat junk food and the man I want to drag out onto the dance floor on our 50th wedding anniversary.
There are men in this world who get what I've been through and/or who I am better than my husband, that's the truth. There is nobody else, though, that will be open to both me getting a Nightster (you know, when I win a few million bucks in the lottery) AND vegan meals, or who is totally okay with me putting up Buddhist statues (yes, I own that one) in our living room, listening to Kick It In The Sticks on repeat for days (okay, he's not really a huge fan of that repeat thing) and for not threatening to kill me for talking about dressing our dog up in costumes.
I love my husband with all my heart. I'm not perfect, I'll never claim to be, but I am so grateful for this man.
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Traumatic Therapy
I got three hours of sleep the night before last, and around four fitful hours last night. Yet, I still got up and went to treatment as I should.
The therapist- and she doesn't deserve that title- walked into our group room and started moving chairs, saying she needed to have her back to a wall. While this is nothing surprising, as we all, always sit with our backs to the walls, it was odd for her to mention it out loud. One of the guys told her not to worry, nobody would hurt her with us in there, she was safe. She responded by telling him that our corner of the room needed to be quiet today, and stop "giggling and sharing secrets". Mind you, yesterday we spent much of the day outside because we were fighting anxiety attacks and angry outbursts from comments and discussions going on in group. He then told her he had no problem speaking to her about this privately, and he was very respectful, especially given her hostility, she snapped at him (again) and told him he needed to stop getting people kicked out of group, saying it was her group and she would run her group not him.
HOLD UP!
We talked to the admin guy she sent to try to get us to come back into group and explained our grievances and issues with what was being said and done in group yesterday. We did not ask him to throw anyone out of our group. We didn't even know what he said when he spoke to two people we all struggled with individually. It is not our job, nor within our abilities to throw anyone out nor to have anyone thrown out of any group.
She was extremely confrontational with all three of us sitting in that corner, and continually told one friend of mine he should just leave, and saying we were disrespecting her and she didn't see anything wrong with what was talked about. When I tried to calmly explain (as I started crying) that the discussion that was brought up early on yesterday was half of the reason I had to talk a certain friend down from going completely suicidal last night, she said that she didn't think what she said was that graphic and it was her group, not ours. My "big brother" asked one of the females with similar background to me to take me outside and calm me down when the crying became uncontrollable. The director got involved, though that therapist doesn't seem to have any repercussions from it all, and decided it was better to separate all of us. I'm being moved to the women's group, which makes sense, and I didn't fight her on it. I simply reminded her that her therapist was completely out of line.
I know I don't handle confrontation well right now. I shut down and start crying. The klonopin didn't touch my anxiety, and my husband came up to pick me up, as I was afraid to drive in that condition. I am so disgusted and hurt and upset at this therapist it's incredible. She's the same one I've said before is a burnt-out hippie. I didn't trust her before she was our sole therapist, and now I can't stand her. I told the guys before she took over I didn't care for her, and they insisted she was a sweet person. They trust my gut instincts more than ever now, and so do I. I'm so sick of people like this!
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Nightmare On My Street
Incredibly rough start to the day today.
I woke up after a restless night of the worst kind of nightmares, to my husband leaning over me. I maintained enough control not to swing at the man three inches from my face. I pushed him away gently and told him I needed a minute. He got upset and went to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. I got angry- instantly. I got dressed, grabbed my service dog's stuff, my keys and wallet, and took off in my truck.
I spent at least an hour driving around, alternately crying and angry.
Matt text me to apologize, and I came back after a while. I had to break it down to him, in true Barney fashion, and we talked. It got better from there, but I've been a train wreck all day.
We went bowling with some friends today, and that went pretty well. Then we got home, watched a show that had a gnarly, violent abortion scene in it that sent me into tears all over again.
I'm struggling to stay present, always feeling on the edge of "time traveling"- something between a flashback and a memory. It can turn into a flashback very, very quickly if not managed, though flashbacks do not always start that way.
I'm starting to feel like the floor is dropping out from beneath my feet. Every little thing sets me off lately, and I'm sure it's because I'm raw from all the wounds I've opened with therapy, and, in the long run, I'm sure it's a positive, but.... I want it to go away.
