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Why I Haven't Died Yet..Again

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Druidcat

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I had therapy last night..I like my therapist very much. She is an older lady, very much the grandmother type. I feel quite comfortable with her.
That being said, I had a hard time coming to the conclusion that I needed her.
I have tried, in vain, to beat all of this on my own for many years. I put it off for many years, telling myself that I was fine.
But last month, after a family health crisis threw me into a cycle of panic, I had to admit that I am just not getting anywhere alone. I just feel stuck. Stuck in an endless tunnel of grief, blame, confusion and panic that I cannot get out of.
My therapist has recommended that I get a service dog. Now, while I love dogs, I am fighting it tooth and nail.
I don't want to need the help of a dog. I struggle with the fear that I will become even more my ptsd. I will become "the woman with the dog"....
I don't feel worthy of it. I have two stepsons who have, between them, cerebral palsy, autism, fragile x and schizophrenia. They are worthy. Me..not so much.
I understand that it is important to acknowledge that I have it. But I don't want to become it. I don't want it become my identity.
I don't want to become so dependent on the dog's presence that I am useless without it.
In any case, my therapist told me that asking for help shows great courage. And I fought to understand. To me, initially, it feels weak. It feels like I just couldn't dig myself out.
But as I've gotten used to the idea of going to therapy and the dog, something has started to form in my head, some idea. The idea that it IS brave to ask for help, because to ask for help means that you are voicing that you want to move on. It's showing that you are not giving up. And that IS hard.
I want to go over parts of my story, just so I can see it in black and white. Somehow I feel it may help to put words to my feelings. So a bit about my childhood..I was born into a pastor's family. Yes, I am a pk:) Most people might think that would be wonderful. But it's very much like the cobbler's children having no shoes. My dad was always super busy with the church.
My mom struggled with depression.
I was born with Sturge Weber Syndrome. It's a rare neurological condition. I have a large port wine stain that covers half of my face, goes over my scalp, into my inner ear and into my mouth. I get small bumps on it that sometimes bleed. I have partial hearing loss in one ear and I am at a high risk of glaucoma. I get daily headaches and I was born with seizures. I have no curve in my neck and scoliosis in my lower back.
So..I was made fun of and bullied from a very young age. I remember the faith healer in my dad's church praying for god to remove my "curse." I grew up with that mindset, that I was cursed.
My dad told me that he was disappointed the first time that he saw me. And my mom tried to give me away when I was around twelve.
I guess that set the stage for how I handled the rest of what has happened to me. When I tell people what has happened, on the rare occasion that I do, they always say how brave I am. I certainly don't feel brave. I have never felt that I am anything special- we all have losses in one form or another. And we aren't given any choice in it..we are dragged along, unwilling participants on a roller coaster ride. So we do the only thing there is to do. We hold on, shut our eyes, accept it and ride along. My dad used to tell me that god would never send anyone more than they could handle..I somehow feel conflicted about this, because I have certainly seen people who had more than they could handle. Sometimes I wonder if I am one of those people.
Therapy affects me in weird ways. I have noticed that I come home actually feeling very anxious. I have too much energy and I feel very hyper. It's like ripping bandages off of old wounds. I know it needs to be done, but it hurts. It makes me feel vulnerable and exposed and at risk of being judged. My old instinct to ball up and isolate kicks in. I don't want to be here, really, telling people about my pain. But another part of me knows it is necessary. It is medicine. So tomorrow, I may write in my diary again, opening up another of the boxes that I thought I had packed away for good. Right now feels like a great time for some herbal tea...
 
Eating..what is it about eating for me? When I was young, my mom would weigh me and my older sister out in the garage. She would weigh us totally without clothing. I was always heavier than my sister, and my mom found that funny. So I learned early on that weight mattered.
I went on a diet in my teen years and found out that people were more accepting of my ugly face if I was skinny.
Then after I got married, and was pregnant with my first child, I found it was a way to eat what I wanted without anyone telling me that I shouldn't or couldn't.
My parents raised me on the awful no-fat/low-fat and whole grain diet, which I now believe is to blame for at least half of the problems we have.
In any case, I spent the next twenty years struggling with an eating disorder.
I tried everything I could- therapy, meds, cold turkey, journals..nothing worked.
The docs told me that I would need dialysis if I kept up, because I was always dehydrated.
I had heart palpitations and all kinds of health issues.
When I was 20, I was raped. My mom told everyone that I had made it up. To my face, she told me that I asked for it.
I got married when I was 21. My husband had grand mal seizures and anger outbursts. I tried to love him as best I could, but he
was just too out of control.
We had 3 children. Each of my children were killed in a separate accident.
I got divorced a few years later.
The circumstances surrounding my daughter's death, even though it was an accident, cause an uproar.
I was sent death threats and two people tried to run me down in the street.
I was hounded, we were slandered and basically ran out town by my parents.
I carry the scar of this in the form of terrifying fear of other people. I am frightened to walk down streets alone.
I don't leave the house alone.
Fear is consuming.
 
