I'm Still Here

It's been over a year since my last post. I am not sure what kept me going but I found myself continuing to fight for what was left of the rest of my life.

I read back over a few of my posts and so much has changed. I have put so much behind me, carried so much with me, and got in my own way more than once.

This Friday, December 7th, 2018 I will complete my Master's program. Four days later on Tuesday, December 11th, 2018 I will turn 30 years old.

There is a call for celebration. A call for moving past the trauma and completing some goals. There is a reason to be happy.

I am happy. I truly am. And through it all the one thing I keep whispering to myself - to one of my ghosts - is that I hope I am doing right by my life. Living it in a way that shows that I deserved to live.

I don't feel I deserved to live but I hope that I can do some good with my life.

Already, 2019 is approaching. I am hoping I can bring this blog back to it's roots. I will have a fresh start with my writing and ideas. I hope to have an opportunity to put more good back in the world.

https://themighty.com/2017/11/experience-complex-post-traumatic-stress-disorder/?utm_source=Facebook&utm_medium=PTSD_Page

http://www.motherjones.com/politics/2012/07/mass-shootings-map/

Too similar

http://www.news.com.au/world/north-america/shooting-at-texas-baptist-church-in-sutherland-springs-as-police-report-multiple-victims-of-active-gunman/news-story/6ccfe98092c62d2c263ca983df006c57

Omens

I woke up from a nightmare today.

Got up and was ready for work while Erich was still sleeping soundly.

He woke up and I knew I needed to get into bed and snuggle with him one last time before leaving. Work was not as important as these times I spend with him. I know that.

As I am driving to work, a 911 Emergency Management Agency vehicle drove in front of my stopped car. It caught my eye in an unusual way. A few moments later I found myself behind that car. Starting at the words: Emergency Management Agency "Call 911." I was in a daze following this car until it pulled off.

On the highway I saw flashing blue lights from the airport. It has never disturbed me before, and now it's flashing in my side view mirror and rear view mirror. It eventually vanishes as I progress.

Then it hits me. A giant Bill Board. The words STAY SAFE are huge. It's a tire add that says "Stay Safe with Winter Tires." But the words STAY SAFE are burning into my mind. I start to look back at the omens from the airport. I try to write it off as a coincidence but then I look over to the truck next to me which says "SAFETY IS REAL." All Caps. Bold font. Across the top of the truck head, as the bed was gone. I feel my breath shorten.

"Life and Death" by the Dear Hunter starts playing on my radio. I am having trouble breathing.

I pull into the parking lot of my work. It only takes me 10-15 minutes to get here in the morning. I compose myself. I walk in to my office, next to a trampoline park. I am always greeted by their door first, but my eyes fixate on a detail that it normally doesn't fixate on when I see their door. In the corner of the door "No Weapons Allowed."

This could all be nothing. I listen to that song by the dear hunter often. Maybe I look at the tire ad frequently, and the truck was a coincidence. I know I have seen the trampoline sign before but because of everything else my mind decided to lock in on it. Maybe I do see the blue lights at the airport flashing but just never notice it. And there are some days where I have nightmares and want to get extra snuggles in.

Maybe, it's all a coincidence.

But on January 6, I didn't take the warnings seriously, and I am now convinced they were omens that I just wrote off. I don't ever want to write off that again.

All cried out

The last three nights I've cried myself to sleep. I walk in the door after work and start crying for hours until I cry myself to sleep.

Today I cried all day from the moment I woke up, until I finished my homework assignment.

I cried hard at work.

I cried to my new therapist (first time with her).

I cried into my homework.

Crying is supposed to release endorphins that make you feel better.

I will always be rooted to the airport. Gun violence will always force me back there.

I have more tears to shed but it's more than I can bare these days.

My heart has been broken all over again.

Sinking

I feel like I am drowning myself.
Tying anchors to my body, and still struggling to swim up.
When I almost make it to the surface, the feelings return.
I tie more weights to my body to keep me from reaching the top.
I am drowning myself,
For the struggle keeps me distracted.

Time for a positive

It's been a while since my last panic attack. Could be due to me avoiding triggers, and also not being as triggered in my every day life. Could also be that my medication of Sertraline was increased to the maximum (200mg).

I am getting better. I know I am.

But I am so depressed...

I wish I had insight to share. I do not. Sometimes improving still means being released from one place and getting stuck in a different place with different symptoms. I was reflecting back on my serious ASD/PTSD episodes. Flashing back, feeling like I am being hunted, not having control of my thoughts or my body...

It's been months since an episode.

It's been a month since my last panic attack.

So why am I not progressing to a point of happiness?

Why am I coping with stress by drinking and being intoxicated all night?

Why do I do this to myself?

I need help.

Netflix

Bojack Horseman season 4 episode 5.

Orange is the New Black season 5, episode 1

Meltdown

Had a meltdown yesterday.

My mom came over and talked with me. I told her I needed her.
I unloaded everything I wanted to unload to my therapist:

• I want to quit my Master's program
• My house is in disarray 
• I do not want to celebrate Halloween - I feel empty
• I don't know if I want to live anymore.

She held me. I cried. She made me do yard work. I cried. She gave me advice. I cried. But somehow, after all of it was out in the open. I felt a huge relief. She encouraged me to keep going with my Master's degree, to find things to keep my mind occupied, and to keep living. 

So, the big news is that I am continuing my Master's degree. Although I feel like I have ADHD with my anxiety and cognitive issues, I am still powering through these VERY hard classes. I just need to find things to keep my mind occupied. If my mind is occupied, my thoughts will not wonder to any negative areas.

Appointment today

Talking points:

I need to see  her more frequently or longer than these 30 minute sessions. It feel myself regressing with her schedule change.

I might have to quit my Master's program. I can't handle the stress. Too much stress. I am a failure.

I am actively avoiding almost everything causing stress. Avoidance is the number one thing I should NOT be doing, and yet... I cannot even look at Halloween decorations or watch things that are violent.

A sub-point of avoidance: I am avoiding my family.

Depression/suicidal thoughts are coming back. I get triggered by thinking I am dying, by feeling the pressure of a gun because someone is behind me, but now instead of fear, I just don't care.

I don't care about any of it.

UPDATE: She cancelled my appointment... Again... And I really needed her this time.

When the porcelain breaks, you either fix it or toss it

Words cannot express the dire state I've been living in since I woke up and noticed it was September 1st.

Usually, by the time it's July, I am already planning Halloween. Movies, parties, costumes, what treats to give out, haunted houses and hay rides... The list goes on.

Halloween was the single greatest time of the year. I would save up to splurge on decorations, baking themes, and any thing else relating to the holiday. I wanted to have the best decorated house. My party was the party. I wanted to be the cool house with the full size candy bars and the best house to visit. It was my day.

It's September 1st. I should be drinking pumpkin spice lattes, putting the final touches on my costume. Setting up the days to go to haunted houses and starting the two month horror movie marathon. I can't even look at the costumes hanging up in stores. I don't want to put up any decorations. I don't want to see kids roaming the streets. I have a new aversion to pumpkins. None of it seems fun.

In place of smiling kids, roaming in costumes having fun, I only see dangers. They could get kidnapped, poisoned, murdered or worse - they could do that to me. The marathon are now panic attacks waiting to happen; jump scares, guns, danger... I can barely think of it. And the darkness... All I can think about is how dark the night will be on Halloween...

