The Bottom of the Well

PTSD. Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome. You hear a lot about it these days, mostly as it relates to combat veterans returning from the theater of war. But it can affect non-veterans with the same ferocity. A person can experience PTSD after any traumatic experience, whether it be war, an abusive partner, the loss of a loved one, working for a narcissist (or more than one narcissist), a car accident, a diagnosis of a serious illness. Any traumatic event can trigger PTSD.

I have experienced all of the above (except the war part. I would have made a terrible soldier. I don't like having dirty hair and I hate having people shoot at me).

(This would be me if I were a soldier)

Living with PTSD is a lot like living with a demonic spirit. You never know when it will try to suffocate you with your shower curtain. Its presence is known, it's a constant threat, your senses are on high alert, your sympathetic nervous system is in overdrive, your pulse is fast, your respiration faster, your forehead beaded with sweat. You either don't want to eat or you want to eat all the time.

You don't want to go anywhere, do anything, and you really don't want to be around people, noise, crowds, anything that will further trigger your nervous system, which is already revving along at 50,000 rpm's and about to fly off the rails. The smallest little things can trigger an emotional response - anger, a fit of tears, trying to push the dog out of the way to eat his food. You feel like you have no control over your own life, your own emotions, your ability to perform the normal tasks of daily living.

Everything becomes difficult. You don't want to spend time with your family, your friends, yourself. You want to climb out of your own skin, so you stop applying lotion and then your skin gets dry and cracked, which makes you want to crawl out of it all the more.

Things you used to love no longer bring you joy.

Does this sound like depression? Yes, it does, because depression is a natural consequence of PTSD. When the world becomes too much, when every activity, from brushing your teeth to deciding if you should wear shoes today, becomes overwhelming, depression naturally follows.

You become reclusive, not because you want to be anti-social, but because you must be anti-social if you are to get through each day without jumping off the roof of a tall building (I am pretty sure that if I tried to do that, there would be some schmuck up there with an inflatable pool and a fruity drink with a little umbrella in it and an extra lawn chair and I'd end up sitting there drinking and poking my lip with that stupid little umbrella).

You feel like you will never feel "normal" again. And the saddest part is that PTSD often becomes the new "normal", and so coping with it, and learning to live around it, become paramount to your own survival, and for the sake of all of those you love, and who love you.

I went through a lot of intensive therapy. I think I was making pretty good progress, too. But then my therapist called me on December 28, 2013, 4 days after my car accident, and told me she was leaving to spend more time at home with her family, and that I would not see her again.

It is VERY difficult to find a therapist you trust when you struggle with PTSD, depression, anxiety, and any number of other trauma-related conditions. Hell, it's hard to find a therapist you can trust if you struggle with something as benign as a husband who hangs his dirty underwear on doorknobs. I have been flying sans-therapist now for over a year.


What a massive mistake that has turned out to be. So tomorrow, if I feel up to it, I will call and try to make an appointment with a nun my previous therapist recommended. I don't know how I'll feel about sharing the gory details of my miserable marriage with a nun. What if she slaps my knuckles with a ruler and tells me to "suck it up, buttercup"?

She probably wouldn't do that, but making the appointment is the easy part. Actually showing up is another thing altogether. I have the best of intentions when I make appointments to go to the doctor or to meet up with friends or to go to the roller derby (okay, I've never actually been to a roller derby, and I might actually show up for that. I hear they're awesome). I cancel more often than not. Sometimes I have honest-to-goodness reasons why I must cancel, other times I just don't want to face my chair, my closet, the public, or people. The feeling is so overwhelming that it's hard to describe. But I'll try, because there really wouldn't be much of a point for this post if I didn't.

It feels like you are going in front of a firing squad.

Most days, when I wake up, I feel like I am at the bottom of a deep well, chin deep in fetid water, and far above me a pinpoint of light that is slowly, agonizingly, being blacked out as the cover to the well is pushed over the top. Some days, there isn't even a pinpoint of light. On those days, I don't leave my bed because I can't. The darkness is so oppressive, so suffocating, that I need every ounce of my strength to keep my head above the rotten water. It fills my mouth and nose and eyes as I slip beneath the surface, turning my face upward to gasp for a breath before bobbing beneath the surface again. Those days are the worst days. I have a lot of those.

It isn't something you can just "get over". It isn't something that medication can resolve. It's the result of being broken, of having experienced things that defy your mind's ability to process. Of having witnessed things that you can never unsee, experience things you can never un-experience, of enduring things so awful that your brain, figuratively speaking, breaks.

I know I will overcome this, as I have so many other horrible events in my life. I know I will one day be able to venture forth into the world and feel joy again.

Until then, please be gentle with me.