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.

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!

Pushed Into The Mud

Our group started off today with our burn-out therapist saying she'd watched the movie Restrepo over the weekend and "got" why we're all messed up. She then proceeded to discuss in detail certain gory aspects of war and how she understood why it would mess us up.
Let me remind ya'll- this is a group for people with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. The majority of these guys have been through multiple combat experiences AND a lot of us have childhood abuse backgrounds too. Our therapist is a perma-stoned woman old enough to have grandchildren, and has been divorced from an abusive guy with combat-related PTSD for a couple decades.
And this __________ _________ thinks it's a good idea to start off our Monday by speaking graphically about violent, bloody images and experiences.
Five of us walked out.
Let me explain why the therapist is stuck on this movie- sorry, documentary: we have a female soldier (and I use that term lightly in her case) who insists that was her unit and she went through that with them. I don't have to see a bloody, violent infantry movie to know that females aren't sent to places like that was filmed. The stories she tells have no emotional value- they could be taken from a shrink's notes, rather than real life. She talked about going to court, and, when prompted by the therapist she said- in these words- "I spent the entire time searching for an exit."
Nobody spends two hours "searching for an exit". You know where the blasted exit is, and you might spend a lot of time wanting to blow the joint to bits (let's be honest here) but you KNOW WHERE THE EXIT is.
Anyway, five of us walked out when we couldn't handle it anymore. Five of us might sound a lot, if you know that the most common process group therapy size is excessive at about thirteen people. However, there are more than 20 of us in ONE GROUP right now, which is insane at BEST, so it's really a miracle they even noticed we were gone. They "wrote our names down" (holy second grade batman!) and sent the admin dude out to "negotiate" with us. I went off the second I saw him coming out- I got three hours of sleep last night and had two anxiety attacks yesterday, I was in prime shape- and told him our therapist was unable to keep control of our group and discussing things that were setting us off- though I may have been more graphic and not quite as calm about this explanation. We also went off about the two people in our group who lie constantly and obviously and BS about everything. He pulled them out of group individually and spoke to them, the details of which I don't know.
Tonight, I got a phone call from a good friend from group, and he was crying. He'd already taken the drugs, they hadn't kicked in, and he was in meltdown mode. He described the "time-traveling" I do, trying so hard to hold on to reality, while being drowned in memories he didn't want to remember, feeling like he was barely hanging on. This is one of the toughest, most honest, most unbeatable dudes I know, and he calls me crying! I love this man like a brother- we understand each other so well it's scary, like looking in a mirror sometimes. Someone had made a comment about his service dog, and another had made several comments about violent stuff in front of a lot of children. He asked the guy to stop- more than I'm capable of in similar situations.
I am so angry at this therapist and at all these people allowing my friend, my brother to be hurt like this, to be dragged down in the place that's supposed to help pull him up. I'm so upset that these people put him in this situation.
He's better now, it's been a couple hours since the last part of this went down, but.... can nobody be trusted????

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.

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.