"Officers mishandled fort lauderdale airport shooting leading to chaos"

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I have no idea why I am alive...

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

Friday Update... But on a Monday!

Okay so here is the update from my Doctor's appointment on Friday.

We started doing prolonged exposure again. We took a few breaks from it for various reasons: I was worried about Erich, one week, and she gave me tips to deal with him. She was out sick one week. I was sleep deprived another week and she told me to rest up. So basically... It was my first time in a long time doing exposure therapy. The last time I did it, I was a wreck the rest of the week. Cried all day, nightmares all night, panic attacks everywhere in-between. So I decided I should not drive myself to my appointment because it would be too much for me to handle driving home.

I was right. We started up prolonged exposure. We started it by reading the letter I wrote to Ann. It was short and to the point, but it still brought out a lot of emotion for me. As I was reading it I could see the scene again. It was like I could read the words but in my mind I was flashing back to her, and her husband, and her cries. I feel so connected to her, and I know she must not even remember me at all. She has become a part of my day, everyday. I hope she is doing well. I hope she is surrounded by loved ones. I hope she is finding happiness again. I would love to know how she is doing and be able to help her out, in any way I could.

Anyways, we started talking more about the incident. I told her I opened up, in person, to a few people, but not many at all. Like 3 people in total. I told her I started blogging everyday about things, like what happened, how I feel day to day, what PTSD is like. She was surprised. She said that it looks like I've been doing some prolonged exposure at home as well. That this blog is a form of exposing myself and making it the new normal. New Normal. Ugh. I guess I need to get used to it, that who I am now, and what happened to me, is now my new normal. Nothing will ever be like it once was.

I was a bit shaken up from that experience, but my anxiety was controllable, until I left her office. Then the tears came and I was visibly shaken. Lucky, I had a friend take me home, so I didn't have to drive, and I just did some self care at home.

Next time, she is going to make me close my eyes and take me through an imaginary scenario. From there, we are going to work and get me to the airport... the the baggage claim area... which makes my anxiety high.

Future Goals!

Here is something I am really dying to talk about. I mentioned searching for a sense of community; finding someone out there who experienced or is going through something similar to what I am. Most online support groups are impersonal, and most local support groups are geared towards Veterans- which they experience is completely different than mine. The recovery might be the same, but it doesn't feel the same to me, and I don't want to intrude on what they might find a "safe space." Not sure if that makes sense, but it makes sense to me in my head.

Anyway, I mentioned wanting to find someone to reach out to; to find support and to support others in a similar situation. I mentioned a shooting happening a week or so ago in Louisville, and how that there had to be someone who was there having similar symptoms as I am. How these attacks are coming up frequently and there are people who were put in my position and that I just know they might want to reach out to someone as well. I just know it, and I want to be there for them and we can help each other out.

She agreed. She pointed out that being able to help others is one of the "good" things to come out of this experience. She said that if I cannot find one, make one. Reach out to the local police department and see if there is an interest. Reach out to the local colleges and see if they have anything. Or just put out some feelers and start one on my own. I don't have to lead it, it could be group led. I absolutely love that idea so...

New Goals

Short Term: Exorcise 10 mins a day, 3 times a week (Doctor's orders). Go out in public, alone, with no support nearby. Find a support group or put out some feelers for one.
Long Term: Create a group, be a mentor to others who are in my shoes.

Another terrorist attack in Europe

I know I didn't write yesterday. I just was exhausted from writing. I also feel like I am starting to become redundant. But today, there was yet another major terrorist attack in Europe. Sweden to be exact. And now I am terrified.

I feel like I am about to start bawling my eyes out. My medicine can only suppress so much. My PTSD shadow is here. I feel like the shooter is right behind me and will kill me. I am at work and I am alone and I am freaking out.

I just need to go some where and hide for a while

More shootings and attacks

Every day it seems: Another shooting, another terrorist attack. Are they happening more often, or am I noticing them more often, or is media so wide spread in this age that we hear about all of them, no matter where they happen?

My heart hurts for those involved. Someone died in Louisville because of shooting, several were injured though. There was another in Ohio this weekend. 14 injured, one died. The terrorist attacks in the UK, the attacks in Canada, the attacks in Syria... My heart is broken not only for the family of those who lost loved ones, but those who will have to go through the same things I have and will continue to go through.