The new doctor (the one we like, people, keep up!) says the fact that I no longer remember the majority of my nightmares is a positive thing- and doesn't believe I need to remember all the gory details to get better. She also thinks that I'm doing the right thing by fending off the drug-pushers. It's a relief to know that there's a doctor out there that believes drugs are no more than a quick fix as I do, but it's also scary to know that I'm now working with someone who is like-minded. I guess the scariest part of it is feeling like I might be held accountable in some way nobody else has. I'm not sure if I'm afraid she'll tell me it's time to try to face the real world and go back to work (where EVERYTHING is a possible trigger- and I wish that didn't sound like I'm exaggerating, because I'm 99.9% sure I'm not) or if I'm afraid she'll tell me I'm doing the right thing and push me towards trying to accept that I'm as bad as I feel lately. I don't want to believe I have PTSD, need a service dog, need klonopin, need to be in therapy, etc. I can't accept all of this is ME, or real... I want to wake up one day and realize I'm faking it all and that I can stop the act now.
I just want it to stop.
I woke up after a restless night of the worst kind of nightmares, to my husband leaning over me. I maintained enough control not to swing at the man three inches from my face. I pushed him away gently and told him I needed a minute. He got upset and went to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. I got angry- instantly. I got dressed, grabbed my service dog's stuff, my keys and wallet, and took off in my truck.
I spent at least an hour driving around, alternately crying and angry.
Matt text me to apologize, and I came back after a while. I had to break it down to him, in true Barney fashion, and we talked. It got better from there, but I've been a train wreck all day.
We went bowling with some friends today, and that went pretty well. Then we got home, watched a show that had a gnarly, violent abortion scene in it that sent me into tears all over again.
I'm struggling to stay present, always feeling on the edge of "time traveling"- something between a flashback and a memory. It can turn into a flashback very, very quickly if not managed, though flashbacks do not always start that way.
I'm starting to feel like the floor is dropping out from beneath my feet. Every little thing sets me off lately, and I'm sure it's because I'm raw from all the wounds I've opened with therapy, and, in the long run, I'm sure it's a positive, but.... I want it to go away.
The new doctor (the one we like, people, keep up!) says the fact that I no longer remember the majority of my nightmares is a positive thing- and doesn't believe I need to remember all the gory details to get better. She also thinks that I'm doing the right thing by fending off the drug-pushers. It's a relief to know that there's a doctor out there that believes drugs are no more than a quick fix as I do, but it's also scary to know that I'm now working with someone who is like-minded. I guess the scariest part of it is feeling like I might be held accountable in some way nobody else has. I'm not sure if I'm afraid she'll tell me it's time to try to face the real world and go back to work (where EVERYTHING is a possible trigger- and I wish that didn't sound like I'm exaggerating, because I'm 99.9% sure I'm not) or if I'm afraid she'll tell me I'm doing the right thing and push me towards trying to accept that I'm as bad as I feel lately. I don't want to believe I have PTSD, need a service dog, need klonopin, need to be in therapy, etc. I can't accept all of this is ME, or real... I want to wake up one day and realize I'm faking it all and that I can stop the act now.
I just want it to stop.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Anxiety
I wasn't anxious, angry or even particularly aware of my symptoms when I woke up this morning.
Then I started focusing on the thoughts about our service dog training session that would happen at the airport this evening, and the anxiety went wayyy up.
Then I got to treatment, and got particularly aggravated by a female soldier who talks about what she insists is PTSD in terms of war movies and text-book-entry-sounding (and ENDLESS) monologues of her "symptoms". Anybody who can sit there and say that she "repeatedly looked for an exit" who doesn't normally sound like a walking dictionary is, in my opinion, full of it.
Judging people is wrong.
I know.
Yet, it's so hard to avoid such sentiments when repeatedly one-upped during group "therapy". Mind you, this group therapy was once nearly life-saving to me. It's incredible how one person can monopolize entire days to the point of ruining it for the majority of the group.
So, anxiety and anger present were en masse.