I just can't... I hate to admit it, and it breaks my heart to say it, but I can't do Halloween. I am considering finding a hotel or cabin to retreat to. No decorations, no horrors, and no strangers.

I was supposed to better by now. You weren't supposed to take away my one day a year. But you did. You've made all the thing I used to love terrifying.

I need to see my psychiatrist soon. I'm falling into that deep pit if depression again. Living as the person I am right now, doesn't seem worth it. I just want me back.

But she died.

Haunted and hunted

The shooter is back in my dreams. I can't sleep at all. I wake up with a migraine. This has been going on for 2 weeks. I cannot escape him. He is continuing to hunt me. To haunt me. I cannot escape my ghost...

An Open Letter to Survivors

This is a video from the Rebels Project. They are here for you. I am here for you.



I relate to every word. If you read my blog, you KNOW I relate to every word. I am glad I found a community that actually live, breathe and UNDERSTANDS!

Pushing myself too hard?

I am trying. I am trying so hard to be better again. I might be trying too hard.

I am walking into work almost 2 hours early today because I couldn't sleep. The nightmares are back. I couldn't go back to sleep. Every time I woke up from one, I put on one of my Calm app Sleep Stories and it would put me back to sleep, and insert me into danger. I just couldn't risk that again.

I am working 9-12 hour days. It's stressful, even though I love my job. I am also starting classes soon. Decided to try and get a Master's in Social Work so I can be better equip to help others out there like me... I just wonder if it's too much too soon.

I am sitting here, at my desk, with an anxiety level at about a 7, verge or tears, because I just don't know how well I can deal with the day today...

But, I don't want to disappoint people by not trying.

I am trying to find purpose and meaning...

but I am failing.

I feel overwhelmed and exhausted. My new job, although it's a great environment and I love being here, has been draining. By the time I go home, I too drained to do anything else. My goal list has been kaput.

I have no energy to waste on exposure therapy.
I have no energy to waste on chores.
I have no energy to waste on my husband (and I know he is starting to feel it).

I have no energy at all.

I have all these other special projects that I want to get to, and I just can't.
I bought a mini-journal - 52 list project - to help me get back on track with writing and finding the good in the day/week/world, and I haven't been able to touch it yet.
I signed up for the Crisis text line, got approved, and this was the first week of training... I have two days to do it before I get kicked off :( I want to try it but, again, no energy.
I have special projects from work that I was supposed to do last weekend, that has been asked for me to produce yesterday, and... it's not done.

NOTHING IS DONE.

My last session with my therapist was short. She started a new schedule and my appointment was 30 minutes long. I got out all the stuff I felt was important from over the last month, and got no therapy. It felt like it anyway. I left her office for the first time feeling like nothing was accomplished. I know I can schedule more frequent visits, but I just don't have it in me right now to do that.

I don't know if I will ever get back to feeling complete. To have energy to DO stuff after work. To have energy to BE with my husband, instead of just existing next to him. I don't know why I am existing now. I don't know why I am alive.

I am just wasting space.

"Officers mishandled fort lauderdale airport shooting leading to chaos"

Article

I have no idea why I am alive...

Flying...

My co-worker is going to California. Brand new recruit. She started the same day as me! They were talking about flights, hotels, and car rental. She gets to go to our new campus in sunny California.

They didn't even ask me.
They know better than to ask me.
I wouldn't be able to go if they asked me.

But the jealousy is there.

...I wish I could go too.

Fight, Flight, or Hide

Today I took a long exploratory walk around my new office building. 

I looked at every nook and cranny. Opened all the unlocked doors and noted the locked ones. Throughout my survey of the space, I noticed that there are not many hiding places. Many of the classrooms are wide open spaces with tables and chairs; no place to hide behind or under. There was only one class room that had potential for escape, and it had two entrances/exits to it. Still, wouldn't count on it in a pinch. 

The Instructor office some hiding potential, only because I told myself to really check everywhere in there, and forgot to check a few places. I was seriously looking for hiding spots and, even noting a few to check on, I still didn't bother to check in those spots. I believe the layout of that space is probably good enough to look through quickly, but no reason to thorough check hiding spots unless there is a reason to.

Some class rooms have windows, but nothing in the rooms to really break the window. The chairs seem flimsy and there was nothing very heavy to throw at the glass. Also, we are about 2 or 3 stories high, and nothing but concrete below. Nothing to throw out to cushion the fall. Windows for escape would definitely need muscle and you would have to execute the landing perfectly. 

There are several ways out of the space, but only two lead out of the building completely. One is an emergency exit near the back of the building, one is near my office, down a hall to the back entrance to our space. These are the most likely ways to exit. There is also an exit in the back that leads to a utility room and up to the roof. That might be a great way to go if all else fails, but we would still be stuck on the roof. The other exit is through the front of the office, to the lobby of the building. That is risky as there is a lot of open space and large glass windows, but it is an exit.

Conclusion:

If anything happens, I should take an exit nearest to me. I shouldn't risk hiding, as I would be found instantly. If the exits are blocked, I should try a window escape and hope for the best. It's survivable, but I might not get very far based on the height and landing on concrete. The last thing I should do is hide, and if I have no choice but to hide, I should hope that I can make my way to the instructor's office, or just get under a desk and hope for the best.

I honestly want to believe I would be able to fight my way out, but armed with only pepper spray, it seems unlikely. So I have to hope that maybe one of the many gun enthusiast in my office feel better about taking on a situation like that. 

This is how my break today was spent.

Remembering Aurora

It's the anniversary of the Aurora movie theater shooting...
I stayed up all night thinking about it. Hoping that those survivors and those hurting find peace today.

My co-worker got threatened today on the road. A man said he was going to shoot her. She was telling the story.

I had a panic attack...

I am still recovering from it even now.


But they are warm and understanding.

New job anxiety and a healthy environment!

This is what I posted to Facebook on July 7th:

During lunch I asked my immediate supervisor if I could have a short chat with her. She sat me down with her supervisor/my head supervisor as well (which is fine because they all acted concerned and was already sympathetic to what I was about to disclose).
I told them the condensed version of things. It was hard. I teared up, but I got through it. They were completely understanding. Not only that, but my supervisor also has experience with anxiety and panic attacks! So she told me to let her know if I needed anything at all.

Later on today, she came walking into my office area and startled me and apologized. I said it's okay, it wasn't a big deal and she insisted that she would be more aware of things! She also volunteered for us to do breathing exercises and meditations together if I got too anxious! I was working an intense spot at an orientation tomorrow, and she moved me to a position that would have less traffic and would feel safer (which I didn't ask for, but she insisted and I feel very relieved)!
So overall it went very well. My new office knows about my PTSD and panic disorder and everyone is being accommodating and understanding. 

Let me just say, since I've been working at my job EVERYONE has been loving and understanding. I have let my other secrets trickle out. "I am a vegetarian." My work has been super accommodating about that as well! "I am mixed race!" And they gush about how much they love my hair! Since I've been working here my anxiety has been way down! Nothing really triggers me at work. Here are the few things I have noticed about my work location:

1) Most of the rooms only have one exit. I keep going over emergency/escape plans in my head (fight, flight, or hide) and my brain cannot seem to feel really safe in many of these rooms. My office is also in the very back of the building. I literally either have to hide under my desk or break out through a window (a few stories high) and hope that the fall will be better than the enemy... Yeah, my brain is still trying to find a better solution but cannot.