I think it's time. I am going to reach out to support groups. Maybe when I am all better I can volunteer at them as well.

London attack

There was another terrorist attack today. Several dead, many injured. I never want to leave the house.

https://amp.theguardian.com/uk-news/2017/mar/22/attack-houses-parliament-london-what-we-know-so-far

He was a product of a flawed system

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.

Nihilism and Finding Happiness again

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.

What a PTSD episode is like. Entry#1

So ASD episodes only last about 4-6 weeks after the original incident. I am on week 9 as I write this. After 4-6 weeks everything you experience is officially PTSD and the episodes are so different than what I was experiencing. Not better, not worse, just different. I had my first PTSD episode during a Storm that happened last week, or the week before. It's hard to remember. I still have issues with my cognitive thinking and time seems to move so fast as well.

So basically there was a big storm that rolled through town. It started around 6 AM and really got bad around 6:34 AM. It's weird that I can remember the time. I have this app on my phone called "Calm" and I turned on the sound and was trying to soothe myself. I knew I was about to have a panic attack. And I did.

Every time the Thunder sounded I felt like I couldn't breath. I couldn't think. I had no thoughts. All I could do was hear the storm and I felt like I was going to die. I was trying so hard to keep it together and I just couldn't. I couldn't move. It was basically a Panic Attack but it lasted longer. Erich tried to calm me down as best as he could and I eventually was able to sit up. Once I sat up, still sobbing, I called my mom to see if she could pick me up for work. Erich was about to leave for his job so it was close to 8AM. After I hung up the phone, Erich started to walk out the door. The thunder was still rolling and I fell down, paralyzed, and continued to cry. I didn't want him to stay and baby me, but he did. He got back in bed and held me through it.

This second wind of the episode really freaked me out. I couldn't control my body. Seriously. I felt like I was constantly squirming within my body but I had no thoughts, just impending doom. Sometimes my arms would jerk and hit the bed over and over again. No control. So here I am, crying LOUDLY (the neighbors could have heard me for all I know), feeling like I am squirming yet paralyzed, cannot control my flailing arms and legs, and just feeling like I was going to die. I couldn't think at all. I wanted to think, to hold on to one coherent thought and I couldn't. I could hear Erich's voice and feel him holding me, but every time the thunder sounded or I saw the flash of lightening I just couldn't control myself - it made everything worse.

15 minutes before I was supposed to go into work, with the help of Erich, I was able to notify my bosses that I was going to be late/not come in today. It was awful. I just couldn't get a hold of myself. It was about 9 AM before I was calm again. I could move, I could talk, I could breathe, I didn't feel like I was dying. I was all cried out. Erich stayed with me for another 40 minutes and I tried to go to work at the same time he left.

I am pretty annoyed with myself for going into work for two reasons. 1) That was a serious episode that lasted like 2 hours and I didn't fully recover even while at work, and had a very bad rest of the day. 2) My work didn't appreciate me coming in. Yes, my work thought I was "milking" the incident and "faking/exaggerating" everything - Including the attacks I've had at work IN FRONT OF OTHER PEOPLE. So on top of the stress I'm already feeling, my bosses are treating me as if I am lying about everything. It hurt so much to hear because I have a strong work and I wanted to prove to them that I am more powerful than these episodes... I put in as much will power and determination to prove that I a can still do my job for their sake (they need me, it's a busy busy time) and to feel like they think I am a liar and I am using this terrorist attack as an excuse to miss work - not even a full day, just a few hours... I am just speechless. I had to cry after I heard that.

Sorry, went off on a tangent. The point is, I shouldn't have gone into work that day. I shouldn't have gone into work as fast as I did anyway! So please, if you have these moments or you've survived something traumatic, please take time for yourself. Don't worry about your job right now. Worry about yourself because sometimes your job won't worry about you. Surround yourself with people to bring you back to reality and to remind you that you are loved. Please, do it.

What an ASD episode is like: Entry #2

I am trying to post different examples of what ASD attacks are like and what may or may not trigger them. This one is similar to the last episode I posted about but lasted at least an hour, possibly longer.

