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I am a 23 year old graduate student, and I've recently been diagnosed as
having. PTSD and Major Recurrent Depressive Disorder. I believe it originated from being abused as a child and sexually assaulted as a young adult. I
developed a kidney infection when I was 4 or 5 years old. When I started peeing blood, I was convinced I was dying, and my mom took me to the emergency
room. Having doctors and medical personnel forcibly holding me down and putting things in my urethra was terrifying. I fought for my life and screamed
and kicked, because I was utterly frightened. My mom told me that I developed the kidney infection from bubble bath (even when I was five years old, I knew
that statement was total BS).
I don’t recall specific abuse, but even today I cannot stand having my stomach
touched, and I have creepy feelings about my dad, some of my cousins, and some of my old neighbors. I also had an abusive family. My mother had Graves’
Disease which went undiagnosed for ten years, meaning she had ten years to get thyroid-induced psychosis into full swing. She loved my little sister, and
she hated me with a vengeance. I wouldn’t be surprised if she had Borderline Personality Disorder, like “Mommie Dearest”. I couldn’t tell her anything,
because she preyed on my weaknesses and fears and used them against me to terrify and control me. She hit me, but mostly only slapping my face or
beating me with a wooden spoon.
My father was worse. He had been a Vietnam War veteran, who suffered
depression and anxiety attacks. His own father had been a veteran of WWII, badly “shell shocked” (PTSD) and had been institutionalized in a psychiatric
hospital when he returned from the war. My grandfather was psychotic and violent, and used to beat the shit out of my father and his brother and
sisters. My uncle and one of my aunts were hospitalized for drug overdoses and attempted suicide. My father used to kick, hit, slap, punch, and beat me
for minor infractions, like typing on the typewriter when he was on the telephone. He couldn’t bear any noise, and would beat me if I made too much
noise when I was playing or if he simply wanted silence. Because my grandfather used implements like belts, rods, and sticks to beat his children,
my dad considered his behavior to be normal discipline because he didn’t use a
belt. He stopped beating me when I was about 14, probably because he knew that I would fight back.
By the time I was about 9 or 10 years old, I began to experience what I
called “meltdowns”. Every month or so, I would become overwhelmed with feelings of worthlessness and a wish for death to end it all. School was
hell, and other children constantly tormented me and told me that I was fat, ugly, and worthless. I would lock myself in my room and sob uncontrollably
for 4 or 5 hours at a time. I packed towels and clothes under the door to muffle sound. I also read voraciously as an escape. I read at least 5 to 10
books per week (hey, at least I rocked the verbal portion of the SATs in high school!). I was desperately unhappy and didn’t have any friends. Things got
a little better in high school when I began to stand up for myself and the “teasing” stopped (well, except that I started to use drugs and alcohol a
lot when I was in high school, dieted obsessively, and lost 40 pounds in one month until I looked anorexic).
A major tragedy happened when I was 15 and my twin sister was raped. When she
finally got the courage to tell my family, weeks after it happened, they reacted in the worst possible way: they tried to tell her it “wasn’t rape”.
I was the only person who believed her. My mom told her that when she had been a girl, she had been “taken advantage of by a boy” but didn’t call it
rape. My father told my sister that “the first time isn’t always the greatest”, and told her that when he lost his virginity at age 21 to a
prostitute, he had contracted a venereal disease. I will never, ever forgive them for those horrible things they said to her. You don’t say those things
to your child. WHY DIDN’T THEY GET HER THE HELP SHE NEEDED?
Needless to say, I was “traumatized by proxy” or vicariously traumatized by
these horrific events. My twin sister was like a mirror image of myself, and it devastated me to see her mistreated like that. We were both powerless to
do anything. I didn’t have any money to help her get therapy, and my parents didn’t help her pay for therapy until months later.
When I was 17, I felt horribly guilty that my precious sister had been hurt.
I became involved in a highly abusive relationship with a man who was almost twice my age. He was sexually abusive, liked to hurt me physically, and made
me perform indecent acts against my will in front of his friends. Finally, after a year of this abuse, I had to move to another city to escape him.
I enrolled in college, moved to yet another city, and met the love of my
life. My husband is completely supportive, perhaps because he was also abused as a child, and we know how to gently take care of each other. Our
relationship is truly an equal partnership, and we are deeply committed to each other, and have a lot of fun together.
Today, I’m working hard and trying to get through graduate school. It is
terribly hard. I spent my undergrad years overloaded with work so I wouldn’t have to think about the horrible things that had happened to me. Now I feel
like I’m cracking up. A few weeks ago, I was assaulted by a guy on the train. It was about noon on a Saturday. He grabbed me inappropriately and said some
really nasty things. I screamed and screamed and ran to the other end of the car. The train was packed but nobody did or said anything to help me. Nobody
pushed the emergency button to alert the driver. I bolted at the next stop and ran to my university building. I fled to a bathroom and sobbed. I tried
to get a little work done in the studio, but couldn’t concentrate. I was too terrified to get back on the train, so I called my husband and he immediately
drove to pick me up.