2) I get scared out of my mind when someone sneaks up behind me, but I guess because they are new people to me, I try to contain the crazy as much as I can. So I jump in my skin and feel my heart rate pulse (and turn red!!) but I try my best not to scream at them. So... crazy is officially containable.

3) I've only cried once since I got to my new office (since July 15th) from something triggering. I've only had one mild panic attack (at work) since being here as well! Outside of work is still a different story...

I honestly believe this job is good for me. Slight pay and benefits cut, but the environment is healthy for me. If I can learn to control my symptoms, then I can survive almost any situation. This is a good training wheels for me to get over some of my anxiety. I just have to learn to feel safe in some of these no real exit rooms!!

Fireworks and PTSD

I went to bed at 10, which is a bit early for me. Woke up at 12 literally thinking there was a shooting on our street. Loud screams and several bangs.

I flipped out. I was convinced it was a shooting. The shrieks and shrills were coming from kids and adults before and after each bang.

I looked out the window and saw people with their flashlights, giggling, about to light the next firework.

I put on my headphones and cry myself back to sleep.

It's official. I left a major part of my soul at that airport. I had hope I would eventually be whole again. But tonight reassured me that I will never have that piece of myself again.

All my life I've loved film. I love going to the movies. I love making movies.

I no longer love it. Being in the theater is so painful. The one thing that made me unique; that made me really stand out... It's gone forever.

I don't ever want to go into a movie theater again

Fireworks

July 4th, The United States of America celebrated it's Independence Day. July 4th was 6 Days ago.

Tell me why fireworks started going off at June 28th.
Tell me why they have been going off every day since July 4th.
Tell me why they were still going off yesterday night!

Fireworks make me jump out of my skin. I can not fully crawl back in my skin until they stop going off for the night.

For two weeks I've been jumpy, I've cried, and I've panicked.

Please for the love of all things good in the world, let last night be the last night.

The noise cancelling headphones can only cancel so much :(

Prolonged exposure at SDF

Thursday, June 29th, 2017. Almost 6 months since the incident. I was back at the airport.

It was on our calendar for a full week. I wasn't sure if this was something I was ready to do or not, but I didn't feel scared or nervous waiting for the day to come. It was an eerie calm. I felt ready to tackle it and see how far I could push myself.

I think I need people to tell me to stop pushing myself too far too fast.

I grabbed Erich from work at 4PM. We were supposed to meet at SDF at 4:30. Naturally, on the drive, we started talking about if either of us were nervous, and our feelings about the whole thing. He started describing some things: "I am glad the baggage claim doesn't have carpet. I remember the carpet vividly and hope to never see it again!"

That's when I remembered. Vividly. That's when it all tried to come back to me, and I tried to stop thinking about it. I couldn't stop the intense pain in my chest and the blurriness of the road in front of me. Where did my breath go?

I proceeded to have one of the most intense and powerful panic attacks I've had in months. Luckily we made it to the parking lot in time for it.

Our FBI Victim's Specialist meet us there in the parking lot. She was right on time. I composed myself and we went in. I did warn her of the earlier panic. She is very professional and handled it perfectly. I was able to stop shaking within 10 minutes of our initial meeting. We went inside. Unfortunately, from the parking garage to the inside of the airport, you go up the stairs from underground. Up the stairs, to the baggage claim... Yeah, that happened. We immediately continued on up to the main lobby of the airport and was only in that area briefly. My heart started to pound but nothing more than I could handle. We were there, literally, only seconds.

So we walked around the main lobby. We found the meditation room; which I had no idea existed. We sat there. We calmed ourselves. We felt good. I checked in with Erich. He was ready to go. The VS checked with both of us, we were ready- to explore other parts of the airport!

We walked to the ticketing area. Sat there by the stairs leading down to baggage claim. I eyed everyone who walked by. I know that sounds rude but I did. I had to look at their bags, look at their pockets, look at their faces to reassure myself that nothing was off about that person. A few kids ran by, and the announcements made us jump, but our anxiety levels were around a 3/4 the entire time.

We walked to the Comfy Cow - a local ice cream chain that happens to be in the airport - and decided to distract ourselves with a cool treat. That brought us back down to a 1. We then made our way down the stairs to the Tourist Kiosk, knowing that the claim area was feet from us. We looked at our shoes. No carpet. Believe it or not, knowing I didn't have to see carpet there was a huge relief. I tricked myself into believing I could do it. 

With the encouragement of each other and our VS, we inched into the area. A loud bag slammed behind us and we inched a little faster, then found a good pace. My feet looked fine on the ground. I could see a loose thread hanging off my clothing. But where were Erich's feet? I looked over. I saw the chairs next to the baggage carousals. Our VS was asking what my level was. My vision blurred again. My voice left me. Was I a 5? Was I a 9? I tried to stutter out the words. She asked 3 times. "Fi-five? M-m-maybe 6?" I looked up to Erich, and then to the carousals. 10. I was at a 10.

I lost it.

It all came back. The gun. The shooter. The man in the brown shoes. The red on the carpet. The feeling I was going to die. 

We were in the area for 3 minutes, but who knows how long it really was. When you are faced with these things, time has no relevance or meaning. You are in the past, present, and future all at the same time. I collapsed outside near the passenger pickup lane. My body was shaking. I couldn't breathe. I have no idea what my thoughts were. I was dying. All over again. 

I was down, on the ground, not knowing what would come next, and not knowing how long it had been. Eventually I started gaining more control. Our VS and Erich had been talking to me. Reminding me that I was safe. I started focusing on their voices and I came back.

Unfortunately, the way back to the garage was the way we came. I knew I couldn't step foot in the airport again. Not that day. A security officer guided us around to a street area (which had NO WALKING signs all around). She gave us permission, plus being with the FBI helped too, so we were able to get by without stepping back inside.

We got home. My mom came over to fix my hair up for the first day at my new job (That Friday)! Then the fireworks started. From Thursday until... I believe they are still going on tonight, I'm sure. Cue panic attacks for the following nights. How I made it through the first day of work, I have no idea.

Its like a dance! One step at a time

Proof that when you take a step back, you find a new path to go forward on.

My step back? I started the new season of Twin Peaks this weekend. Halfway through episode one, there was bang/pow music through a creepy woods. My anxiety spiked and I tried to push through it even though I felt the panic rising. It ended at a small cabin when a man steps out with a shotgun. I. Lost. It. I screamed, cried, panicked. It was awful. We stopped watching the episode.

So, still dealing with the triggers. No matter how minor.

But! The step forward! I did the dishes! Remember last time I did the dishes? That didn't happen this time. This is the first day in months that I've been able to do the dishes. I didn't cry. I didn't panic. It was like normal! I am so happy with myself I feel like I can do anything!

So sometimes there are set backs, but you got to recognize the step forwards too!

Gasp!

A symptom that has not ever gone away is how easily startled I am. A loud noise, or seeing something unexpected, makes me gasp and jump a little in my seat. I should be thankful that minor things don't instantly trigger a panic attack like before, but it's still a bit annoying (although I do laugh at myself when it happens).