So this episode happened right after I we got home. I cannot remember the day or time. I remember it was before I started seeing my psychiatrist and I still wasn't leaving my house. My family decided to come over, and when I say my family I mean my whole immediate family and my nieces and nephew. I am not 100% sure what triggered it, but it could have been a combination of many things:

My safe space was crowded. There were 7 extra people in my house and a baby. They all wanted to see me. It was the first time seeing them since I came back home.

They wanted to watch the new Captain America Movie and there was a ton of shooting going on. I didn't stay in the room with the TV on.

The Ice Machine in the kitchen made a noise.

Someone popped a cork.

I started drinking to handle the pressure I was feeling.

I left the room and started feeling dizzy. I was sitting away from everyone in our office when I noticed I hadn't seen Erich in a while. I start worrying internally. Was he okay? Where did he go? I searched the bedroom and then went to the basement. He was with my niece trying to set her up on the gaming system. I sit next to him and ask him if he's okay. He nods and says he's fine. That's when I realized I wasn't okay. I went to our spare bedroom in the basement and start crying. Just uncontrollably crying. Hysterically. He immediately runs into the room and holds me. I start worrying about my niece, because I didn't want her to hear my cry, but there is no doubt the whole house could hear me cry.

My sister came in and she started comforting me. I couldn't breath, I needed my inhaler. My sister left to go find it and she shut the door quietly. Erich was still there, but seeing the door shut made me flip out. Reality started to blur. When I saw that door shut I started shouting "He's here. Oh god he's here he's here and he's coming." I was back on the floor of the airport again. He was pacing back and forth again. Erich kept repeating "We're home, we're safe, I'm here." I tried to focus on his voice but I was so scared. I was shaking I couldn't breath. My sister gave me my inhaler and I took a few puffs. It started to calm me down but I was still sobbing. I couldn't stop. My sister was rubbing my back, Erich was reminding me I was safe, and there was calming music playing. I couldn't stop.

It was about an hour or so later before I could leave the room. I'm not going to lie, my sister gave me one of her kpins and I really started to calm down. I left the room with my sister and Erich. The rest of my family was starting to leave and I couldn't take hearing their steps upstairs. I didn't think I was able to climb the stairs either because my legs were so weak. I was wrapped in a cover on my couch in the basement just waiting for the Kpin to kick in. It did eventually and Kristen and Beau ended up leaving. I honestly don't remember what happened after they left.

This was one of the first ASD episodes I had. I have had many since then. And now I have PTSD episodes. I will describe them in the next entry.

What an ASD episode is like: Entry #1

Here is an example of what an ASD attack feels like. I am using an example that I wrote about when I had an attack at work. I will probably have several entries about ASD/PTSD episodes because I just couldn't find any firsthand experiences online. So here are my first hand experiences.

Basically, when I first started taking the medication, I started a small journal to track side effects and to maybe see if the medicine actually worked. The Buspirone was supposed to work faster than the Setraline and I could take that as needed. This is on a day I took 3 buspirone pills in one day. This was my second day back to work since the incident and I definitely believe I went back to work way too early. Seriously, if you go through something like this, take 2-3 weeks off of work. When you feel like you are ready to go back to work and you are confident and positive, WAIT ONE MORE DAY just to be sure. I wish someone told me. I was not ready for work and I feel like I am just NOW ready for work. Anyways, this is what I wrote in my journal vs what I actually felt and experienced. 

This is what I wrote:

TUESDAY 1/24/2017- Slept deeply but had a bad realistic dream that woke me up around 4 AM. Had trouble getting back to sleep. Took BuSpar at 8:30 AM. Still worried about driving but made it to work okay. I told the story to my boss who went through something similar (low details). Wanted to cry but didn't. Medicine started to work?

12:10 I have a head ache. Feel tired

12:32 I feel numb. Everything seems louder than normal. Getting jumpy in my skin. Going to cry. Feeling confused. Going to look for someone to talk to.

12:50 Freaked out. Had an attack Didn't know where I was. It's over now.

1:48 took another pill.