I had been having a hard time sleeping before the train incident. Now I was
waking up 5 or 6 times a night and couldn’t get more than 5 hours of sleep each night. Before, I had horrible nightmares and thrashed about in my
sleep. Now they were worse, and I ground and gnashed my teeth in my sleep. I even booted my poor husband clean out of the bed one night! I planted my foot
in his hip and kicked him onto the floor. We both were awake immediately and shocked. Thankfully, he is
wonderfully kind and understanding about my PTSD, and cradled me in his arms until we fell back asleep.
I still cannot take the train on weekends because I’m too scared. Things
began to get really bad—I felt hopeless. I thought I would never get better. I thought that I was worthless, I thought that my husband would be better off
without me, and I had constant thoughts of death. When I crossed the street, I imagined being hit by a car. I fantasized about getting a terminal illness
that would kill me within a day. When I looked out a high-rise window, I imagined myself smashing the glass and leaping out to my death. I began to
research firearms and mapped out directions to nearby gun shops. When I began to formulate a plan for shooting myself in my car in a remote location, I knew
it was time to get help.
I am seeing a psychologist who specializes in EMDR, which I hope will help me
get over the trauma. She won’t start EMDR until I’m stabilized, so I’m seeing
a psychologist who has given me some medication. He gave me Klonopin which was a godsend for sleep. The first night I took it, I slept for ten hours and
only woke up 3 times. I felt about a hundred percent better the next day. He also gave me Paxil, which should help with the depression and “hypervigilance”
of the PTSD. Miraculously, a few of the bad, worthless thoughts have gone away. I realize that I have a lot to live for and that my future holds hope.
I get through my life one day at a time. I am thankful that I've gotten help. It is difficult, but I try to nurture compassion in my heart so that I can help others who have also been hurt.
I went to lunch one day and entered the “twilight zone” I’ve been trying to
escape from ever since.
On May 3, 1991 I was working as a
floating/relief receptionist at a law firm and going to school at night. If
you’d asked me then where I’d be in ten years I would’ve thought I’d be done
with undergrad, done with law school and working as an associate in a law firm,
on the track to partnership. But here I am and I still have not even finished my
bachelor’s degree because of what happened to me that day.
The short
version is: 2 days after my 22nd birthday (May 1, 1991) I went shopping on my
lunch hour to buy something to wear to a birthday party that weekend (a friend
at work had a birthday too). I went to Carson Pirie Scott on State Street in
Chicago. The clerk forgot to take a sensor tag off something I bought and they
thought I was a shoplifter. I had no idea what was going on until I was almost
back at work, five blocks from the store. I didn’t hear any alarm or anything.
Two plainclothes guys (who didn’t identify themselves) grabbed me (I thought
they were muggers—one grabbed my purse) and beat the shit out of me right there
on Michigan Avenue in the middle of a beautiful spring day, at the bus stop at
the corner of Michigan & Washington. Everyone who was out to lunch, passing
by or waiting for a bus just stood around and watched like it was on TV. No one
came to my aid. A tourist or student journalist or somebody, I never found out
who, even snapped pictures. Then the police came and took me back to the store,
where they hauled me into a small room and handcuffed me to a desk. They
interrogated me, went through the contents of my bag and purse, established that
I had NOT stolen anything, that it was paid for with MY store credit card, not a
stolen one, etc. I thought they would let me go back to work when they realized
they’d made a mistake. Instead, they called my employer, told them I’d been
arrested at got me fired (when I tried to go back to at least get my belongings
from my desk, they treated me like a criminal and I never got everything back).
They took a Polaroid of me, told me it would be posted in the security office at
their store and that if I ever set foot in any of their stores again I’d be
arrested for criminal trespass, despite the fact that I had not DONE anything.
Then, instead of letting me go, they put me in a paddy wagon and took me to 11th
& State (common criminal lock-up) and literally THREW me in a cell!
They told me I was being charged with battery for RESISTING the two thugs who
beat me up ( I later had to have a criminal trial for this, but fortunately the
charges were dismissed by the judge, who thought them outrageous, and the record
expunged. At no point did anyone read me my rights. They didn’t let me make a
call and told me I’d be locked up for at LEAST 24 hours until they checked their
records database to make sure I didn’t have a record anywhere else. They also
told me I’d have to pay $1,000 bond to get out. All I knew was that I was an
innocent, law-abiding citizen and I’d been snatched off the street, beaten an
imprisoned and no one knew where I was or what happened to me. I thought that
kind of thing only happened in third world countries, and I didn’t know what to
expect next. I was afraid they might decide to rape or torture me too, and I
wasn’t going to stick around for THAT, so I was about to try killing myself when
they finally came and got me out, let! me call my parents. Fingerprinted &
mug shot me, then let me go. By that time it was 11:00 p.m. I’d been beaten and
traumatized and released late at night in a bad neighborhood. Fortunately a guy
I’d dated lived nearby and though he wasn’t home, the doorman knew me and let me
stay safe inside the lobby until my parents came to pick me up.
The
store declared bankruptcy within the year and I have never gotten any
compensation for pain, suffering, lost wages, medical bills, etc. or even an
apology or admission of error. For years I tried to get a radio, TV or newspaper
to report on what happened to me, but apparently the Carsons stores give
everyone so much advertising money that no one will say a word against
them.