Usually, anger negates my anxiety- anger allows me to feel in control, while anxiety is an "under attack" sort of feeling.
Today, though, they just seemed to be tag-teaming. I felt like I was fighting the Hardy Boys old-school WWF style.
Once we got to the airport, I was so grateful to have two of my friends from treatment with me. I was on edge already, but hoping I didn't need the "chill pills". I should have taken one.
I almost started crying when a loud buzzer went off to signal the baggage carousel was about to start moving. That wasn't the only time I was fighting back tears.
It's been a long, long, emotional day. We were also informed that our group's therapist is leaving next week. It looks like the lady we'll be getting is the burnt-out hippie that has yet to keep anyone under control. In a group full of combat and rape survivors, all of whom are soldiers, maintaining control over the chaos is VITAL.
Having our trust would help, too.
Sugar did great with training. I'm very proud of her.
I wish I were proud of me, for a change.
Then I started focusing on the thoughts about our service dog training session that would happen at the airport this evening, and the anxiety went wayyy up.
Then I got to treatment, and got particularly aggravated by a female soldier who talks about what she insists is PTSD in terms of war movies and text-book-entry-sounding (and ENDLESS) monologues of her "symptoms". Anybody who can sit there and say that she "repeatedly looked for an exit" who doesn't normally sound like a walking dictionary is, in my opinion, full of it.
Judging people is wrong.
I know.
Yet, it's so hard to avoid such sentiments when repeatedly one-upped during group "therapy". Mind you, this group therapy was once nearly life-saving to me. It's incredible how one person can monopolize entire days to the point of ruining it for the majority of the group.
So, anxiety and anger present were en masse.
Usually, anger negates my anxiety- anger allows me to feel in control, while anxiety is an "under attack" sort of feeling.
Today, though, they just seemed to be tag-teaming. I felt like I was fighting the Hardy Boys old-school WWF style.
Once we got to the airport, I was so grateful to have two of my friends from treatment with me. I was on edge already, but hoping I didn't need the "chill pills". I should have taken one.
I almost started crying when a loud buzzer went off to signal the baggage carousel was about to start moving. That wasn't the only time I was fighting back tears.
It's been a long, long, emotional day. We were also informed that our group's therapist is leaving next week. It looks like the lady we'll be getting is the burnt-out hippie that has yet to keep anyone under control. In a group full of combat and rape survivors, all of whom are soldiers, maintaining control over the chaos is VITAL.
Having our trust would help, too.
Sugar did great with training. I'm very proud of her.
I wish I were proud of me, for a change.
Monday, February 13, 2012
The Empty Mirror
I am being medically discharged from the US Army.
I am incapable of conceiving children without paying a middle-class fortune ($4,000-$20,000 per cycle depending on the timing and what the doctors decide) to some doctor with medications and big needles.
I am no longer the Soldier I was, let alone ever having become the Soldier I hoped to become.
I am not the mother I wanted to be, and there is no light at the end of that tunnel, either.
What is left of me?
I'm not a soldier.
I'm not a mother.
Most days, I'm not even much of a wife.
I am a walking void.
Men traditionally hold down the jobs: I was proud to be able to support myself and not need anyone else.
I've lost that.
Women traditionally bear children, raise them, and keep house. I'm not capable of any of the above- I can't even manage grocery shopping.
There
Is
Nothing
Left
I am incapable of conceiving children without paying a middle-class fortune ($4,000-$20,000 per cycle depending on the timing and what the doctors decide) to some doctor with medications and big needles.
I am no longer the Soldier I was, let alone ever having become the Soldier I hoped to become.
I am not the mother I wanted to be, and there is no light at the end of that tunnel, either.
What is left of me?
I'm not a soldier.
I'm not a mother.
Most days, I'm not even much of a wife.
I am a walking void.
Men traditionally hold down the jobs: I was proud to be able to support myself and not need anyone else.
I've lost that.
Women traditionally bear children, raise them, and keep house. I'm not capable of any of the above- I can't even manage grocery shopping.
There
Is
Nothing
Left
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Forget
Today, I got angry.
I was angry the whole morning in fact.
I calmed down after an anxiety attack forced me to take a benzo chill pill.