Having a tbi has made my ptsd quite a bit worse. Like..I have no pictures of my kids. Literally. My family took them all away and refuse to give me any. So all I have to go by is the picture of them in my head. But because of my tbi, I have crappy recollection skills. I find myself going over and over their faces, every line. I'm terrified that someday I will wake up and I won't be able to remember. So I end up in this cycle of reminiscing and trying to heal.
My tbi came from a car crash I was in four years following my daughter's death. I couldn't read a page in a book. I did a lot of cognitive therapy and have made quite a bit of progress on it- at least, I wrote my own book two months ago.
But the effects of it are with me all the time. Sometimes the lines between tbi and ptsd are blurred and I'm not quite sure which is causing a particular symptom. I'm very emotionally childlike for my age..I love cartoons and I'm an avid gamer. I love my stuffed animals and I'm a metalhead. But I'm not sure whether that is tbi or ptsd related.
I don't form maps well in my head. I can't find my way to much of anything without being shown.
I am, however, better at math than I was prior to my tbi.
I'm very scientific and logically brained now. I have a hard time feeling emotions.
I think the reason for that is because when my kids died, I had to shut off everything I felt and do whatever I needed to do to stay afloat- pay rent, work, keep a roof over my head. I was so busy trying to survive and worrying about death threats that I just could not stop to feel any sorrow or grief. And now it just feels too stuck down in the depths of my heart. I just feel numb now.
My body reflects that. I have had unknown recurrent numbness on my right side for two years. I've had mri's and xrays, all showing nothing.
I just feel dull. I feel like I'm sort of existing, while the rest of the world passes me by.
 
I guess I've got a lot to say today...
So one of the weirder and more scary things that happened to me involved a person that I was engaged to for six years. I thought I knew this man. I thought we were going to live a happy life together. I thought my old life was over and behind me.
He knew about my past, but was always supportive..for the most part. He never understood my eating problems, though.
Well one day, I was standing in the kitchen making breakfast and thinking about our upcoming wedding. I was thinking about how I wanted to style my hair.
Then, I heard the doorbell ring. Supposing it to be the local girl scout tribe here to sell me hoagies, I waited while my fiance went to the door. He came back and said, "there's someone here to see you".....I went.
There were two policemen there.
Turns out, my beloved man had committed me to the mental ward, claiming that I had threatened suicide. Now, I had done no such thing. But I had no choice but to go.
After many hours, I learned that my fiance had stolen a journal page from right after my daughter had died. Now....I suppose anyone who just lost a child might question their existence. But by that time, it had been four years since my daughter's death.
The doctor got my fiance to admit that he had stolen the page long ago. When asked why, he told me that he had found a younger, more attractive woman and had been secretly seeing her. He said he didn't want to upset me.
So....you didn't want to upset me, so you had me committed under false pretenses? Yeah, that's not upsetting at all.
I had to stay in the mental ward for 3 weeks.
Is that one of the oddest dumping stories you've ever heard?!
But the sad part is that it has made me terribly mistrusting of people. I don't trust anyone's motives.
I nearly lost my home and job because of those three weeks.
So all it really taught me was to guard my heart and feelings.
 
You are a good writer. I’m so sorry for the losses you have suffered and your parents should be ashamed of themselves. I can identify with much of what you deal with as I had a chemical brain injury and the symptoms mimic PTSD. Either way, though, it can be hard to ride out that storm. I think you are very strong and brave.
 
I had about one hundred things that I wanted to get written down today.
But I guess here's what I really wanted to write down today..I've experienced a lot of stigma surrounding both my ptsd and eating disorder. People like to think they are mental illnesses. I'm not entirely sold on that idea. For years, I battled an eating disorder (bulimia)..I was told that I was mentally ill by many well-meaning doctors. I tried everything known to the eating disorder community and every one of those things failed miserably.
I got to thinking about it and I kept asking myself why a person who was totally competent in every other area of life would suddenly become a certifiable nut around food. It just didn't make any sense. I owned a business, I was a writer, I worked, went to college and paid my bills on time. But put a cookie near me and I suddenly became mentally ill? it didn't line up.
I finally went to a functional medicine doctor and they tested me for celiac disease.
I went on a grain free diet annnnd..Poof. Binge urges gone.
If I slipped up and ate grains, again, Poof. Binges back.
So when the medical profession swore they knew the cause of my problems and labeled me mentally ill, I was actually simply a celiac.
And I feel the same about ptsd sometimes. We seem to have this weird idea that because our bodies are holding on to trauma, that we are now mentally ill. Our brains are part of our physical being. We are fine with people who break a bone. We send get well cards, chicken soup and wish them well on their social media pages. But let someone's brain get sick and holy cow..people seem to disappear on you. They look at you differently and kinda take a wide path around you.
Again, I am competent in every other area of life. I still run my own business. My rent is paid. But I have ptsd, so I must be volatile *rolls eyes.
A few years back, before I started my own business, I worked at a popular small business payroll company. I was on the phone..I know, right? Worst job match ever. I started having panic attacks. I would be in tears before I even got to the parking lot.
I told my boss about my ptsd. She laughed at me. "Everyone has stress, " she said. And she refused to get me any training or help, which I was entitled to ask for by our handbook. I lived to regret telling her, because she latched onto my weakness like a shark. She would purposely do things that she knew would trigger my attacks. She made me apologize to my whole team for not being more outgoing. Four months later, I was put on a PIP, even though my scores exceeded their goals. They ended up firing me for "performance." They gave me no other reason than I just didn't have what it took. They never did explain what "it" was. :(
 