Over the past ten years I’ve suffered nightmares, flashbacks,
insomnia, panic attacks, agoraphobia, claustrophobia, paranoia, hypervigilance,
extreme startle response, inability to concentrate, hopelessness, suicidal
depression, inability to maintain a job, relationship, etc., you name it. These
things combined are known as PTSD, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, which is
usually associated with Vietnam vets. Though the ADA (Americans with
Disabilities Act) is supposed to cover it, I have been fired from several jobs
because of it. Every day I go to work in downtown Chicago and am confronted with
what I refer to as “the spot where I was killed” (because surely whoever I was
until then died that day—with all my hopes, innocence, idealism, ambition,
dreams—and what was left was this empty shell, nothing but a caged animal intent
on survival) and so many other painful reminders on a several-times a day basis.
Every time I walk within eye-shot of that corner, which I have to do !
to get
to and from the train to the office, and often when going to lunch, too—it
triggers primal, life-and-death panic in me, as it does every time I enter that
building and have to walk past security, remembering how I was barred from
retrieving my possessions from my old law firm job.
Over the past
ten years, excluding temp assignments, I have had fifteen “permanent” jobs, some
lasting only a week or a month to a few months, the longest lasting not much
more than a year. Only four of these I left by choice; all the others I have
been fired from for absenteeism. Inevitably I use up all my sick days on those
days when I am afraid to leave the house, and then I am canned. I hate myself
for it. I’ve had numerous short relationships, some only one-nighters (though I
wanted more). I have lived in thirteen different apartments, twelve in Chicago,
one in Minneapolis, and with numerous room-mates/friends/boyfriends. One lasted
only a month, the longest will be five years in August (my husband). In short,
I’ve had no virtually no stability in any area of my life, at least until my
husband came on the scene in 1997. I’m still not sure sometimes why he continues
to tolerate me, I feel like such an utter failure as a human being. What with
constant firings and !
subsequent ,unemployment/job searches, evictions,
breakups and various other crises, I have had neither the money nor the physical
or mental energy to finish school, though I would only have a year or so were I
to go full-time. I’m afraid to go out places by myself sometimes at all, but
especially after dark, so night school is out. I used to work out and walk much
more but when you’re afraid to go places, even if you do have a health club
membership you rarely go. I’ve become increasingly sedentary and have gradually
gained eighty pounds or more (from 160 to 170 when I was working out, going to
school and my job in ’91 to 220-230 now). I’m afraid if I don’t lose weight and
get in shape I’ll wind up like mom, diabetic amputee, hypertensive, cardio risk,
etc., and will die young. But until recently I always thought I’d die by my own
hand before any of my bad habits caught up with my body. Now I need to
re-evaluate.
For the past eleven months I’ve been going to a trauma
survivors group, when I am not too scared to leave home. This week two other
women were both were talking about something I had been thinking/writing about
recently, the before and after phenomenon. Who we were before anything happened
to us, the freedom, effortlessness of existence, the “lightness of being”, joie
de vivre, youthful spirit, inquisitiveness, fearlessness, idealism, etc. of
children and what it’s like to be robbed of that innocence, to feel heavy,
trapped, tense, frightened, closed off, shut down, paranoid, to have every
moment be an ordeal, a constant struggle to stay on guard against any and all
possible dangers, and how sapping, how deadening that is. I’ve been thinking
precisely about this, especially in light of having met someone recently who
knew me before (John, the high school boyfriend), someone who does not (yet)
know about any of the things that have befallen me since we knew each other
last, !
in whose mind I am perhaps still the strong, outgoing, positive,
forward-looking, intense, energetic girl he fell in love with when he was a boy
and we were young and had our whole lives spread out in front of us like a
wonderful, exotic adventure and anything seemed possible. I want to be that
person again. Or maybe I am deep down somewhere still. Or maybe she is dead,
maybe she was killed completely, utterly and finally that day (almost eleven
years ago!) and there is not nor ever will be any hope of resurrecting her. What
do I do with this shell that is left behind, and does it contain anything worth
salvaging? How did I get to be this jaded, stagnant, stultified? When did life
stop being something to look forward to and become only either a struggle to
dread facing every day or else an endless grind, drudgery to endure hopelessly
until someone or something (maybe myself) ends the misery? How do I try to get
back to where I started or at least some mid-point where I ! can see my way
clear to a road that looks worth taking? As long as I don’t write back to John,
that girl still exists somewhere, held inviolate and pristine, somewhere,
somehow, even if only a figment in someone’s mind half a world away...
L.Watson
LWatson@Chicago.US.Mensa.org
I am a 25 year old woman and was diagnosed with Chronic PTSD last summer. I
have always known from childhood that there was something wrong with me
emotionally. I have always had problems with irritability, temper, and anxiety.
I have a hard time expressing my anger, and panic over little things (like not
being able to find a shoe, or burning dinner).
I grew up in a very
dysfunctional family. You could say that my family was non-functional. My mother
was a drug addict, and my dad seemed to live in denial about my mothers'
behavior. He knew she was addicted to drugs, but gave her chance after chance to
clean up, subjecting my brother and me to some pretty brutal treatment by her.