I was proud of myself after that. I went to the office and to my fathers, just me and my service dog, without my husband, for the first time in months.
Then I got lost driving home. I tried to take the route I take every day. I still got lost. I couldn't remember/figure out where I was for about fifteen minutes. I got scared, angry, and cried. I eventually found I-10 and found my way back.
I cried after I got home, and apparently fell asleep doing so. I woke up a bit later, fed the husband and the dog.
I went into the closet to get something, something fell, and I got so angry I threw something- narrowly missing my husband.
I really hate who I am today. I don't know who I actually am anymore, because if your actions don't define who you are, what does? I'm not a good person anymore. I don't even want to look in the mirror. I try to dress nice, I try to force myself to do things for myself, but, really, if it's not doing something for my service dog or my husband, it really doesn't seem like there's a point anymore. I'm angry, anxious, and I keep causing more problems for myself and everybody else.
I don't want to be this person anymore.
I was angry the whole morning in fact.
I calmed down after an anxiety attack forced me to take a benzo chill pill.
I was proud of myself after that. I went to the office and to my fathers, just me and my service dog, without my husband, for the first time in months.
Then I got lost driving home. I tried to take the route I take every day. I still got lost. I couldn't remember/figure out where I was for about fifteen minutes. I got scared, angry, and cried. I eventually found I-10 and found my way back.
I cried after I got home, and apparently fell asleep doing so. I woke up a bit later, fed the husband and the dog.
I went into the closet to get something, something fell, and I got so angry I threw something- narrowly missing my husband.
I really hate who I am today. I don't know who I actually am anymore, because if your actions don't define who you are, what does? I'm not a good person anymore. I don't even want to look in the mirror. I try to dress nice, I try to force myself to do things for myself, but, really, if it's not doing something for my service dog or my husband, it really doesn't seem like there's a point anymore. I'm angry, anxious, and I keep causing more problems for myself and everybody else.
I don't want to be this person anymore.
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Like Sensitive Teeth
It finally hit me what I hate most about this whole PTSD mess.
I'm ridiculously sensitive to EVERYTHING.
It's like having a sweet tooth and sensitive teeth at the same time- you don't want to separate yourself from this world you just want to surround yourself with, but you can't help but be in horrible pain with nearly every little interaction.
I have spent the vast majority of my life cultivating the tough girl image. I'm heavily tattooed, tall and "thick". I'm not fragile looking, and, when surrounded by "the guys", I've always stood my ground, and managed, often enough to be known for it, to be able to respond to their dirty or shock-value jokes with something that none of them would have thought of. I'm a smart-ass. I've worked very hard to be the queen of comebacks and snide remarks. I pill poke, push or play-hit more guys I know than ones I would hug when I run into them. It's this person I've worked so hard to become- and now she's crumbling right in front of me.
And there's nothing I can do about it.
I know I take everything too personally lately. I feel like everything is somehow a reflection of me, and I know that I way oversimplify and, at the same time, over-think everything. If it wasn't obviously my fault, I will think about it and think about it until I can see how it "obviously" is my fault. And I will feel bad or guilty about it, no matter how long it took me to "see" that it "was my fault". It's a ridiculous game I play, really, and I can't possibly win it, either.
If my boyfriend isn't in a good mood, I take it to heart, and think about how difficult I've been lately. If I can't keep the dogs from overwhelming me, I find myself having trouble with my anxiety, but, of course, it's still my fault- I haven't trained them well enough. In my world, everything centers on me, but only when it's bad. In my world, that's the only thing I do, is mess things up for myself and everyone else.
I'm so tired of being miserable all the frigging time. I have gotten better about catching myself and fighting myself as I try to go down that all-too-familiar path, but I have a long way to go before I feel like I'm in any way in control of my emotions.
I make a huge point of holding on to that tough girl image at work- and now I've found myself crying- CRYING!- there, falling apart every time I deal with certain people that generally are more than a little willing to throw people (especially me) under the proverbial bus. People have seen me cry, AT WORK! For the love of God, this is not who I want to be.