Wow! God bless you, yes you are worthy and do need to ask for help! You have a lot on your shoulders and the only time our burden is light is when it is handed over to the Creater and also shared with someone, we all are to be parts of the whole, not on our own always handling it all alone. <3 My heart goes out to you and your family! Some people can not do things for themselves without guilt, I know I fight with that too. However, even if you feel you can't for yourself, do it for your children, they need you and need you healthy and strong and you just can not do it all on your own. You are loved, you are a treasure and I wish I was there to help you and pray for that for you. I know being a pk is tough, my best friends were and it was enough to drive them away many times. It is like being in a fish bowl and constantly judged and expected to act better than other kids. Many times pastors are so overwhelmed they have little time for family and turn off the caring mode when they come home. Hey, btw: taking magnesium and ginseng will help a lot with calming your mind body and spirit. They also get rid of those sticky negative thoughts that loop around. they help with good sleep which is important for all of us. Blessings to you sister. =)
 
I had a really severe food allergy problem that I got cleared up. It made me crazy back and forth between suicidal depression and rage. Then I ate rice and salad for about three months and went on probiotics fiber and Prilosec and I calmed down a lot. I probably did not get proper cPTSD treatment because this was such a radical change I must've thought I was cured for awhile. Now my food allergies are testing negative. I have another appointment with an allergist. The food thing is real though it will make you crazy.
 
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One of the things I now struggle with, as a personal trainer and nutrition coach, is the stigma that since I had an eating disorder and I have ptsd, that I must not be trustworthy and that I must be mentally unstable. I fight this a lot. There are many, many studies that back up what I am about to say, and it may sound preposterous, but anywhooo..
I do not believe that eating disorders are a mental illness. I believe they are a very biological and chemical disorder. We are all born with serotonin and dopamine receptors..in people prone to eds, these receptors are faulty. So we are driven to eat and eat, to compensate. It's a subject that is too lengthy to go into here, and not really the purpose of this diary, so I'll leave that there.
Also, with ptsd, I fight the notion that ptsd makes us somehow unstable individuals. As I said before, I find it ridiculous that a person who has been through a lot suddenly gets written off because they didn't handle it perfectly..where is the cutoff line between what is "normal" and what makes it ptsd? How does one person get labeled as "normal" while I get classed in with mental illness? I feel and know that ptsd is a very physical thing. It's what happens when trauma reactions get "stuck" in our somatic systems. The very notion of fight or flight is referencing the sympathetic nervous system, which originates in our spinal cords. It's a very physical thing, not mental.

But anyways..there is a story that I feel the need to write down..I am what my mom calls a "bullheaded" german. I am half german and half irish. My mom was a stocky, sturdy woman who never wore makeup a day in her life, didn't shave her legs (Okay, i do) and loved to eat pickled pigs feet. I take after her in many ways, one being that I am extremely stubborn. I hold grudges with the best of them, something that I am working to overcome.
My older sister and I have always had a very rocky relationship. But we are sisters. So back when I was in the throes of my eating disorder, I decided to call her and ask for help. All I wanted was maybe an email or text, every other day or so. All I wanted was for her to ask how my eating was going. I wanted some sort of accountability. I couldn't afford any other sort of treatment because I had just been laid off.
She got very angry with me and screamed, "But you've been saying you have an eating disorder for years, and you haven't died yet!"
It stunned me. She owns a dog rescue. I had seen her cry and beg for help for her dogs many times. But her own sister wasn't a concern. That really bugged me for a long time.
But then I got to thinking about it. It seems a really terrible thing to say on the surface..but I thought, ya know..I haven't died yet. Somehow, I have survived all this crap. Well, how about that? And it became my mantra. It became the title for my autobiography:)
I still struggle with holding a grudge against my sister for not being there for me. But I'm working on it.
I'm trying to learn to take responsibility for my own stuff. I think it has something to do with learning that I am enough, that I CAN heal myself. I haven't talked to my mom or sister in years. I'm not sure if I ever will. I wish it was better, I do. Maybe someday.
 
I wouldn’t waste too much time on labels. It’s just a way humans categorize things. But if you have more than one stressor it is cumulative and then functioning starts to shift into uncomfortable feelings. Then what do we do with the feelings? For me just being able to name it helps me gain control and I’m calmer. I’m self employed too. I can book my day around my idiocyncranies. For me naming feelings helps me know where I’m at emotionally. You are an excellent writer. Keep going!!
 
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