Because of my parents' irresponsible behavior, I was left in some pretty dodgy
environments, and subsequently abused by whoever happened to be angry or upset
at the time.
By the time I was 10, I had been molested and abused by
more than four people (never intercourse, just touching). When I was 16, I found
out my mother had been murdered by her pimp in Las Vegas. She was strangled and
beaten and left in an alleyway to be found later by some high school students.
Shortly after this event, I began having nightmares that an intruder was
sneaking into my room to strangle me. It was at this time that my panic attacks
got worse, and I attempted suicide (never serious, just cries for help). At this
time I felt very alone and depressed. I had no friends, came down with the
Chicken Pocks and was sick for weeks.
When I was 17, my father suggested
that my mother had molested me. He came to me one day, and out of the blue,
asked me if I remembered my mother molesting me when I was a little girl. He
said that my mother liked to watch me do things to him. My father placed the
blame entirely on my mother, but it is typical behavior for my father to blame
everyone else for things. I have a gut feeling (though I have no clear memory)
that my father was as responsible, if not more responsible than my mother when
it comes to the molestation. To this day, my father never elaborated on the
subject, though I have asked him on several occasions to tell me exactly what
happened, as it is very important to my healing. I have not spoken to my father
in almost six years.
I began consistent therapy one year ago. I see a
wonderful therapist once a week who I trust and admire. I still have several
issues I am working through, including irritability, sexual dysfunction, anger,
struggles to be perfect, self doubt, stress, and occasional panic attacks. I am
working hard on these issues and am confident that with frequent therapy and
stress-relief practices (yoga, walking, meditation), I will be able to move on,
and overcome these obstacles that are preventing me from living to my full
potential.
About 9 years ago, my husband and I were attacked in our bedroom
by an intruder. We were both stabbed multiple times and hospitalized for
several days. After the hospitalization, we spent a month recovering in my
parent's house. We then returned to NYC to try and live and work again. It
didn't work. Although we moved to a different apartment (one with a door man),
my husband slept with a baseball bat and I had to tour the entire apartment when
I would come in to make certain no one was there. Eventually, I got fired from
my job because I just couldn't concentrate on it anymore.
We next moved to Vermont and took whatever jobs came along to try
and forget.
A few years later, we moved to New Haven, CT as my husband
was accepted at Yale Divinity School. My PTSD symptoms had mostly disappeared.
Then they came back with a vengeance. I wanted to die. I wanted to kill someone.
I spent a lot of time drinking. A friend recommended a therapist who specialized
in PTSD and I made an appointment. I have been working with her ever since. In
our last session, we talked about the stabbing, how I locked my self out of the
apartment as I went to get help from the neighbors, as my husband struggled with
the intruder, alone. It is the one thing I will never be able to forgive myself
for doing. It's the one thing that probably
prevents me from moving
on.
Bi-polar: As my PTSD symptoms raged, I was referred to a
psychiatrist for meds. We started with all the usual. An anti-depressant (Paxil)
which I hated, then Trazadone, which was okay except for the thirst. Then, I
went on a spending spree, became hypomanic. Was diagnosed BP II, given depakote.
In between, I got addicted to Klonopin, smashed my car up because I fell asleep
on the highway on the way to Law School. I also fell asleep in therapy, was
taken to the hospital, and then institutionalized for a few days as I slept off
the Klonopin.
I am a rapid cycler, and my moods are mostly down. I had a
psychotic episode and was "papered" and put on zyprexa. I gained lots of weight.
I have been hospitalized five times. Twice by my own doing with my therapist for
suicidal ideations and three times -- Klonopin, Psychotic episode, Suicide
attempt (lithium overdose) against my will.
Now, I take Effexor, Lithium,
Klonopin, Sonata, and Synthroid for my underactive thyroid.
Eating
Disorder: Two years ago, I was diagnosed with EDNOS when I stopped eating and
got down to 110 pounds. That incident may have precipitated the psychotic
episode (my therapist would say yes, I don't think so). The zyprexa made me gain
back the weight I lost and then some. I was seen by a counselor at the Yale
Center for Eating and Weight Disorders, and later a nutritionist.
Today,
I eat less than 1000 calories a day. I am back at the Eating Disorder Clinic.
Because my metabolism is all screwed up, I have lost much weight. I am in
starvation mode, and my excessive exercise doesn't seem to be helping me lose
weight, either.
I am fortunate to have a supportive and loving
husband and family. I have a supportive work environment. I have a fabulous
psychologist, a great psychiatrist, an interesting eating disorder therapist, a
great nutritionist. Somehow, I have managed to put together a great treatment
team.
I suffer from PTSD, officially diagnosed through one therapist, as
well as through a study at the national center back in 1995.
My condition
goes back to my childhood, where there were a few incidents. I grew up in an
very seemingly average middle-class family. My parents were both working,
successful professionals.