Examples of things that have startled me (with a gasp and jump out of my seat): 

• Whistling
• Mario Kart player missing a jump and falling off the track
• Someone saying "This is bad"
• The turning of a doorknob
• Shutting the refrigerator door
• Someone sneezing down the hall

So you can see, very mundane things. Of course the main things that previously triggered a panic attack, still do, but at a lower capacity. For example, while at the cabin last weekend, my brother put on one of the new Planet of the Apes films. I believe it was Rise of the Planet of the Ape. There were a few gun shots. I did my gasp and jump at the first one, and felt my heart rate rise. Then by the time they showed another gun, I was out of the room. Guns and Loud noises trigger the "gasp and jump" reflex but it also comes with the panic attack. I am becoming quit well at keeping them under control for the most part. I think 2/5 times, I get triggered into an intense panic. 

I did bring up this to my therapist, asking her if I will always be so easily startled or if it's something that will go away. I mentioned that I gasped at paper blowing slightly in the breeze out of the corner of my eye (yes, I gasped at paper!!). She personally doesn't have experience with this type of trauma, so she found it hard to give me a definite answer. Which is fine. I know we are a unique case for Kentucky (that's what our Victim Specialist told us too). I just wish I knew for sure.

I guess, for now, that means no haunted houses, no scary movies, and no extreme gun movies until I can stop this "gasp and jump" at the little things. It's something I will slowly have to build a tolerance to!

New tattoo secret

I got a new tattoo a few weeks ago. There is a dark secret hidden within it though. I've only confided in my husband and my mother this secret, but it's probably time I told the whole truth.

This tattoo is a life preserver.

I started having really dark thoughts that surrounded me starting around the beginning of May. I used to be a self harmer, but nothing that I used to be can compare to the desire I felt a few months ago; what I currently struggle to keep at bay.

I had this reoccurring, and extremely intense, desire to end it all. I kept imagining the ways to do it. The plan. The note. How it would effect everyone. As a former self harmer, I knew which way I wanted to do it. After seeing the Netflix show 13 Reasons Why, I felt there was no other way to go.

As a rational and logical human being, I knew it was just the trauma talking to me. I knew I could get out of this thought pattern. I knew I could curve that desire. So, on one particular day, spontaneously, I got a tattoo.

The tattoo is a colorful phoenix. I wanted it to be abstract and colorful to remind me of the beauty in the world. I wanted a phoenix to remind myself to rise above this trauma. I got it on my arm to tell myself not to cut through something so pretty and meaningful.

It worked! I felt happy again. The endorphins from the pain of the tattoo made me feel happy. I could look down and remind myself of all the good in the world and how strong I am! It worked extremely well, for a while.

After it healed, it seemed like the goal slowly faded away. I started to sink again. It seemed like I was sinking faster and deeper than where I was at before I got the tattoo. There was a heartache I couldn't mend. I wanted to die.

It was about to happen. It was a week or two after our first visit to the lake this year. I was drowning in sorrow. If I could claw out my heart to end it all I would have. I needed to escape my skin. I needed an out. It was going to be as spontaneous as my decision for a tattoo. It was going to happen without much preparation.

But first, one more talk. My rational brain needed to try and reach out to Erich. It wanted to let him know what was about to happen. It wanted me to try one more time to keep going.

As I hid myself away, and the tears were flowing erratically, I unleashed the heartache I was holding within. I told him I got the tattoo on my arm to curb the desire to slit my wrists. I told him that everyday I felt I was getting closer. That living with survivor's guilt is a fate worse than the void of nothingness. That I know people love me, care about me, and would be sad that I'm gone and it all meant nothing to me. I cried my heart out. I cried my lungs out. I cried for hours.

He told me that when he feels that way, he goes some place different. Anywhere than that ledge of suicide is better than that ledge. Then, another spontaneous decision. Just as he finished saying that, I told him we need to leave the house right now. We jumped in the car and started driving.

I tried to call my mom. No answer.
I tried to text and call and text. No answer.
It was late. She was asleep. But I needed her. I needed her to know and to understand. After a few attempts, I told Erich nevermind​ and let's just drive around until I stopped crying. And we did. And we ended up at my mother-in-law's house. She was able to calm me down after another hour or so. Then we went back home.

So that's the story of my tattoo. I look at it and I still see all the original promises and hope. I know it does help keep the thoughts away.

But the thoughts are still there, bubbling just under the surface.

Treat Yo Self

I used to deny myself many things. A specialty coffee in the morning, a new pair of shoes, new clothes, two desserts. I always told myself, there is something better to spend my money on. By better, I meant more practical. Like gas, bills, groceries, car repairs, etc. I had buyers remorse every time I bought something for myself.

After having a sudden, and violent, life or death experience (and seeing terrorist attacks all over the news this month) it really puts life in perspective, and just how instantly it can end at any moment.

Life is short. There is no guarantee that you will make it to age 90, and even if you did 90 years is still a short time. I still can't believe I made it this far. I am shocked that Erich and I were both alive to see him turn 30. It almost didn't happen!

Lately, I've been treating myself. I've been treating myself to new shoes, coffee, chai, or tea several days a week. I've been on edge of quitting my crappy job since I got back. Life is too short to have to worry about bad bosses. Life is too short to continue to wear shoes that are tattered and falling apart. Life is too short not to treat yo self to even the smallest things that make you happy.

For a few months, that's what I keep telling myself.
I should go get that thing I want because, I could die tomorrow.
I should get Erich a very expensive birthday gift because I want his moments here to be as happy as they can be.
I should treat my neighbor to dinner every once in a while.
I shouldn't turn down that invite to a small reunion party.
I should help my friends pay for groceries.
I should give that homeless guy money.

I should do everything I can to make the world a better place for friends, family, future generations, strangers and myself. This is a positive that has come from a negative. I am just getting there, but I will continue to live life to the fullest as best as I can. Now, I am sipping on a delicious Beekeeper Iceberg from Heine Brothers at 9:00 AM because I deserve it!

And you deserve it too.

"Keep Going"

I went to a cabin by the lake this weekend. It was a short weekend trip with Family. My brother and his girlfriend arrived near the end of the trip. He came in to talk to me.

I told him about my struggles. I told him about how I am so depressed I cannot move. I told him that blogging almost every day really helped me for a while, but then I stopped. You know what he said? Just two small, but powerful words:

"Keep going."

I am trying. I am trying everyday to keep going on. I am trying to force myself to do better. I am trying to get out of bed earlier, do some chores, get out of the house, and keep blogging. I am trying so hard to keep going.

So forgive me that this blog entry is short, and that I haven't had a good blog entry in a while. Things are starting to look up. I am going to try to keep going....

...and I hope you keep going as well :)

I don't know what to post about

I have my good days and bad days.
My days are better when I have friends around.
I am not doing chores, still.
I want to quit my job.
I keep imagining dying. I can't stop.
I had a panic attack this morning.
I hate myself and this life I am living.
Will quitting make me feel better?
How can I get motivated to do chores again?
I am gaining weight, why can I not stop myself from eating?
Why can I not find the motivation to exorcise?
Why does my heart hurt everyday?
Why am I still crying everyday?
Am I all better yet?

The Dear Hunter "Things That Hide Away"

"Things That Hide Away"



Waking up I felt that hesitation

Like I wasn't meant to wake up at all

Letting out a soft, cynical sigh

My God, it's just the answer

To the question I can't find



Marching on, it's one foot then the other

Better than one foot then none at all

Biting off way more than I can chew

Like I sometimes do

I never know just when and where to stop



Why are we here, why do we die?

Maybe we're just never meant to know why

Why are we here, why do we die?

Why, why, why?



Why are we here, why do we die?

Maybe we're just never meant to know why

Why are we here, why do we die?

Why, why, why?