Truth is, under the tough girl exterior, I've always been very sensitive to other's emotions, and a very compassionate person. It never bothered me too much until people started seeing it when I didn't want them to. In the military world, a sensitive woman- hell, even your average woman- is a risk, a problem. Women aren't seen as allies or possible strengths, and they aren't seen for their strengths. We're seen as the weakest links in the fence, physically and emotionally.
I have found myself having very generalized emotions lately, not triggered by anything in particular, but things I wake up with, and have the most trouble shaking. The blanket anxiety I felt last week was followed by blanket anger yesterday. I was just pissed off from the moment I woke up, and it took me well into the evening to really be rid of the majority of it.
I suppose someone will read this and know that this is "all part of the healing process" or some such cliche, but right now, I can't see how any of this can possibly be something anyone else has survived or understands.
I'm ridiculously sensitive to EVERYTHING.
It's like having a sweet tooth and sensitive teeth at the same time- you don't want to separate yourself from this world you just want to surround yourself with, but you can't help but be in horrible pain with nearly every little interaction.
I have spent the vast majority of my life cultivating the tough girl image. I'm heavily tattooed, tall and "thick". I'm not fragile looking, and, when surrounded by "the guys", I've always stood my ground, and managed, often enough to be known for it, to be able to respond to their dirty or shock-value jokes with something that none of them would have thought of. I'm a smart-ass. I've worked very hard to be the queen of comebacks and snide remarks. I pill poke, push or play-hit more guys I know than ones I would hug when I run into them. It's this person I've worked so hard to become- and now she's crumbling right in front of me.
And there's nothing I can do about it.
I know I take everything too personally lately. I feel like everything is somehow a reflection of me, and I know that I way oversimplify and, at the same time, over-think everything. If it wasn't obviously my fault, I will think about it and think about it until I can see how it "obviously" is my fault. And I will feel bad or guilty about it, no matter how long it took me to "see" that it "was my fault". It's a ridiculous game I play, really, and I can't possibly win it, either.
If my boyfriend isn't in a good mood, I take it to heart, and think about how difficult I've been lately. If I can't keep the dogs from overwhelming me, I find myself having trouble with my anxiety, but, of course, it's still my fault- I haven't trained them well enough. In my world, everything centers on me, but only when it's bad. In my world, that's the only thing I do, is mess things up for myself and everyone else.
I'm so tired of being miserable all the frigging time. I have gotten better about catching myself and fighting myself as I try to go down that all-too-familiar path, but I have a long way to go before I feel like I'm in any way in control of my emotions.
I make a huge point of holding on to that tough girl image at work- and now I've found myself crying- CRYING!- there, falling apart every time I deal with certain people that generally are more than a little willing to throw people (especially me) under the proverbial bus. People have seen me cry, AT WORK! For the love of God, this is not who I want to be.
Truth is, under the tough girl exterior, I've always been very sensitive to other's emotions, and a very compassionate person. It never bothered me too much until people started seeing it when I didn't want them to. In the military world, a sensitive woman- hell, even your average woman- is a risk, a problem. Women aren't seen as allies or possible strengths, and they aren't seen for their strengths. We're seen as the weakest links in the fence, physically and emotionally.
I have found myself having very generalized emotions lately, not triggered by anything in particular, but things I wake up with, and have the most trouble shaking. The blanket anxiety I felt last week was followed by blanket anger yesterday. I was just pissed off from the moment I woke up, and it took me well into the evening to really be rid of the majority of it.
I suppose someone will read this and know that this is "all part of the healing process" or some such cliche, but right now, I can't see how any of this can possibly be something anyone else has survived or understands.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Anxiety
I'm still going to "check-in" groups twice a week.
It helps so much to talk to other people who are facing the same ignorance and dealing with the same struggles that I am. It's so hard going through this and not forgetting that I am not crazy.
More than anything, I want to feel like it's okay for me to be going through what I am, like this is just part of the healing process and nothing to be ashamed of.
But I don't.
I'm embarrassed to have PTSD. I'm embarrassed to have gotten myself into not one but TWO situations where I could be raped. I'm embarrassed that I can't control my anger or my tears more often than not. I'm embarrassed that I feel like everybody is a threat. I'm embarrassed that my boyfriend is carrying so much of our relationship right now, as I fall apart and find him taking care of me over and over and over again. I'm tired of being this way, and I don't for one second feel like it's okay to feel this way.