When i was about 3 or 4 years old, my mother
would go off to work, leave me in the care of an older cousin who was in college
and lived with us to save on expenses. This was a goodwill gesture from my
parents, this cousin came from a home which was very mentally and physically
abusive, they were hoping to give her new start into adulthood. To break away
from the horrible environment she came from.
At first, things were okay,
but gradually this cousin became a likeness to what she came from. I can only
remember, some of her violent shaking and being literally thrown about the
house. there are only a few memories which are crisp, to this day.
One
involved going somewhere with her in the car, she parked the car in a no-parking
zone. When we returned ten minutes later, there was a ticket under the
windshield wiper. She was like a jekyl-hyde, calm, and collected as we got into
the car. Then her deeply repressed fury exploded, and her anger directed at me.
She pounded the heck out of me, until she felt exhausted, then drove home, where
the terrorizing continued.
When my mother would ask about the bruises,
the story was that i had "fallen down" or "run into something"....the story
stuck through intimidation, almost systematic.
Eventually, my parents
evicted this cousin, after a few years, "something didn't jive". I cannot recall
if there was any attempt to seek counseling, i'm guessing it was a matter of
family pride. To stay mum about it.
When i was about 5 or 6 years old, i
watched a friend get struck by a car and killed on her bicycle. The "thud" sound
still echoes in my sleep.....a frequent trigger is the sound of a refrigerator
or freezer door slamming will bring it back for a split second.
I often
compare the reaction, mostly internalized, as like "life flashing before me" in
a split second. My blood feels as though it runs cold, like going into shock for
that split second.
When i was 8 or 9 years old, two friends and myself
were playing where we should not have, like lots of kids do....at the site of an
old house where only the foundation remained. Maria and Scott were neighborhood
friends, Maria was in gymnastics and very good at the balancing beam. On that
fall late afternoon, she was "practicing" along the edge of the concrete
foundation. The foundation, an 8 by 8 section gave way, she lost her balance,
falling down into the hull of the foundation...the wall fell on top of her. I
don't remember much, of waiting for the fire and police depts to arrive. But i
do recall the smell of musty concrete dust....a quick trigger for me, which i
only discovered last summer.
Through research and reading, i learned to
write about the incidents, along with self-comfort measures have helped. Like
allowing the storms to churn up, then finding peace when they pass. And in some
ways just learning to accept these experiences as part of my development,
forever learning. Learning its okay to think about them, and knowing i am only
human.
PTSD isn't something where there is a magical cure, but learning
to live with it, honestly. When new triggers are discovered, its a matter of
finding personalized tools to work through them. At least that's what works for
me.
Like last year, i started a flower garden, found a great sense of
accomplishment and peace in it. It works like a tranquilizer. Sometimes just
listening to relaxing music helps, with candles, and no time
constraints.
Often times, its a struggle, takes work to stand up to the
PTSD ghosts, the disturbed sleep, the "triggers", the aftermath of those
triggers being provoked.
Again, i am grateful for finding this site, and
to all the people who contribute....and make it seem like a less lonesome
battle.
When I was about 14 years old I found out that my Father had been
questioned by the police about my mothers death. It was a big family secret that
she either committed suicide (she loved me that much huh?, asked my Dad to help
her to die, or my father killed her. Of course she may have just died but I'm
still not allowed to know.
I wasn't allowed to see my brother or sisters
until after I left home and traced them. I only found out about their existence
through another family member asking me about them.
I am thirty four now
and I have recurrent flash-backs to being told my mother has died. I was there
at the time of her death but don't seem to remember much except in night-mares.
I suffer from depression, fatigue and a total despondency to do anything. I have
two failed marriages. BUT.....
I am still fighting, I am trying to find
out the truth about Mums death and maybe then I will confront my Dad with what
he has done to me. I am still terrified of him.
This all seems very
garbled but I have never sat down and tried to put it into words before. The
anger I feel as I am writing this is so tangible I can almost taste it and yes I
am also crying. I know other people have had, and are still having it harder
than me but this is what I am living with.
It hurts but I hope one day to
sleep properly and not feel scared when I hear a man shouting.
Coming from a family with an
alcoholic father, sexual and mental abuse, makes me wonder. I was touched on my
waist and just prior to that the same man asked if he could touch my breast.
Just so happens that this man has also been convicted of child abuse, (sexual)
He isn't even allowed to be at his house when his grandchildren are there or if
his son has friends over. Ironically, he is also one of my boyfriend's best
friends.
When I discussed this with my boyfriend he explained, his friend
did not mean to do it and it was due to the alcohol not something this man would
do sober. (I find that hard to believe). This happened about 5 years ago. It is
hard for me to let go of and when I try to talk to my boyfriend about it and
wonder why he didn't come to my defense, it only angers him. As he says, "It's
my fault."
On this particular day we were going to the races, his friend rode
with me only a short distance, about 2-3 miles. It's my fault because the sleeve
holes of my blouse were too large and a man, being a man could look into places
that were not of his business. So, not only do I live with trying to forgive my
Dad now I find I must forgive my boyfriend's best friend in order to keep peace
around here.
