This blog started as a way to get my writing out. My random thoughts, poems, writing exorcises. It has now developed into a record of my recovery from Mental Illness.
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.
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.
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.
I am obsessed with the idea of feeling safe. I need to get my hands on a tally counter or something similar to see how often these thoughts come up a day.
Lately, I suppose I haven't been feeling too safe in my home. I keep imagining (to the point where I make myself audibly gasp), that someone will break into my house and kill me. Then what would my reaction be if confronted by that person.
For example, sometimes when I am showering, after Erich leaves for work, I just imagine the door slowly creeping open. A man walking stealthily through the house, and opening the bathroom door. He points a gun at me and I turn around and face him. I imagine not begging for my life, but for him to please at minimum to call my mother and let her know what happened, so Erich isn't the one to find me. I wonder if there is any reasoning with a person like that, but I cannot help but try and imagine it. Then I imagine what it will feel like after the gun goes off. How do I fall to the floor/shower? How does the blood splatter? Would he shoot me in my head or chest? Will he turn off the water after?
When I am in my basement, I imagine something similar, but my urge to hide overrides my urge to reason with him. I try to figure out what is the best place to hide if an intrude forces his way in, upstairs. Should I grab my animals and take them to another room and lock the door? Should I try to escape out the window? Should I lay flat and play dead? In this scenario I always imagine the choice I make being the wrong one and him finding me and shooting me.
Obsessive thoughts.
I just cannot shake them. I still constantly have the thoughts that I have posted about previously, but I never realized how often I have them in my own home. My home is supposed to be safe, but I guess I never fully feel safe there either. Will I always have these thoughts? Will they keep me safe, or are they just taking up useless space in my mind? Will I ever feel safe?
There is too much ugliness in the world. Too many attacks, shootings, and evil doings. I don't think I will feel safe anywhere in the world.
Today I am going to talk about him, and this will be the only mention of his name since it's hard to write: Esteban Santiago.
I've read up all that I could about him. The FBI is supposed to release more information to us as it comes but here is what I know and recall from what I read (it's so hard to reread this stuff).
He was a mentally ill veteran. He tried to get help one day. He turned himself in and he turned the gun over. He told them everything that was on his mind. He thought the government was controlling his thoughts and was trying to recruit him for Isis. He turned himself in and turned over his gun. He told them that he was going to hurt people, and he tried to prevent that. So he sought out help and gave them his gun! A few weeks later they said he was fine and gave him back his gun. He went on to board a plane to Fort Lauderdale with that gun.
So here is the thing. After all I'm going through, after all the other victims are going through, and after all the people he has hurt... I feel nothing but sadness and pity for him. Here is where I might get some flack for my thoughts but they are mine to have. He is a victim of a flawed system. A system that doesn't take care of the mentally ill. A system that doesn't take care of our veterans. A system that doesn't listen to those who need someone to listen to them. So many sick people in the world, so many wanting help but not being able to receive it. It's a shame.
I understand it better as now I am a part of the cycle. I have issues (obviously) and I am seeking help to overcome the issues I have. If these issues were to be untreated, who knows how that would affect me and those around me. Who knows what the human body is capable of when the human mind has gone untreated.
I couldn't sleep again last night. In my search to occupy my thoughts I stumbled upon a website called Goodbye Warden. It's the last words of death row inmates at a prison. The point of the project isn't to take a political stance but rather show the last thoughts of someone who is about to die. I stayed up and read at least 200 of the 540 entries. It really got me thinking about Him and all the other people on death row.
I won't get too political but there were several people who proclaimed their innocents until the end. There is an estimated 5% of the inmates are innocent. Innocent people who have been appealing the system for years trying to prove it and then having to die. I related heavily to them. I felt I was innocent and I was waiting to die, although I didn't have time to prepare a speech or find the peace that many of the inmates received, I still felt an odd sense of connection with each entry I read. Some were angry until the end, some were poetic, some were apologetic, some blame shifted, and many found religion and peace. I felt I had to read every entry but I had to stop eventually after a few intense ones.
Okay, on to the point...
I am looking to find purpose in the world. So many people have shoved "you survived for a reason" down my throat that I am actively trying to find that reason. As of now there are few things I am wanting to do to help fill that purpose. I want to help other victims like me: Survivors of trauma. Survivors of terrorist attacks. PTSD sufferers... I want to reach out and offer them any help and guidance I can. That, I think, is probably a given if you know me already. The thing that I didn't see coming is I want to reach out to death row inmates. It's weird, I know. Trust me, it caught me off guard when I thought it the first time as well.
I was a fence sitter on the death penalty. I saw both sides of the argument, and I still continue to see new emerging pros and cons of each side of the issue as well. The system is broken, and that is an absolute fact. From preventing crime to the punishment thereof. Fort Lauderdale could have been prevented. The shooter himself tried to prevent it. That's bad enough, but to think of the innocent people who are knowingly going to their deaths? That's a tough pill to swallow.
I feel like this urge to reach out to them is weird. Should have the opposite desire? I am not sure if I will feel the same tomorrow or the next day, but I feel it strongly now. To help people on both sides. To help them all feel at peace. This is where I am at currently. That site sparked something in me. However, many of them are also not innocent. They have done horrid things and have caused suffering. Do they deserve someone reaching out to them? I honestly don't know.