I woke up this morning with an elephant-size ball of anxiety sitting squarely on my chest. When my wonderful, amazing boyfriend tried to get too close to me physically, it got worse. I've never had flashbacks with him, and I rarely feel the need to close myself off from him. This morning, though, it was like he was the enemy. I had to get him away, even though I wanted nothing more than to feel loved. I had to hide my fear and anxiety and hurt, even though I wanted nothing more than to hear that it's okay to feel this way, and that the man I love so much understands.
I hate being stuck inside this ugly, angry, horrible shell.
I just want this all to go away. I don't want to be anxious about being around people anymore, and I don't want to wonder when I'll fall apart again. I don't want to worry about being in formations because I don't know if something will set me off while I'm surrounded by so many people. I don't want to worry about how much trouble I'll get in after I've had to walk away from a situation so I wouldn't lose control. This isn't who I want to be.
Last night, when I drove over to pick up my boyfriend from work, I had someone run up to the truck on the driver's side, to my open driver's side window, and scream at me to slow down. I was doing 10 mph in a 25 or 30 mph zone. It scared me and startled me so badly the one hand I had on the wheel at that particular moment jolted, and I caught myself just short of running the truck in his direction. I had been having a good day, and he set me on edge so badly I couldn't calm down completely for most of the evening.
I'm at work now, having chest pain and fighting tears and there's no specific reason that I can think of that I feel this way. I'm so frustrated.
It helps so much to talk to other people who are facing the same ignorance and dealing with the same struggles that I am. It's so hard going through this and not forgetting that I am not crazy.
More than anything, I want to feel like it's okay for me to be going through what I am, like this is just part of the healing process and nothing to be ashamed of.
But I don't.
I'm embarrassed to have PTSD. I'm embarrassed to have gotten myself into not one but TWO situations where I could be raped. I'm embarrassed that I can't control my anger or my tears more often than not. I'm embarrassed that I feel like everybody is a threat. I'm embarrassed that my boyfriend is carrying so much of our relationship right now, as I fall apart and find him taking care of me over and over and over again. I'm tired of being this way, and I don't for one second feel like it's okay to feel this way.
I woke up this morning with an elephant-size ball of anxiety sitting squarely on my chest. When my wonderful, amazing boyfriend tried to get too close to me physically, it got worse. I've never had flashbacks with him, and I rarely feel the need to close myself off from him. This morning, though, it was like he was the enemy. I had to get him away, even though I wanted nothing more than to feel loved. I had to hide my fear and anxiety and hurt, even though I wanted nothing more than to hear that it's okay to feel this way, and that the man I love so much understands.
I hate being stuck inside this ugly, angry, horrible shell.
I just want this all to go away. I don't want to be anxious about being around people anymore, and I don't want to wonder when I'll fall apart again. I don't want to worry about being in formations because I don't know if something will set me off while I'm surrounded by so many people. I don't want to worry about how much trouble I'll get in after I've had to walk away from a situation so I wouldn't lose control. This isn't who I want to be.
Last night, when I drove over to pick up my boyfriend from work, I had someone run up to the truck on the driver's side, to my open driver's side window, and scream at me to slow down. I was doing 10 mph in a 25 or 30 mph zone. It scared me and startled me so badly the one hand I had on the wheel at that particular moment jolted, and I caught myself just short of running the truck in his direction. I had been having a good day, and he set me on edge so badly I couldn't calm down completely for most of the evening.
I'm at work now, having chest pain and fighting tears and there's no specific reason that I can think of that I feel this way. I'm so frustrated.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Step By Step, Day By Day
I have been really struggling lately.
The nightmares, the flashbacks, the anger... It's all been so much worse lately than it ever has been.
I always used to have nightmares on repeat- mostly the recurring memories of my traumas, sometimes with alternate "what if" endings, but, more often than not, it ended worse, instead of better. Lately, though, the nightmares have been new, vivid and very, very violent. Chainsaws, blood and many people involved in various situations, depending on the dream. I don't understand them. I've always been able to interpret my non-memory dreams, but these ones... they're just pain.