5:16 I just don't understand why I'm alive. I don't understand. I don't deserve it. I should have died. Nothingness.

This is what I can remember experiencing:

I was feeling fine. Confident after I talked to my boss. I told him if I ever feel confused, that my psychiatrist told me to find someone and start talking to them normally. Having a normal conversation would keep me from flashing back. He understood. I sat at my desk and I wanted to just focus on work and getting back to normal. If I could just have a normal day at work, I knew I would be fine. I was sitting at my computer and I started getting a bad headache. I was doing data entry and I could hear the thundering of the keys being pressed as I typed in each word (hyperacusis). The headache started at least an hour before I wrote it out. I also felt super drowsy, I could fall asleep if I put my head down on my desk but I just wanted to work through the headache and focus on getting through the day.

As I was looking down at a piece of paper, getting the information off of it to enter into our database, I started to really zone in on the color of the paper. The color seemed off. I couldn't really understand why the paper was that color. Then my vision started getting fuzzy - I believe it was more like a tunnel vision where I could see what was directly in front of my eyes but I couldn't focus on anything around that paper. The only thing that existed in my vision was that off-colored paper. That's when I started questioning everything. 

My chest tightened and my breathing was short and heavy. I tried to stand to find someone to talk to but I couldn't and I collapsed on the ground. In my head I thought this wasn't real. That everything around me was a dream and it was a coping mechanism my brain created because I was still on the ground waiting to die. I saw the carpet and I saw the shooters shoes again. I could hear the popping noise the gun made. I curled up into a ball trying to control my breathing. I still thought I was there on the ground, waiting to die. My boss found me, he shut the door to my office. He softly spoke to me, Are you alright? You're in Louisville. You're safe. He repeated "You're safe" softly a few more times and I started sobbing. I just couldn't control it. I had to cry and I cried hard.

My brain eventually kicked back on, to a degree. As soon as I could stand again, I stood but sat back at my desk. Through tears in my eyes, I told him I was fine and that I could go back to work. He demanded I take a lunch and get out of the office for a bit... He didn't realize I felt safer in the office than I did outside of it. I sat outside the office for a good 15-20 minutes, still breathing heavily and crying until my mother came to pick me up to take me to lunch. I ended up having another panic attack on my lunch break, but luckily I was with my mom and she was able to take care of me.

I returned to work but I couldn't work the rest of the day. I was tired, I was exhausted, my head hurt, I was still confused. I worked slowly and then clocked out when I couldn't work anymore.

ASD episodes are no joke. The scared and panicked feeling is like nothing I ever experienced. I had these episodes frequently. I am not sure how frequently, I just know when they were bad, they were REALLY bad. I will write about another attack I had in another entry.

Medication and Side Effects

I am currently on two types of medication: Sertraline (Zoloft) and Buspirone (BuSpar). I started both medications a day after my first appointment, so I believe it was January 21st. It's been a ride. I am supposed to stay on Setraline for long term. She suggested a minimum of 12 months. The BuSpar was supposed to be temporary, and I was to take as needed, until the Setraline took over.

BuSpar is supposed to help with anxiety and minimizing panic attacks. Setraline is supposed to help PTSD, anxiety, panic disorder and depression. Yep. That's my life right now. Crying fits, panic attacks, anxiety and PTSD. Whoopee. 

So when I first started the BuSpar, I got the worst headaches and I was constantly tired. I think I slept through the first few days on it. I was also taking it often to deal with the stress of returning to work. Sometimes I took it three times a day, which is the maximum I was allowed to take it. It seemed like it kept my calm for the most part, but honestly, I was still having way too many panic attacks while at work for my liking. I had to take breaks and lay down or cry to start feeling better while at work. 

Eventually I started getting used to the BuSpar. I still get tired if I take them too close together or more than twice a day, but over all I think it works pretty well. I take it about 30 minutes or so before throwing myself in a stressful situation and I usually don't panic until much later. 

I think that just now (March 14th 2017) that the Setraline is kicking in. I feel my crying fits are shorter and come less frequently and my panic/anxiety is lower than normal. I did recently increase my dosage. I was at first on a low dosage but I had to increase it too weeks ago because I just wasn't feeling it. Now I feel it. I feel almost normal? I mean, still anxious and loud noises still bother me, but I don't wake up to a panic attack anymore. I wake up fine. There hasn't been an opportunity for another PTSD meltdown so I guess only time will tell to see how I handle that stuff.

