Tag Archives: PTSD
All I can write is this quote tonight:
One Day I will forgive you; until then there are scabs everywhere that you have touched me
– Salvador Plascencia, The People of Paper
It’s not unusual for me to have nightmares. I have PTSD. Nightmares are a part of the territory. What is unusual is the what the content has been about lately. I’ve been waking up in cold sweats and shakes having dreamt about treatment and the physically sickest times of my eating disorder. It’s been almost five years since I admitted into my first treatment center. I was deathly ill. Almost dead. And honestly this fact has not truly dawned on me until recently. I knew intellectually that I was close to death but recently I have actually known I almost died.
I don’t know why it’s finally sinking in. Maybe it’s because of that short lapse awhile back or perhaps because it’s simply the amount of time gone by. I know there is a part of anorexia where sufferers simply don’t comprehend how sick they are. Maybe I’m past that. I don’t know. But regardless it’s terrifying me.
I’m remembering things I have forgotten and finally connecting the dots of what things truly mean. The fact that I couldn’t walk because my muscles atrophied. I was tube fed because I needed nutrition and I needed it faster than could be done through eating (I ate too but it was supplemented every night by tube feeds). I was sent off the hospital campus for MRIs, CAT scans and PET scans too see if my brain was functioning normal because I was falling so frequently and there was no obvious explanation. Test after test. And all the while stuck in that damn wheelchair. I slept on a mattress underneath the nurses station for a long time. Partly, because they were scared I would exercise but also because I would fall out of bed. Did I do that? I don’t remember. I don’t remember a lot of things.
I do remember how scary it was to not know why I was falling apart mentally. My PTSD was undiagnosed and I had no idea what a flashback was or what the hell was happening to me when I vividly began to remember abuse scenes. And the dissociation. Oh my God. The dissociation was so bad. And I had no words to even attempt to explain that. A friend guessed but the professionals didn’t. They missed it completely. And if I’m honest I still resent that. They believed I was making things up. Attention seeking. So did the other patients. The feeling of total loneliness and isolation still terrifies me.
I won’t go into details about particular scenes I am remembering but there are ones that are replaying over and over in my mind. I apologize for the amount of details I shared. I don’t like sharing a lot about the depths of my illness for the danger of being misread as competing with others or triggering them. But I needed to talk about this. It just seems all so….unreal but yet all too real at the same time. I needed to write it down. Somehow I needed to see it on paper. Get it out of my mind.
Has anyone else who has been in treatment experienced these kind of intrusive memories about the worst of their sickness and hospitalization. Am I unique in this? Please share if you can.
The Shadows of the Sea
Do you know what’s it like to be battered by waves so harsh you cannot feel yourself on the floor?
That your feet fly up before you? Leaving your body behind.
To navigate the uncharted waters of a dangerous sea.
Waters that have killed those before and seek to drown you.
And then to sink?….the demons of the sea pulling you into their depths to join their underwater hell.
A hell that does not burn with fire but with shadow.
Shadows that move with faces of the past, flashes of the night and silent fingers that stroke the forbidden places of memory.
A hell that has no end but instead endlessly plays in flashes and nightmares that never ends.
So do you know what it’s like to be battered by waves so harsh you cannot feel yourself on the floor?
And do you know what it is have your feet fly up before you? Leaving your body behind?
Because if you do – then you are like me and you have lived with the shadows of the sea.
I had a psychiatrist appointment this past Wednesday. Since seeing this psychiatrist shortly after retuning from CFC I have seen him consistently every other week. My meds were being adjusted yes, but it was more of a “just in case Kate needs to be hospitalized” kind of thing. For the first time at the end of the appointment he announced that he didn’t think he needed to see me for a whole month.
This doesn’t seem like much I suppose to the outsider looking in but it’s huge to me. I couldn’t quite put it into words until someone in our CFC alumni group said “doesn’t it feel great to be STABLE”. And that’s what I am. I’m stable.
Whoa, I’m stable.
I’ve been medically and eating disordered stable for awhile now. In fact, since returning from CFC. But psychologically? Not so much. In the year I spent waiting for Ben I was hospitalized for sucidial ideation, self-harm thoughts/behaviors or other psychiatric problems probably around eleven times. That’s a lot of time spent in hospitals and psych. wards.
Since receiving Ben I’ve been pretty stable psychologically. I struggle with the effects of my trauma and my therapist would probably say that I’m not quite stable in that area in the terms of dissociation and related behaviors But self-destructive behaviors and thoughts? By and large those are gone or well managed. In fact, it has confused me lately because I have been having trouble sleeping due to some trauma stuff and I haven’t felt like doing anything (meaning hurting myself). I shuffle around my apartment crafting, messing around on the internet, watching netflix, lying in bed, talking to Benny or just generally doing stuff to pass the time but self-destructing I am not. I’ve never done this. I’ve never felt the fear, experienced the trauma without everything going to hell in a handbasket.
It feels really, really, really weird to say the least. Foreign. Wrong but yet very right at the same time. Is this what living is like? Is this what moving on feels like? Is this what I have to look forward to?
I know I face struggles ahead. I know I probably still face some times when I won’t be as stable and may have a few short stays in the lovely PV resort as AL fondly (or not so much) call it but right now I am stable and I’m getting a taste of how life can be managed without self-destructing, wasting way or wondering around in a fog. And it feels pretty good.
What No Longer Defines Me:
My eating disorder
This mythical idea of the ‘perfect’ job
This locked in view of who God is
The image of the ‘sheltered one’
Being a ‘drummer’
My school status
Choosing to be “the quiet one”
The victim role
What Still Defines Me But I am Working to Let Go Off
The option of self-destruction
The hold they have over me
The attachment to the past
What Does Define Me
My relationship with Ben
The idea that my spirituality and faith can be fluid and changing. I don’t have it all figured out and I don’t have to fit into a mold and that’s okay.
My friendships. The true meaningful ones.
Giving back. Loving more.
Finding my passions and pursuing them
Dreaming and following those dreams
Allowing myself to Live. Truly live.