I've lost my temper and control of my emotions more times than I can count recently- on fellow Soldiers, family, even my wonderful boyfriend. More often than not, these people didn't deserve my wrath. Fortunately, the physical side has managed to stay under wraps, and I have not inflicted physical abuse on anyone.
I had a flashback driving down the highway one night. I was the designated driver that night, and the only one even remotely sober (I quit drinking over 2 years ago now, the first time my PTSD got out of my control) and barely managed to keep my cool. I'm proud of myself for handling it, but I'm terrified it might happen again because I, for the first time, can't figure out what triggered it.
The last few days, I have managed to focus all my energies on me, though. It's miraculous managing that in the Army, in case you're wondering.
Miraculous.
I've decided I'm no longer dealing with soldiers or rank, just people. I've been treated poorly as of late, and I disagree with a lot of what the people I'm immediately working with have done. The Army as a whole is not broken- but there are people within it's systems who do not follow the rules or treat others as perhaps they should. This is all only my opinion based off my experience, mind you, I am NOT any sort of official spokesperson.
I've started doing yoga on my own (cheesy, right?) to teach myself to slow down a little bit, and, hopefully to help me relax and focus some. I'm scared of how out of control I feel so much of the time, so I decided I would start focusing on things that would allow me to take control of some part of my life. I'm also planning on going back to being a vegetarian, because it gives me a feeling of discipline and positively affecting the world around me. I'm not saying it's for everyone, but it's what works for me. It's going to be a gradual process, but I have to start somewhere.
As for the yoga, I showed my boyfriend some of the poses I found on a yoga app yesterday (yes, there's more than one app for that) and the look on his face was entertaining to say the least. I don't even pretend I want to know what was going through his mind! He had a ball watching me try to do Warrior III stance- which looks a lot like a badly done Superman pose. I am not graceful.
I have been talking to a couple of friends who have gone through the Army PTSD chapter process. For those of you not in the military, a "chapter" is a process of getting out of the Army, generally for medical or psychological issues, though behavioral and other issues may be termed the same way. I really want to tell you I know someone who has had good experiences with the process, but, unfortunately, I don't. There are a lot of people who don't understand Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, a ton of misconceptions about it, and, within the Army, there is little but stigma attached to it. PTSD is not a rite of passage for those who have been in combat, it is not considered normal or expected, and it is not accepted. Seeking help is, more often than not, seen as a way of getting out of something. A chain of command who is fully supportive of Soldiers seeking help for this issue is unheard of- there will, without question and possibly without exception, be someone in a Soldier's chain of command who questions a Soldier's intentions for seeking help. I've heard more people talk about someone checking themselves in to the mental/behavioral health ward "to get out of deployment" or "to avoid that training exercise" than I have heard people express pride in their fellow Soldier for seeking help. I'm not going to say there aren't people who abuse the system, there always will be, but they are expected to be the rule and not the exception. Considering the amount of stigma attached to such things, I can't even begin to fathom why people expect that anyone seeking help is simply trying to get out of something. After having been told I should specify what caused my PTSD by and to certain people in my chain of command (hint: there are laws against them forcing me to, and I didn't.) and being treated like less of a Soldier for having non-combat related PTSD rather than good ol' shell-shock, well, I just don't know why anyone would want to fake this.
As I said, I'm doing better this week. After more than three months of trying to get an appointment (there's a shortage of behavioral health care providers in the military as a whole), I will finally have my first scheduled appointment with a shrink of some sort on Friday. I am also going to "safety" groups now, because someone in this process was worried enough about my state that they felt it necessary to ensure I'm seen by someone who can check in with me twice a week. In all honesty, I'm okay with that. I'm relieved to know that, even if things get out of control, I will be able to speak to someone about it and have help dealing with all of this. This is a frigging terrifying thing to feel like you're alone with.
The nightmares, the flashbacks, the anger... It's all been so much worse lately than it ever has been.