My mind is also starting to get clearer. I can think again! That sounds weird, I know, but I wasn't thinking clearly, I wasn't remembering things, and my panicked brain was seeing the world differently and not correctly. I will go more into detail about that in my next entry. 

So here is how I am feeling now, about two months on both medications. I feel weird. It's better, but I don't feel like myself. I understand why people think they are better without medication and that they feel almost robotic, because I can relate. It's like I don't feel anxious or scared at all times; the physical symptoms are gone, but my brain isn't all there yet. I recognize I should panic or hide or do any of my safety net things, but my body doesn't want to. When my body doesn't want to, I get the signals to my brain saying "Hey, we're alright, nothing bad is going to happen," and then the moment passes. 

I guess sometimes I want to panic though. I want to cry and feel these things. It's tempting to go off the medication. Like super tempting just because the urge to feel those things are there, but I know I can't. I know I need the medication to get better. I feel like if I don't feel miserable then those people who died, or who had loved ones die, or were injured, or cannot afford help like I can... They are suffering. They are suffering worse than I am. I don't deserve to be happy and feel normal until they can be happy and feel normal. I need to suffer to remember.

With that though, I guess I fear going off the medications too. I know I don't want to be on them forever, but I also kind of do. It makes me robotic. These little pills are controlling my actions and how I think. It's a good thing, deep down I know it is. I fear that if I go off of it, the chaos will return. The fear of leaving my house, of strangers, of constantly looking over my shoulder, the episodes returning. Most of all I fear doing something more permanent to myself if I were to stop taking it. Don't make me say what.

So all of this is going on and much more. I guess only time will tell but I am trying to stay optimistic. I am working weekly with my psychiatrist to keep me on the right track and to get me back to normal. So no need to worry about me. I am dealing with all these confusing thoughts with her. I just have a ways to go.

Self Pity: The first thing I've felt for myself

I feel ungrateful writing this.

After experiencing despondence and melancholic emotions directed at everyone else I possibly could, I finally started feeling for myself again. It's still miserable. I am still miserable. I was talking to Erich  yesterday night and realized I will never be the same again. I asked him, with tears in my eyes, "Will I ever be normal again? Will I ever get to do the things I used to love again." After a sigh, he told me something that broke my heart, "I don't think we will ever go back to who we were after the attack."

This all started because yesterday he went to see the new Marvel movie Logan. A movie we were both looking forward to. I still cannot go into many public places, a movie theater included which is devastating to me. On top of that I cannot watch any thrilling or scary movies - something I used to love to do. Video games? All of mine are shooters, survival horror, or just regular horror games. I have not been able to touch my computer because all my games are there (and my computer faces away from the door). 

This is just what has come up so far. I already know I can't do any activities that get my heart beat up as it might trigger a panic attack. So what all does this include? Where does it end? Summer will be here soon. Will I be able to ride roller-coasters again? Will I be able to enjoy or celebrate Halloween? What about certain songs? I currently cannot listen to metal, and music with a ton of loud beats/heavy on the drumming. 

I guess I thought I would eventually be back to normal. It was just a matter of time before I would go back to my morbid curiosities and my love for thrills. I always prided myself as not being scared of anything (except one minor phobia of sharks). Now look at me. I feel like a scared kid. I am afraid of the dark. I am afraid of storms. I am afraid of crowds. I am afraid of movies, games, and music. I thought all of this in the sentence that echoes in my mind, We will never go back to who we were. 

I feel so much pity for myself. And I feel selfish for giving myself pity. I should be happy that I lived. I should be thankful every day. I am not. I have been miserable every day I've been alive. I have survivor's guilt. When people say things like "At least you're alive!" or "God has a plan for you!" it makes me sick to my stomach. I don't know how I am alive and I sometimes wish I wasn't. If I could have save the life of the man next to me, I would have. It isn't fair that I am alive now and that I am able to pity myself and feel bad for myself. It isn't fair.