Coping With PTSD Breakthroughs
Last Tuesday, June 2nd, will be a day to remember in my healing journey.
My mind the previous week, was running through negative thoughts, and old memories. I have been feeling like a small child, wanting to be held, yet feeling most comfortable suffering in silence.
I knew the suffering was only going to continue, unless I spoke up about what was going through my head. I’m not ready to share it here, maybe this is not the place to unpack my traumas. I have a journal where I can keep those thoughts. In my therapy appointment that Tuesday, I read a document in my “journal” that disclosed of childhood abuse, and fears I had struggled to share since my mental health was in crisis in 2015.
I wanted to leave my body the entire time I was reading my words. My therapist said one sentence that above the others, would stick with me, and lead me to breakdown at the very end of our call.
“I don’t believe your mind is playing tricks on you.”
I got off the phone and sobbed in my car for almost an hour.
I even had a good talk with my mom when I went back inside. It’s hard opening up about what’s been troubling you- but that day was a much needed release.
I truly think I cried all the tears I could possibly cry that day. With a little more strength, I made a bowl of mac and cheese, and agreed to go that afternoon to finish moving out of my Boston apartment. I was emotionally exhausted for the entire drive, but I listened to music through my headphones, and tried to take in the messages of the lyrics. I carried out the last box of my home these past 2 years, and left my keys on the kitchen counter. An ending, and a beginning.
I was able to do the things, even after that difficult therapy call. I was hopeful I would continue to find strength in moving forward.
Wednesday, though, I woke up disappointed. I felt as though I got hit by a bus. Periodically throughout the day, I was having breakdowns, overwhelmed at the slightest thing. Texting my psychiatrist, she validated my feelings were normal, that I should ride this out but to reach out if it becomes unbearable.
I got through this week. Focusing less on my problems, and more-so continuing to educate myself on the issues in our world, Black Lives Matter, telling myself that now is not the time to share my blog, about a white person’s mental health- there are bigger issues at hand to be talked about. My family has been having conversations on these topics, daily, non-stop it seems. It’s good, and I hope more people- especially white families are learning how to communicate these topics. I’ve made donations, I’ve spent hours of my day researching and educating, and also learning more about black mental health. I know, these things don’t mean my “job is done” and it will never be enough, but I’m growing, changing too. Everyone’s mental health journey is unique, and I know mine, and my treatment journey could be entirely different because of the color of my skin.
There is nothing easy about any of this. I am also acknowledging that as an empath, as someone who battles clinical depression and PTSD, I need to make room for things that take care of me while I do the hard and important work. That is a necessity too.
Though I’ve spent time away from my blog, it helps me heal and grow in more ways than one. If I’m not writing about BLM and other social justice issues here, please know I am making efforts to confront those issues in other aspects of my life.
I want to share something that happened last night. I’m not perfect, far from it, but if my social media images reflected the moments that happen, like the one last night- it would be a much different story.
I wasn’t in crisis, but to be honest, I wasn’t sure if I was or wasn’t. I just knew that no matter how much pain I felt, I was not allowed to do a damn thing about it.
I am going to share something I wrote in the midst of it all. Today is a better day, but these times do creep up on me. A trigger warning- that though I was not suicidal or at risk for harming myself- it sure sounds that way:
“what keeps me from giving up?
is it that things can get better?
is it that i have a tattoo with the sole purpose of not harming myself?
is it that i believe so strongly nobody should end their life? and if i did..that means anyone could.
i don’t know how to tell when im in crisis anymore. bc i know hurting myself isn’t an option.
so all i can really do is just wait these feelings out, suffer through them, and hold on.
so why bother asking for help. nobody can actually take my pain away.
i would just be burdening them. or taking away from someone who is at greater risk.
and right now could feel like the end of the world.
but if i wait it out i could feel completely fine later.
but am i ever completely fine?”
Yup, even a new social worker has felt that ^ and I know better..
Yesterday I locked myself in the bathroom. I just needed space, but I scared the shit out of my mom who has seen me in a great deal of pain. “Haley, come out, I want to talk to you.” “Are you going to hurt yourself?”
I said NO. I have a history, so honestly- my mom wasn’t wrong to ask that question. But if you never had someone ask you that- let me tell you, that sentence is a reminder of the burden you put on those you love when you are struggling.
Yesterday I did something you should probably never do if you are hysterical, get in your car and drive. I sat at an empty lot for a good while with a packed bag, not really knowing where I was going to go, but knowing I needed to be somewhere, and alone. My mother even contacted my best friend in a panic, not knowing where I was but maybe I was headed to her. The last thing I want is to worry those I love when I am struggling. It was why I left. In leaving, I faced the fact that those people who love me are still going to be there for me. My plan didn’t last, I drove home.
The imperfection that is my life- 9pm now home again, sitting on my bedroom floor with my mom. Both of us crying. Talking about how we are going to get me through this.
“You’ve done it before.” she said. “You will do it again.”
21 years old, back in the bedroom at my parent’s house leaning against the bunk bed which I share with my step-sister, my mom holding me while I fall apart.
Messy.
As you can imagine, I slept pretty well after last night.
Today, Sunday, I learn it is my Papa’s birthday. He has been gone for almost 5 years now.
My mom reminds me, to think about what he would want for me today; for all of us.
I got up, I showered, I got my coffee. I thought the pain that was yesterday was going to last forever, but today is a new day.
I finished the finale of 13 Reasons Why season 4 on Netflix, which as the show warns you, and many of you know, is not the best to show to watch if you are already depressed as hell.
Me while watching it:
For those who don’t know the show, it is a high school drama that faces issues like mental illness, suicide, substance abuse, violence, sexual assault, and just about everything else that teens are conditioned to keep quiet about. In a weird way though, it was exactly what I needed to watch today. I won’t spoil anything, but what the last 30 minutes of the series reminded me, is everything I needed to hear. There will be times in our life that will break us, but if we keep going, we will survive. We get so caught up in the motions of our lives, that few of us take a minute to stop, and say “I’m here. I’m alive.”
This week, OK, this month has not been easy. I watched a character in the show go to weekly therapy, and I related it to my own life and the steps I am taking to move forward even when it feels like I am not getting anywhere. I watched characters come together, and take care of each other through shared grief. I watched them graduate from high school and be able to say they did it, they survived. I graduated from both high school and college with great challenges at times, but I did it. Soon I’ll be off to graduate school, and I know I can do that too.
Life tests us, over and over again.
Today though, as I think of my Papa in heaven and his birthday, I am reminded that I am here.
I am alive.
Yes, hurt will come my way.
So will the good.
So will love.