10:22PM

I keep switching from being terrified to die, to thinking that is the only way out.

My brain makes everyone around me someone to fear

Last night my husband got frustrated at the dog.

He crawled into bed and was mad that the dog wouldn't move or something like that.

I was already laying down. Hearing his frustration triggered something in me. I was now afraid of him.

The fear isn't rational. I know it isn't rational. I kept telling myself it is not rational. But my brain kept playing possibilities in my head. He is going to kill you. He has a gun and since your back is turned, he will shoot you without you knowing. Maybe he is going to start hitting you or choking you. I got so uncomfortable by the thoughts, without saying a word, I went to the couch with a cover and pillow.

He came out to get me. I was already silently crying, as soon as I saw his silhouette. I feared him being near me. What happened next?

He gently told me to come back to bed.

He tucked me in and kissed me.

He offered to sleep on the couch and let me stay in the bed alone.

He apologized for being upset over the dog.

None of those actions scream violence. None of those actions say I should be afraid of him. But my brain couldn't stop picturing him doing unspeakable things to me. I tried to mentally fight it. I made him stay in bed with me, but the fear was still there. I didn't feel safe. My brain was going over every possibly scenario of him snapping and taking it out on me. 

I got up once more. To shut the door to our bedroom. I tried to tell myself that maybe I was just nervous someone would enter our room and that's what I was really afraid of. We never sleep with the bedroom door closed, until I have moments like this. Then the door needs to be shut. It offers me just a small amount of peace to get me to sleep. It worked. I eventually slept.

My husband is not violent. He is gentle. He is sweet. He loves me and cares about me in ways I've never experienced. He literally was ready to take a bullet for me. No one cares about me more than he does. So why is this fear here? Why does this trauma effect my perception of the one person who would never hurt me? 

I hate my brain.

My letter

It was one of the first steps to my therapy: writing this letter. I've written it so many times, and many early drafts were incoherent and consumed by survivor's guilt.

After meeting with our FBI Victim's specialist on Thursday, she informed me the family is not ready to receive letters... Probably never will be. I have accepted that. I am posting the last and final draft of my letter here.

I hope it doesn't seem cold. I truly felt this was the best way to get my feelings out, give her condolences, and not remind her too much of that day. This took me 3 months and 5 drafts to write.

5/17/2017

I'm still trying... Just letting you know.

Stay on your medicine

I am sorry to report... Although I've been doing well with my main medication, I've unfortunately I've been slacking with my Prazosin. Prazosin helped me sleep through the night by taking away my nightmares or by not allowing me to really remember them. I know it sounds too good to be true but it worked.

I've been off the pill for maybe a week. Shame on me. The nightmares have gradually come back and it climaxed today. Slowly my dreams started getting worse - something bad, but not horrible, would happen. Today I woke up from an attack dream. Stuck in a shooting situation waiting to be shot.

I will start taking my medicine, all of them, again today.

I am disappointed in myself but I think I'm more disappointed that my nightmares will never stop being about the shooting. It will always return to that. I will never escape my ghost.

Melancholy

Years ago I went to see a movie with my best friend at the time. It was Lars Van Trier's Melancholia. I remember watching it, and being uncomfortable but, as a film studies student, loving all the beauty that went into the film making. I recognized the themes and the depths of those themes. I recognized all the editing techniques and camera movements that helped convey those themes.

Now I live it.

The movie is currently available on Netflix. The style and direction is not for everyone, but it is a very important film because it shows depression in a way the world never sees. Depression is just "sadness" to many people. Something to over come and get over on your own. No one can fathom how it takes over both mind and body in a debilitating way.

Now I know it.

There is a sequence at the beginning setting up what to expect from the rest of the film by using visual metaphors for depression. The first half of the film shows the spiral of depression the main character, Justine, experiences while all the characters around her are oblivious and full of happiness and life. The second half is the characters dealing with an external problem causing chaos and despair around them. As soon as the act starts, we are faced with a scene where Clair - Justine's sister - is helping her out of bed and into a bath. You can feel the weight of Justine's body as she cannot control it. As she has to be pulled out of bed. As she has to be forced in the tub. She then has to be brought to a table to eat and her body hangs as she tries so hard to eat the food in front of her. She then weeps.

This is who I am.

I haven't seen the film in years. In fact, probably only one more time on DVD a year or two after seeing it in theaters. But that first scene in the second half keeps popping in my brain. It's because this is who I am now. I am becoming Justine. I feel like this body isn't my own. That the weight of this thing around my soul is too heavy to lift, or my will is too weak to try. It takes me so long to get out of bed. It takes me so long to get off the couch. I cannot do anything. While I am at work, I cannot seem to bring myself to do anything. That continues at home as well. The chores are still not being done. Remember the dishes? Remember how I said I would try? Mentally I am trying to pull myself up. Out of bed or off of the couch. I am mentally trying so hard to get up and do something, but I am stuck. My body is too heavy to move.

Yesterday a friend came over and brought dinner. I couldn't lift myself off of the couch to greet her. I stayed, laid, under the covers, crying, for the first 10 minutes she arrived. Eventually I started to sit up, slowly, but I didn't leave the couch the entire time she was there.

This is what I am.

There is a light inside me. It's small, and dim, but it's still there. The light is what was me, not this heavy case around me that is gluing me to the ground. The real Jessica is buried deep within. Sometimes I see a flicker of her when I look at myself in the mirror. Sometimes she comes out during a fun song that makes her sing. Sometimes the people around her can bring her out and let her shine. But the leaden body swallows it in moments. I looked at myself in the mirror this morning, smiled as I saw a glimmer of myself, then watched as my smile slowly faded again. The literally definition of Happiness fleeting.

I am still here.
I am still here.
I AM STILL HERE!

This is the only thing that keeps me going. Even as I write this out, I am slumped over my desk because the weight is incommodious. I am smiling to those around me, but I just cannot will myself to do anything. But I am still here. I got up in the morning. I made it to work. I am still here. I will do it again tomorrow. And then again the next day. And again. And again. Again.

Here is a short case study on the film Melancholia and depression in film below:

Prolonged Exposure

Lately I've been practicing Prolonged Exposure Therapy. It's exactly what it sounds like: Exposing yourself to re-experience the traumatic event over and over until it's effect gets lesser and lesser. It's what veterans practice to cope with their PTSD and my psychiatrist believes it will help me.

It started with me writing about it. After I wrote about it, it took me weeks, maybe even a full month, before I could go back and read what I wrote. I then wrote about it again in more detail. I still have trouble reading it, but reading it helps me remember, and to never forget. 

Then I had to read it aloud. It caused a major emotional reaction from me reading it to my psychiatrist. It then caused me a very stressful, emotional week after reading it aloud. Then slowly I started talking about it. Answering questions people had, telling my friends in person or via Skype about my experience. Just slowly exposing myself, and accepting, what had happened. 

It worked for a bit, but I was still suffering from the most traumatic experience of the whole ordeal. The hardest part for me to write about, to think about, to say aloud... was the man next to me who died. Who took the last bullet, which was the only reason I am still here typing. Even now, I've slowed my typing and keep pausing after every word because that's the most traumatic experience for me. Not that my life was in danger, which was traumatic, but more traumatizing than that was how I feel and experience what happened to the man next to me. I have to move on or I will not make it through this entry.

After doing those assignments, we started the visualization process. Thinking about the airport and going into the baggage claim area. Thinking about the sounds, what I might see, what it might smell. Just immersing myself, mentally, into the event. And then what it would be like knowing that was an isolated incident: an ordinary average baggage claim area.