I always used to have nightmares on repeat- mostly the recurring memories of my traumas, sometimes with alternate "what if" endings, but, more often than not, it ended worse, instead of better. Lately, though, the nightmares have been new, vivid and very, very violent. Chainsaws, blood and many people involved in various situations, depending on the dream. I don't understand them. I've always been able to interpret my non-memory dreams, but these ones... they're just pain.
I've lost my temper and control of my emotions more times than I can count recently- on fellow Soldiers, family, even my wonderful boyfriend. More often than not, these people didn't deserve my wrath. Fortunately, the physical side has managed to stay under wraps, and I have not inflicted physical abuse on anyone.
I had a flashback driving down the highway one night. I was the designated driver that night, and the only one even remotely sober (I quit drinking over 2 years ago now, the first time my PTSD got out of my control) and barely managed to keep my cool. I'm proud of myself for handling it, but I'm terrified it might happen again because I, for the first time, can't figure out what triggered it.
The last few days, I have managed to focus all my energies on me, though. It's miraculous managing that in the Army, in case you're wondering.
Miraculous.
I've decided I'm no longer dealing with soldiers or rank, just people. I've been treated poorly as of late, and I disagree with a lot of what the people I'm immediately working with have done. The Army as a whole is not broken- but there are people within it's systems who do not follow the rules or treat others as perhaps they should. This is all only my opinion based off my experience, mind you, I am NOT any sort of official spokesperson.
I've started doing yoga on my own (cheesy, right?) to teach myself to slow down a little bit, and, hopefully to help me relax and focus some. I'm scared of how out of control I feel so much of the time, so I decided I would start focusing on things that would allow me to take control of some part of my life. I'm also planning on going back to being a vegetarian, because it gives me a feeling of discipline and positively affecting the world around me. I'm not saying it's for everyone, but it's what works for me. It's going to be a gradual process, but I have to start somewhere.
As for the yoga, I showed my boyfriend some of the poses I found on a yoga app yesterday (yes, there's more than one app for that) and the look on his face was entertaining to say the least. I don't even pretend I want to know what was going through his mind! He had a ball watching me try to do Warrior III stance- which looks a lot like a badly done Superman pose. I am not graceful.
I have been talking to a couple of friends who have gone through the Army PTSD chapter process. For those of you not in the military, a "chapter" is a process of getting out of the Army, generally for medical or psychological issues, though behavioral and other issues may be termed the same way. I really want to tell you I know someone who has had good experiences with the process, but, unfortunately, I don't. There are a lot of people who don't understand Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, a ton of misconceptions about it, and, within the Army, there is little but stigma attached to it. PTSD is not a rite of passage for those who have been in combat, it is not considered normal or expected, and it is not accepted. Seeking help is, more often than not, seen as a way of getting out of something. A chain of command who is fully supportive of Soldiers seeking help for this issue is unheard of- there will, without question and possibly without exception, be someone in a Soldier's chain of command who questions a Soldier's intentions for seeking help. I've heard more people talk about someone checking themselves in to the mental/behavioral health ward "to get out of deployment" or "to avoid that training exercise" than I have heard people express pride in their fellow Soldier for seeking help. I'm not going to say there aren't people who abuse the system, there always will be, but they are expected to be the rule and not the exception. Considering the amount of stigma attached to such things, I can't even begin to fathom why people expect that anyone seeking help is simply trying to get out of something. After having been told I should specify what caused my PTSD by and to certain people in my chain of command (hint: there are laws against them forcing me to, and I didn't.) and being treated like less of a Soldier for having non-combat related PTSD rather than good ol' shell-shock, well, I just don't know why anyone would want to fake this.
As I said, I'm doing better this week. After more than three months of trying to get an appointment (there's a shortage of behavioral health care providers in the military as a whole), I will finally have my first scheduled appointment with a shrink of some sort on Friday. I am also going to "safety" groups now, because someone in this process was worried enough about my state that they felt it necessary to ensure I'm seen by someone who can check in with me twice a week. In all honesty, I'm okay with that. I'm relieved to know that, even if things get out of control, I will be able to speak to someone about it and have help dealing with all of this. This is a frigging terrifying thing to feel like you're alone with.
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