Get this, my boyfriend even called me a hypocrite due to the fact
I asked his friend for assistance in erecting a storage building that would both
benefit my boyfriend and myself. Yet if I'm a hypocrite, if so, why would my
boyfriend ask me if I care to join his friend's family for dinner and eat
tamales they sent to HIM. I don't understand this at all. Is my boyfriend in
love with his friends or me? They spend more quality time together than we do.
Our evening consist of a couple of hours of him watching TV and
then sleep or he falls asleep before it's sleep time. According to my boyfriend
we have plenty of quality time together, although he spends 7 days a week at his
shop. I do document our daily activities and it appears that most of it is for
his needs. I have grown children and so does he, mine visit here at home and
call here. His visit him at the shop and call at the shop. Even when he gives or
writes down his address he puts his shop number. I really feel this is a very
much a one-sided being in love thing.
I will, as every night be home after work waiting until around 7,
unless his family or friends call or come by his shop, then of course it's a bit
later. Am I conditioned for this love, accept it because it's what I'm use to?
As for help here at home, you can blow that off, it is my
responsibility, not his. STUPID, the things love will make a person tolerate.
The criticisms, put downs and all the hurt feeling, I guess it is just my way, a
way I'm either use to... Or this is not a two sided in love situation. It hurts
when he considers his friend's needs and his desire to be with his friends,
rather than mine. If I bring it up then I'm accused of trying to control him.
That he will let me know right off, that no one will ever control him, he does
as he wishes.
I'm really to the point of not caring, not caring for anything,
not anymore. If it weren't for my children and grandchildren I'd much rather be
in heaven with my parent and husband, why should I? He still had strings with
his ex. and not a word of it makes since to me, just his reasoning. So, be
it................
Living with personal dragons in your daily life by Russ from PTSD Support Services
At the present time, I have a Veteran's Administration Service
Connected disability rating of 100% based on PTSD. The primary trauma accrued
within a 48-hour period while on active duty in Vietnam. During this time I,
along with my unit, was bombed by our own B-52's. Ending up walking next to an
unexploded 750-pound bomb. Then walking into an ambush that took most of the
lives within my unit and watching while rescue helicopters were being shot down
trying to remove me and other wounded from the battle zone where I had received
combat wounds.
My family background is traditional and is based on an extended
family that included a great deal of interaction between grandparents,
uncles/aunts and their children. Family get-togethers and family picnics during
the summer stand out in my mind the most. Although my father died when I was
only 9 years old, the "Father Role" was filled by one of my uncles.
Since leaving the Army, I have found life difficult and trying for
me. Many times over the last 30 years and even more often in recent times, I
have felt that ending my life would be best solution for me. After losing my
teaching job at a college I returned to the travel industry where I have been
employed for most of my adult life. But only after a short time (3 months) I
lost this job because of an angry outburst on my part. I have looked back on my
life and feel that I have accomplished little in my life, my depression has
taken its toll, and I'm very tired because of this depression.
Through therapy I am learning to recognize many of my PTSD
problems (Dragons) that I was not aware of before starting. These symptoms,
listed at the bottom of this report, have been so much a part of my life that I
did not recognize them as being out of the ordinary. Since November 1996 I have
emotionally continued on a downward spiral fighting this ingrained PTSD.
I will emphasize my deficiencies in the areas of work, family
relations, and lack of anger management, plus other areas. I am unable to accept
authority in the workplace, which is very stressful to me and I get feelings
that it’s necessary for me to change jobs because of the lack of satisfaction
where/when I have worked.
Even though I’ve had many personal relationships, lasting several
months, I still feel that I am isolated from people and the communities that I
have live in. I feel that every time that someone has tried to be a friend, I
push them away so that they don't learn of my past or for fear of losing them
later as it happened so many times during my tours of duty in Vietnam.
I do not socialize well nor do I like to interact with most other
people around me. For most of my life I have lived within a closed world. I have
only one true friend, who is also a Vietnam vet, and I do not allow people to
get close to me. This way I do not expose myself to inquiry about the war or the
part that I played in it.
For the last 30 years I have not lived a normal happy life.
I have repeatedly moved around the country looking for the “right”
place to live, never being happy in any one place for longer than two years.
I’ve been married three times. I’ve had 20 plus live-in girlfriends plus
hundreds of short-term/one night relationships. It seems that anytime a woman
tries to be close to me emotionally I push them away and I look for someone
else. I try to find contentment, satisfaction and happiness with women but all
it turns into is sexual gratification and escapism for me. I have found that I
do not allow anyone near me on a personal/emotional level and still do not allow
it today. These relationships, for the most part, have been for sexual
gratification or emotional numbing only.
I am always looking for a better life, the right woman to be my
wife, a better job, or place to live. I have, for many years, believed that I
won’t live past the age of 62. It’s my belief that I will not retire like normal
people do.
I am a person, who would rather be out in the middle of nowhere
than being forced into socializing with most, if not all people. This has caused
additional problems in my relationships and I do not see any future change.
Within this 30-year time frame I have had and lost many jobs,
quitting most of them, and I have never been successful in the business world. I
feel that I have had many good ideas but have never followed through with them
to completion. The fear of success can be overwhelming.