Now I am on the third step: Going to the airport. I've recently started my drive-by sessions. Eventually, I will have to park there and sit at the airport. Maybe stand outside or around it. Maybe go into a different part of the airport... But the goal is to make it to the baggage claim area. And do it again. And again. Until I can do it without it triggering me into a panic. Into a crying fit. Into a flashback... Until I can stand there and feel mostly normal.

Yesterday was my second attempt at a drive by. My first attempt, I was alone, went on my lunch break, and drove past the arrival area once and the departure area one. It took less than 10 minutes to do so. It made me slightly panicked (about a 3/10 on the anxiety scale). Yesterday, however, a friend drove me. And it was worse!!

This is my experience from yesterday:

My friend picked me up and we took off to the airport together. I felt my anxiety rise to about a 3/10 again on the anxiety scale, so the first time around I was about what I expected. She was good at distracting me and engaging me in conversations about ANYTHING else. But then we went around again... and my chest began to tighten. I saw so many people, vulnerable people, just standing there with their bags. The baggage claim area right in the window, the carousel bring bags around. My anxiety level raised to about a 4 or 5. 

I thought that was it. We could leave now. I wanted to leave so badly. But then we I saw the sign directing us back to arriving flights. I started clutching my chest. The pain was extreme. I started to tear up, I started to breathe more heavily. I wasn't in control of the car. I couldn't stop from going to that area again. I had no control. I felt trapped in a never ending loop. That we were going to keep going back over and over again, and then I would wake up and realize I am still on the floor at the airport. It was nerve wrecking.

What we did was almost a blur for me now. I know we also drove past departing flights, but I just can't remember if we alternated or what we did. I just know I had the biggest effect going to the arrival flights area.

Eventually, she dropped me back off at my car. I felt okay. She gave me a big long hug. I started to drive home, trying to make myself see my accomplishment for the day. I saw the carousal. I saw the bags. I remembered the event. I cried on the drive home. I cried at home. Erich held me until it was over.

Love, Friendship, and Family

I have to remind myself that I have to also post the positive stuff too. This weekend was full of positive stuff. Let me just say, I really needed a reminder of the good in my life. The love and friendship and family I have surrounding me. I really needed that this weekend.

I am so lucky to have so many supportive and understanding people in my life. To hug me when I need it. To stand next to me, ready to comfort me, as I head into an uncomfortable situation. To constantly check up on me in person, and from afar. To remind me of how far I have come, and telling me to be proud of myself, especially when I only seem to focus on the negatives.

Why me? Why am I so lucky to have so many great people in my life? How did I end up so lucky to surround myself with positive people who care about me? To remind me to have fun. To help me forget that I am in a crowd of people. To help me to remember to take time and look back and see that there is progress!

I am grateful for the love I have in other people. I am lucky to have this support system. I want to be able to repay them all some day.

If you are reading this, I love you. Because even reading this to try and understand me better, is a way to support me. Support comes in many different forms. I feel like I've experienced them all over the weekend. It pulled me out of the darkness I kept writing about. It made me laugh and smile and have fun. It made me open up to my mother and my husband about what was truly going on inside. It made me be vulnerable around my friends and family.

I was told a few weeks ago, that the "new normal" doesn't have to be a bad thing. It's just another thing. The new normal can be full of positives. I am not what happened to me. I am what I choose to become. I need to remember to keep pushing forward.

I got my peer support application. Hopefully my new normal includes helping other people out there like me. Wish me luck.

Anxiety, Panic Disorder, and living with Depression

I will start out with an apology. This entry will be a bit dry. No creative words. No fun sentence structures. No pictures or videos. Just words describing what it's like living with panic disorder.

I've been overwhelmingly depressed lately. To the point where I've become a couch potato. I come home from work, and go straight to either bed or the couch, and stay at either spot the rest of the day. As a result, chores have been left undone and my house is becoming a mess. I know this. I am bothered by this. But I cannot will myself to move and do anything. 

So what's the difference from everyday anxiety and living with panic disorder? Anxiety could manifest as "Oh, I got to do the laundry and dishes and feed the animals and oh gosh! There are bills to pay and I am feeling so overwhelmed." It might trigger you to be jittery, or maybe you cry a little. Maybe you do have a panic attack. But the point is, you still are able to pick yourself up and complete your tasks. You feel better after you let out a good cry. You move on.

So here is what panic disorder is like for me, using an example from 2 days ago. I come home. I notice that the place needs to be vacuumed. I notice that the dishes are well overdue. I notice so many things that are just an absolute mess. They all bug me, but I have no fight left in me. So I head to the couch and sit. Erich sits with me and explains that he can't keep doing all the chores himself, that he needs me to do the dishes after dinner. I smile and so "I can do that! I just need some motivation."

After dinner is completed, which I took my sweet time doing, I stall and avoid doing the dishes as long as I can. Erich notices and comes to get me. I ask him to pull up a chair and sit in the kitchen while I do the dishes. That I need him there because I feel anxious about it. He agrees. 

The first dish I grab is one of our smallest cups in our cupboard. It's less than an 8oz cup. It's already mostly clean. I think Erich just used the small cup for a sip of water to take one of his pills. I grab it and the tears start flowing immediately. I take the soapy sponge and slowly start cleaning it. My heart is pained. I don't know how else to put it. It hurts. It aches. It pounds. I start my panic attack. I try to push through it though. As I am having a panic attack, I am leaning against the sink, to keep me supported and standing, and finishing up that glass. I rinse it and rest it to the side. Still mid-panic, I reach for the next glass. I sob harder. Tears are pouring, my chest is pounding. I slowly start to clean the next glass. 

Erich comes up from behind to try and stop me. He hug me tight as I cry harder and harder. I keep trying to finish cleaning the glass, but Erich tells me to stop. I think if I can just push through the first few, my panic symptoms would go away and my anxiety would subside. I tell him I want to finish, but I am unsure if he can understand the words leaving my mouth. He starts asking: What is it? Is it the noise - glass clinking, squeaky noises, water running? I shake my head. Is it being forced to do something - to do this chore, he asks? I shake my head. I try, through heavy breaths and a shaky voice, to explain that it's just how I feel. How my heart feels. How my soul feels. Everything feels crushed. Nothing is causing this anxiety - nothing that I am consciously aware of. I am unsure if I explained it to him or not. Maybe it was all in my head. Maybe he just took my cues of wanting to continue as a sign to sit back down.

He sat and watched. I stood, supported by the edge of the sink, and pressed on. The panic and crying didn't stop. I don't even think I can use the word cry. A cry is from sadness. This was a more painful sound I was making. Acid tears that were pouring. If there are words for what it sounds like for your soul to die, that was the sound I was making. 

Doing the dishes, I believe maybe less than 10 dishes total, took almost 45 minutes. I couldn't catch my breath the whole time. The tears didn't stop flowing, the whole time. My howls of grief and pain didn't stop. Erich helped. As best as he could. He occasionally stood to rub my back. He handed me dishes. He tried to get me to stop a few times too. I just truly thought that it was something I could beat. That if I kept pushing through it, I could get over my anxiety and then become gleeful as I finished up the dishes. But that wasn't the case. Even after I rested the last glass to the side, I pressed my face into Erich's chest and sobbed. My heart aches just remembering all of this.

Anxiety is real.