The shooter is not innocent. He committed the crime and that is a fact. His trial isn't until much later this year, but he is looking at the death penalty. If I am honest, I don't want to reach out to him. I have a curiosity of what he might say, but it would harm me more than I am willing to allow. I feel nothing but sadness for his life up to that point and nothing but pity for him now. I am not angry at him, although I feel I should be. His story is a tragedy. But the others that didn't personally impact my life... maybe they can find solace with me, and I with them.
There is a aphorism out there: There are no atheist in foxholes.
I never really considered myself an atheist. I felt that the universe was governed by some collective energy from which life had emerged from; when we day we become part of that collective. I don't have a religion, I would say the closest belief system I fall under is Jadeism with a little Buddhism too. Live and let live, Don't cause any living creature pain or suffering, Find happiness and meaning in your own life... These were mantras I practiced daily. No matter what religion or belief system you fall under, I don't believe "being nice" is seen as a fault (I would hope). So no matter what the force out there governing the world, I believed I was doing right by the universe.
There are no atheist in foxholes.
During my "foxhole" experience I surpassed atheism and went straight to nihilism. While I was down on the ground I knew the moment that bullet entered my brain that was it. Darkness forever. Nothing more from my life. Just darkness.
I had a few "near death" experiences in my life. My dad tried to kill me and my family once upon a time. He had a grenade, guns, and a hunting bow that he tried to use on all of us. My family still suffers the effects of that night. He was never a nice guy anyways. On that night I was brave, I stood up to him, and I believe I probably helped save my family. It was an trauma that I don't think I ever fully grasped how close to death I was that night, but all I can remember thinking during the whole ordeal is "If I don't get up now and try and stop him, my family and pets will die." I didn't care much about myself that time. I was about 13 or 14 years old.
One time I had pneumonia that the immediate care doctors didn't catch. I was sick for two months before I collapsed and was rushed to the hospital. My mom was there and she barely, about to walk out the door when I collapsed. She grabbed me and threw me in the car. As she was speeding through traffic freaking out as I was not really breathing well at all, I thought: I hope this doesn't traumatize my mom. I was okay and ready to die, but devastated at the thought that my mom wouldn't recover.
You see, I never was scared of dying. The thought of dying old to Young Jessica was not on my radar. I wanted to lead an exciting life full of risks and adventure and laugh in the face of death. With these past experiences I was never afraid of what came after death. Life was just too exciting to give a second worry to dying.
This foxhole experience was completely opposite from my past. I felt helpless. Hopeless. There was nothing I could do, no way to stand up to the stranger. I think my brain searched for meaning in what was happening but it couldn't find an answer. The only thoughts I can recall having is knowing I was going to die, or Erich was going to die, and that would be it. Darkness. For the first time ever, I was scared to die.
For weeks after the attack I was pure nihilistic. There was no meaning in the attack so there was really no meaning in the world. I've read the obituaries and news stories of all the victims. I have a special attachment to Terry Andres so I focused on him more than the others. You know what their loved ones had to say about them? That they were kind. That they've lead an amazing life. They had children and grandchildren. They were strong church going folk who gave back to the community.
Church going folks who gave back to the community.
I hated how people tried to make me deal with it. I am surprised I typed that out. Hated? I guess this is the first time I am admitting it to myself so I am genuinely surprised I wrote hated. I guess it is true. At this moment I hate that people told me "You survived for a reason." "This experience must make you believe in God! How could you not, you survived!" "I prayed for you extra hard and that's why you survived." "God must have a plan for you because you survived!"
I hate living in the bible belt sometimes.
Live and let live, right? I am the most liberal and tolerant person I know! I am kind to everyone, even the people who make me upset or angry. Kill em' with kindness was another mantra I practiced daily. It worked for so long. And then all of a sudden happiness was meaningless. Life was meaningless. You can believe in God and do good all of your life and still die a violent death. Meaningless.
Don't worry, dear reader, I didn't stay a nihilist for long. It lasted a few weeks and then I started getting back to my normal self with one hiccup. I am now terrified of dying. I hope when I fully recover I will no longer be terrified of death and I can go back to remembering death is just a part of life. It's hard though when the nightmares remind you of the hopelessness all over again.
Anyway, today on WFPK Louisville Free Public Media, the following song came on:
On the way into work, it really spoke to me. First, I decided to randomly turn on the radio (something I've been avoiding). A charming song Chuck Berry "Too Pooped to Pop" was just ending and then this song came on. It's really good song by a band I've never heard of and I was just drawn into the lyrics immediately. I think this song currently voices where I stand at the moment. But I have hope that I will become more optimistic sooner than later. Where did this optimism come from?
Half way through writing this blog post my co-worker stopped in. She was telling me about her friend she is staying with who lives on a farm with a Pig named Wilber and a duck named Quackers. I have always wanted to own a pig and duck (and cow and chicken...). To find out that the duck was named what I've always imagined naming my duck lit up my face. Seriously, I was going to call my duck General Quackers (the chicken Sergeant McCluck Cluck, the pig Commander Ham Ham and the cow Major Mooers). Back to the story, hearing that instantly put me in a good a mood.
Next thing that happened was my second co-worker bursts into my office and was complaining about the day she knows she was going to have, but told me to put on this song:
We all got up and danced the whole song. Imitating the dances we saw, making our own, clapping to the beat. It was the most fun I've had in the office. Then I look back on the rest of my week, and it's been pretty okay. I cleaned my house thoroughly. Did so many chores! I baked some delicious cookies. I hung out with friends and had a fire pit in my yard while my dog and his girlfriend played around us. I still haven't found personal meaning in it all, but there was some sort of meaning in it. In life. In this universe. It's a fleeting thought but for now, I will hold on to it as long as I can.