I am an “Emotional Stuffer” in the true sense of the word. I do
not convey my feelings nor do I express my feelings to anyone very well. I have
a difficult time being open with people and not wishing to hurt other people’s
feelings I seldom express myself openly. During several times of great stress or
anger, I have lived in isolation away from everyone, preferring to live in the
mountains. I am much more comfortable living in small towns and even more so in
a rural setting like a farm or ranch with no neighbors close by to my family or
me.
Anger is the main controlling force in my life and I use it as a
tool to protect myself from harm, which has accrued or may accrue in my life
since Vietnam. This perceived danger can happen even in my life today and has
been reflected in daily events as simple as yelling a people for blocking an
aisle at a store while I'm trying to pass by.
I must admit that I do spend time confused as to the date, place
or time that I'm in. Finding it necessary to relay on others for appointments,
I'm usually at least a day or two off but its not uncommon for me to be at least
a year off when trying to remember events in my life. While teaching, it was
necessary for my secretary to keep track of events I needed to go to since I
would forget where I was supposed to be.
I find it difficult to adjust to changing events or circumstances
around me but especially in the business world. I either have quit or have been
fired from many (30) jobs since 1967 when I returned from Vietnam. I have found
that the stress of working and making business decisions or the responsibilities
related to work is very frustrating for me. Its common for me to have anxiety
attacks at work, worrying about if I'm doing the job correctly and if so will I
remember to continue that way. It is not uncommon for me to start a new job,
find it enjoyable, work hard and learn about the position I'm in, than become
bored in a very short time. I have even received promotions and than become so
concerned about my performance that I quit and move to a new location just so
people would not have to trust me.
I have been in combat situations over six times. Since going into
the Denver PTSD program even more events and their related flashbacks have been
added to my memory as each recollections happen. Each flashback event presents
me with their own images and many are now on a daily basis. Most flashbacks are
vivid when they occur. With people dying, trees blowing apart and my fears and
terror. Some are seen as in-complete events and I'm not seeing all that had
happened nor with other people in them. Others visions are only images viewed
through a small window of the fight. Many nights I find it hard to go to sleep,
stay asleep or I wake up with cold sweat nightmares that I do not remember.
I have to live with anger and irritability on a daily basis. I am
now dealing with frustrations over my “missed” life, a life that I’ve craved for
and will never have now because of my age. I am bitter with the government and
the Veterans Administration for the lack of insight into PTSD and the effects
that it has had on my life as well as others that experienced Vietnam and the
reactions of people upon my return from service there. When PTSD became a
recognized disorder, 1981 (?), I personally feel that not enough effort was made
to evaluate Vietnam Veterans for PTSD.
I do have a BA degree in geography. The major difficulty is that
it is very non-specific in subject content and has not provided me with useful
tools for outside employment after graduation. But now I feel so discouraged and
depressed in life I will not go any further in my education. This is based on my
lack of concentration, retention of material, memory problems, plus personal
concern in my ability to study and learn.
During my time in Vietnam I got into the habit of going to sleep
on my left side. The reasoning for this is to get my heart as close to the
ground as possible. We had the feeling that during an attack the first rounds
from the VC would be high so I wanted to protect myself as best I could. That is
one habit that has carried over to today and I still make every effort to go to
sleep on my left side.
I wake up in the middle of the night on many occasions with
unknown sweat dreams. This is an ongoing problem that I have had for many, many
years. I jerk awake in the middle of the night soaking wet, or at the very
least, wet around the neck and shoulders. I have caused bruises to several
girlfriends and wives waking up this way.
One of the most vivid dreams and recurring dreams deals with my
exposure to leeches after being hit and lying in a rice paddy for a night. When
I woke up I had many, many leaches on me. I spent almost an hour looking for
leeches then burning them off of me with cigarettes.
First, Flashbacks: I experience them. They can occur for no reason
and without warning, coming from out of nowhere, or during times of stress.
Secondly, Sounds: Sometime with a backfire, helicopter fly-byes, hail bouncing
on a roof, close hitting lightning or distant thunder will produce a flashback.
I return to Vietnam and my experiences come back to me. Thirdly, Smells have an
effect on me: There are several smells that can cause an event but the most
forceful smells are: Diesel fumes from truck exhaust or the smell of vomit.
I deal with anxiety attacks that can be rather forceful at times.
They develop at any time and can last up to several days. Many others of these
attacks are short in length and can be produced by the following: Diesel fuel
smell, stress, anger at a news story that I feel there were injustices being
done to someone. Grief or sadness for someone that has had a loss of a loved one
or by watching a happy ending movie will have an effect on me. Sometime even
bringing tears to my eye or a full outright crying session.
I will usually have an anxiety attack after bouts of anger. I
wonder what the outcome of this anger will be in my personal life or business
life. They have occurred in both, which has led to breakups of relationships,
marriages and loss of employment.
I have a very difficult time controlling my anger. Recent events
illustrate this, in August 1997, during a presentation to a travel group I lost
my temper because the group could not make a decision on a departure date. This
cost me another job and increased my negative outlook about myself in general
and about my life as well. My self-esteem is pretty low at this time.