Panic disorder is real.

Depression is real.

Mental illness is real.

And it hurts all it touches.

Erich can't do this alone. That's what he said. He cannot take care of me, take care of our animals, take care of the house, and take care of himself. He cannot do it alone. That's why I pushed myself. That's why I tried so hard. Do you want to know how the story ends? The next day, after work, I came home and went to the couch. That's how the story ends. Nothing changes. I am still depressed. I am still too anxious to move. The pain is still present. There was no lesson​ in this. There is no point to any of this. I am a burden. I am useless. Erich needs help and support I can no longer provide for him. And there isn't anything I can do to change that.

May is Mental Health Awareness Month

Credit for pictures goes to Shawn Coss and you can buy from this series at Any Means Necessary.

So I am going to do this differently. I discovered this series recently and related to so many of the pictures. So I am going to showcase a few of the pictures and tell you how they relate to my mental health.

This is one that I didn't go into much detail about, yet. But for a while - at the airport - I truly believed I was dead. I thought that I was dead and I was merely a ghost. It's a weird feeling, thinking you've actually were the one shot. That there was no way to survive that mess alive. But somehow I did. 

When I first got home, I didn't leave the house for almost two weeks. The only time I left was for my Psychiatrist appointments. Even after that two weeks I hated going outside, or to places/stores/restaurants/back yard or anywhere outside the comfort of my home.

EVERYTHING Made me anxious. Noises especially. I was almost immobilized by my anxiety. I just kept thinking that at any moment, when I let my guard down, that would be the moment I would die. The anxiety of death, of something bad happening to me or Erich, or of leaving the house and being out in public was powerful.

With anxiety, I was also terrified to be around other people. Socializing or being out in public made my anxiety spike. The only person I was comfortable with was my Husband. Eventually other people coming around to take care of me, helped ease this anxiety. With baby steps, I am now able to be out in public spaces.

When having a dissociate episode, Acute Stress or Post-Traumatic, I felt like a stranger in my own body. I felt like everything around me was fake and that I couldn't see the true reality in front of me. I still don't know if I have fully explained this feeling, although I've written about it several times. It's unreal, thinking you are not real.

Ah... Insomnia. Something I've been battling with off and on these last few months. Eyes wide, scared of the darkness, scared of the nightmares, wanting nothing but rest... If you read my previous post you know it was something I was suffering from to the point of being a danger on the road. It's miserable.

 This one is pretty self explanatory. When I get anxious, I start to panic. Then I have panic attacks. I am averaging between 1-3 panic attacks a day. The BusPar helps keep them at bay, but sometimes an attack can be triggered by nothing at all.

Everyone, meet my ghost. This is the image I relate to the most. Feeling chained to him. Have him being in control over me. The emptiness I feel inside. How it's bigger than me. Monstrous. This is the epitome of how I feel living with PTSD.

Last... Depression. This is how I've been feeling lately. This is how I feel now. This is the drowning feeling I've been talking about...

No official diagnosis for many of these things. I know I am depressed, have panic disorder and anxiety, and PTSD, but the other things - like Cotard Delusion and agoraphobia didn't last, and I guess that's also why I don't talk about them as much as my present diagnosis. But I understand how it felt living with those temporarily. I feel like a nutcase sometimes. Like I truly don't know what's in my head - which illness is controlling my thoughts. All I can do is try to keep pushing forward. I am going to keep trying as long as I can.

I encourage you all, to look through his full set of pictures on his Facebook page. This was an inktober challenge, so there are 31 mental illnesses that he drew and showcased.

Drowning

These last few days I have been drowning in a deep sadness. It feels like I am drowning. I feel it, inside my chest. Just a deep emptiness. It hurts so bad. I need help.

Good days and... days like today.

Today is hard.

I don't know what else to say. Soul crushing comes to mind. My eyes are watery because tears keep rising to the surface. I feel heartache.

I just don't feel like being here anymore. I just don't feel anything positive today.

Pills. Pills. Pills.

This entry is all about pills. I am on 3 different types of pills: Sertraline, Prazosin, BusPirone. I take the BusPirone up to 3 times a day. Some times less. I take everything else once a day, Sertraline in the morning and Prazosin at night.

Here is a breakdown on what each pill does for me. (Although I have posted something similar before)

Sertraline, aka Zoloft, is for PTSD symptoms including reexperiencing (intrusive thoughts, nightmares, flashbacks, images, or memories); emotional numbing and avoidance (flattened affect or detachment, loss of interest and motivation, and avoidance of any activity, place, person, or topic associated with the trauma); and increased arousal (startle reactions, poor concentration, irritability and jumpiness, and insomnia or hypervigilance). So... it's helping a little I suppose. I am less on edge, my flashbacks are nearly gone, It's not a miracle drug though so I have to take these other pills to help keep me balanced. I have posted before about what it's like to miss this pill. It's something I don't want to reexperience. This is my most important pill!

The BusPirone helps me stay calm. It stops my panic attacks, as much as it can. It makes me stay levelheaded when a loud noise triggers me. It's almost instantaneous. If I take it before a stressful event, at least 30 minutes before, I should be fine. No panic attacks, no crying, just me being calm cool and collective. 

Prazosin is the new one. It was supposed to help me sleep better, by taking away my nightmares. I think I can officially say that the nightmares are just about gone. I cannot remember the last time I had a dream about a shooting. It has to have been at least a week since a shooting nightmare. Maybe a little less than a week from a regular nightmare. So it took about a month to see any benefit from this one. I am not sure if that's average or not.

Video Jessica pretty much says it all. I have to take all of these pills to have the illusion of being normal, when my thoughts are anything but normal. When my instincts tell me to do something completely different like scream or run away or quit my job... It keeps me grounded. These medications are my new normal. This life is my new normal. That incident that happened in January will forever be apart of me. I just have to accept that pills will also be apart of me until I am ready to live life without them.

Now that you have my take on it things, here is a video by The Mighty about Medication for Mental illness.

Brown Shoes

I couldn't stop thinking about them yesterday. Terry and Ann. I literally just found his Facebook page. What's that old saying about curiosity? I hate that I can't stop myself from googling his name. I am conflicted that I found his page. On on the day of this entry. I knew I was going to write about him today.

I had a thought, but more like a prayer, yesterday.

I thought about his brown shoes and remembered begging him to move them. Then something strange happened... I saw movement. I saw his feet move. Then he slowly got up from the ground as his wife came over to him. They hug and kiss and stand up together. I fantasized about their vacation and the cruise. Taking pictures on the deck, swimming in the ocean, drinking out of pineapples. Face-timing with their children and grand children. Later, I imagined them walking through a door, with fresh tans, albeit slightly burned cheeks. As they put down their stuff, their grandchildren run to them and hug them. Their children kiss them both on the cheek. Then they sit around the dinner table telling fun stories and showing pictures of their cruise and all the fun they had. I imagine them going to bed feeling love, happiness, and peace.

"That's my husband," she wailed. 

I die every day

I guess I only have myself to blame. I put myself in these stressful situations. I started my day with espresso, I went to a big, loud event with lots of people in a neighborhood that recently had some shootings, I tried to be a mediator when my family was arguing, and I picked up that book again. I can only blame myself for ending my already intense day with a book on an intense subject. I can only blame myself for dying again.

As you can see from the entry that proceeds this, I had a PTSD episode. I can only blame myself. I was the trigger. I was reading the story and thinking about my weekend. How many times I freaked out because of how dark it was outside or in a room I was occupying - remember, I am scared of the dark - and then like magic, a panic attack comes over me. I've been getting better at handling my attacks. Learning to breathe is the biggest thing - but that's a whole other thing.

After I put the book down, I turned on my side. I started thinking about why I was scared of the dark. What is the connection bridging the attack that happened in daylight inside a lit airport, to make darkness so triggering for me. I figured it out - as I laid on stomach, with my head tilted to the side facing my ghost. It was because that's all I could think about when I was waiting to die. I was thinking about the blackness that comes after your heart stops beating - the nothingness. I started to cry. I just wanted to go to bed.

As I crawled into bed, with freshly washed sheets, I couldn't stop lying like that. On the stomach, head to the side, facing my ghost. I thought of his shoes. I thought of Terry's shoes. I started going back there. I couldn't stop myself. I couldn't stop remembering Terry. Everything around me seemed hyper-realistic. It felt like a reality beyond our own, that wasn't meant to be seen. Like looking through a telescope, pointed at a camera lens, that is pointed at a magnifying class. I could see into something that we ignore everyday, a reality that is just out of sight to the untrained eye.

I was there again. I could see him in front of me. I was still on the edge of the bed but his shoes were right in front of me. The ghost's shoes are pacing back and forth from our area. Terry is already dead, I can sense it. I know what I am seeing is not real, but yet it is real to me every single day. Erich helps me snap out of it. I didn't realize tears were streaming from my face. He was asking me questions, but I couldn't communicate with him. Even a simple head nod seemed impossible. That's when the paranoia kicked in.

So what was a PTSD episode like this time? It was a massive panic attack. I mentioned earlier that I am getting better at handling my panic attacks. I can keep them under control to an extent. This, however, I am a slave to. It's like my brain and body forget how to breathe. My breathing is short, fast, and erratic. No amount of preparation can keep me in control. I then think I am going to die.

When I say I think I am going to die, it's as close to literal as I believe you can get. I truly, honestly, believe that I am about to die. I can vividly imagine the gun going off at my head. I know I can never fully put into words how it feels, because it's a feeling most people never experience. Having your brain work so hard against you to make you believe that each moment, a gun will go off and then the blackness will set in... It's something I don't think anyone should have to experience.

I am crying as I type this out because I know how I felt yesterday. How terrifying it is to feel that way. To feel that way almost every day right before a panic attack. To feel that way almost every minute during an PTSD episode. I am not me during an episode. Looking back on what happened last night, it feels like it was a completely different person it was happening to. The me I am now wants to go and hug that girl. To tell her she isn't going to die. To tell her that everything will be okay. To lie to her until she feels better. I am in tears now because my heart breaks for that girl, and I know next time I see that girl, I still will not be able to help her.

I feel like I have more to say, but I just can't right now. I am too emotional and I have to put on a fake smile for work. Please, everyone who is reading this, go hug someone you love right now. Please do that for me. Let everyone in your life know that you love them. Pray for those who cannot find love in their life. Pray for me, because I feel like I will not feel love today.

Ptsd

I just had a PTSD episode.. I feel like shit

That small line

I've been sitting on this thought for almost a week. I haven't really been able to put into words all that is going on in my head lately. I've been pulled towards stories of mental illness. It's a new magnetism I have picked up. I seek out stories of disaster, heartbreak, and tragedy at the cause of untreated mental illness. As a sufferer from mental illness myself, I wonder what makes me different than the people I read about?

This weekend I picked up A Mother's Reckoning. I mentioned doing so in my last entry. What made me actually do it is all profits go to mental health charities, including Mental Health America (MHA), National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI), American Foundation for Suicide Prevention (AFSP), American Association of Suicidology (AAS) and Brain & Behavior Research Foundation. I have to admit, I am not very far into the book. I will definitely dive into it soon, but I after making the purchase I've been questioning my own brain health and what keeps me from crossing the same line others have crossed; the line that stops me from becoming one of these tragedies.

I imagine myself sitting at the edge of the line. I am there alone on my side, but look out and see so many others on the opposite side: Columbine Shooters, Virginia Tech Shooter, DC Snipers, Sandy Hook shooter, The Facebook Killer, Aurora Theater Shooter... It's massive on the other side of the line. The person staring directly at me is, of course, my personal demon, The Fort Lauderdale Airport shooter. They have all been accused of mental illness and shooting their victims, or participating in a mass shooting. Most of them went into it knowing they would kill themselves after. Shootings, suicide, and mental illness. It's been a slight obsession with me lately. I can't help it, it's apart of my magnetic pull.

I've read their stories many times trying to understand them. Trying to figure out why each and every one of them stepped over the line. Why are they on the other side, and I am over here? I have been wondering if it is inevitable that I will end up on the other side. Not that I would ever kill anyone else. Let me say that again: I will never kill. Not an animal, not a human, not even annoying flies buzzing around my head. It's why I chose to go vegetarian; it's why I am a humanitarian. But I have to admit that the thought of killing myself has been coming up often. But why?

I think it's just apart of my journey. Just a phase where I ponder the meaning of life, of living with mental illness, and living with survivor's guilt. It's something that I know will pass and even now, the thoughts are more passive than anything. Typing this all out scares me. I am scared of the stigma that will come about me even talking about the line existing. Talking about the thoughts that come into my brain. But that's just it. We all need to talk about it. We cannot allow mental illness, and all that comes with it, to be swept under the rug. We have to bring awareness to it. The more we stigmatize it, the less likely we are to seek help, the more likely we are to cross over.

With that said, I am going to do something extremely scary. I am going to post this blog's link for everyone. I am going to open up my thoughts, my suffering, for all in my life to read. With this act, it will be my first step on the road to helping others out there. I will talk about it openly, and if they choose, they can talk to me about it openly. Then we can help and support each other. I am also signing up for peer support specialist training, if I can find a date that I can attend! If I can save one person, that would give my life meaning...

Until then, I will sit on my side of the line, and look out to those who were so unlucky to be sitting opposite of me.

"My son was a Columbine shooter. This is my story"

I found this link today. Through a series of reading about all the horrible things in the world, and all the people causing those horrible things to happen... I found this. This might sound strange or silly, but this lady is an inspiration. She is out there fighting for mental health issues. I just want to be able to do the same as her. I want to be as brave as her. I think I might order her book now.




...I've had a sucky day. I just want to cry and be alone. I've already cried a lot today. I am just done with the day...

Not doing well posting

Lately I haven't had a desire to post updates. What can I say? The world has seriously gone so downhill. It's not like I've been really focusing on trying to stay safe. There is just so much horribleness in the world. Like so much gun violence and senseless killing. I cry every day thinking about it. Any time I am alone, I just cry or panic now...

I haven't been taking my BusPar. I know, I probably should start taking it again. I am having panic attacks and crying fits again. I guess I will start taking it tomorrow. I just wish I didn't have to take it all. I had 5 panic attacks last Sunday. They were back to back to back. I had one this morning and had to sit in my parked car for a few minutes before composing myself to move along.

Even when I feel good and confident I am still scared in public. I am scared that someone will shoot me in the face for no reason. Someone will come up and just senselessly murder me. That at any moment gun violence will break out.

I am crying right now... I guess I really need to start taking those pills again.

I am just not ready for the world. The world terrifies me.

I'm just going to leave this here

Uninjured Victims of the Virginia Tech speak out after ten years.