I wish to list here is my aversion of being in any crowd or people
in general. I do not do not do not like, nor enjoy crowds of people. This
includes movie theaters, cafeterias with long lines, long lines of any kind,
sporting events, or malls. A simple example of this is that I did not go to any
of my school graduations while in college. It seems that I’m always on guard!
Because of thoughts about Vietnam and my past, I have difficulty
falling and staying asleep. I have remorse over what I’ve missed because of my
PTSD. Even though the knowledge of the effects have come to light only over the
last two years, I realize that it is something that I’ve had since discharge
from the service! I experience a great deal of irritability and outbursts of
anger over this fact!
Most of the PTSD events listed above recur after I have
experienced some form of stressful situation or I have become angry over
something that has occurred that day. At other times, I can experience them with
no forewarning at all. I seem to have no control over these things when they
happen anyway. I have had little success in getting my anger, frustrations,
short temper, nor my disappointments with life under control.
10 Ways to Recognize Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder
After a loss, it is normal to go through a natural grieving
process. Sometimes, however, after a tragedy, such as a sudden traumatic event,
feelings of loss surface several weeks or months after the tragedy occurred.
This is called post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). Recognizing these symptoms
in yourself or others is the first step toward recovery and finding appropriate
treatment.
1) Re-experiencing the event through vivid memories or flash
backs
2) Feeling “emotionally numb”
3) Feeling overwhelmed by what would
normally be considered everyday situations and diminished interest in performing
normal tasks or pursuing usual interests
4) Crying uncontrollably
5)
Isolating oneself from family and friends and avoiding social situations
6)
Relying increasingly on alcohol or drugs to get through the day
7) Feeling
extremely moody, irritable, angry, suspicious or frightened
8) Having
difficulty falling or staying asleep, sleeping too much and experiencing
nightmares
9) Feeling guilty about surviving the event or being unable to
solve the problem, change the event or prevent the disaster
10) Feeling
fears and sense of doom about the future
Russ also says” My PTSD is
combat induced, while a rape/incest/abused person would have different trauma
reactions. For your information, traffic accidents are now the greatest producer
of PTSD in the USA today.”
I am a 55yr old gay male. Grew up in southern Mo. And it was
difficult - never felt excepted.
When I was 30 in 1976, I moved to San Francisco. For once I was
home. The seventies were the most outrageous time of the gay freedom movement. I
developed a surrogate family really close friends that thought would be with me
through my life.
I am a nurse. In the early 80's we began to hear stories about
another gay man is in the ICU on a ventilator, with the ??????type of pneumonia.
They all died. By 82 it was a full blown epidemic. It was hell at work, all the
pts. were on complete isolation, most of the nurses were terrified of this
unknown disease. And I was terrified most of all. As it seemed to be taking
every gay man of my age group. I'm attempting to cover a period of yrs here,
that included assault from the religious right, parents who didn't even want to
claim their sons' bodies. To all those guys I bonded with, by sitting on their
beds discussing dying, and their right to refuse further treatment if they
chose. And as I slowly began to break down, I refused to be tested for HIV,
became totally celibate, to this day.
All my friends tested positive, and died one by one, sometimes in
multiples in one week. I quit my job, and worked for a nursing registry, just
enough to keep body and soul together and cared for my best friend until he died
on May 11, 1990. For many yrs I had the flashbacks to scenes in the hospital, of
patients dying in hideous circumstances, and rejected, by family, friends. It
was so painful to watch, and then the survival guilt, why me, why did I live
when all my friends died and left me alone? I often think it would have been
better had I died with them.
One of the stories I just read on the site was from a V.N. VET.
and he talked about his anger and inability to manage it. In 1992 I thought I
thought I was recovered enough to go back to a full time job in a outpatient
clinic at university. I thought I could handle it as we didn't have many AIDS
pts. and it seemed low stress that I could tolerate. But in just a few months,
we were hit with managed care, threats of layoffs. When nurses left they were
not replaced, and our work seemed to increase a hundred fold. My patients and
tolerance for sick people period, just dissolved. There was always 10 people
around my desk all wanting something right now, and the phone was ringing. It
was a battle to keep my anger under control every single day and I began to
recognize the signs they wanted to be rid of me.
When I would have these anger bouts at work my heart rate would
shoot up to 160. with a blood pressure of around 220/130. Eventually it was
suggested I go out on retirement disability. With one part of my income coming
from my retirement plan one part from Soc. Security, and one part from a pvt.
but through the university insurance plan. It was $700 of my monthly income.
After a year, I learned that the pvt plan would drop me in 24 mts. because
that's all the covered on a psyche. disability. Fearful they might do it I moved
back to KS to be near my sister, and sure enough in August without any
re-evaluation, they cut me off.
I hired an attorney and we appealed, and yesterday I learned my
appeal failed. Now I'm 56 ys old, in an environment that knows little to nothing
about PTSD. With barely enough money to survive. Yet, I still suffer from all
those symptoms, can't stand large crowds, loud noises, horrible short term
memory, soooooo insecure about trying to go out and find any kind of work, need
to find cheaper apt. no car. And feel like a stranger in a strange land. I don't
know what I am going to do. lmullins@kc.rr.com
