It still surprises me how much your body can hi-jack you. This one is going to be rather short as my to do list is a thousand miles long, but I wanted to share part of my Sunday with you.
We had an extensive to do list for the weekend, working our little tushies off trying to get my boyfriends house ready to go on the market. My to dos were pretty much anything that I could do (vs things he could only do) on the main list . Sunday we started early as the threat of rain loomed in the afternoon. The whole NW has been waiting for this moment to hopefully quell the many fires burning. My job was to clear the backyard via weed-wacking and leveling the ground. Then onto laying weed barrier then mulch. I like physical work. I never minded it before, but it became a security blanket that arrived full force into my life after Jesse and Bella died. It was something I could control. It was something that also stopped the never ending horror movie reel that my mind dealt with. There is a meditative monotony that happens as you are pushing your bodies limits. I have written about this before with running, you get to a point that your body hurts and you have to focus on breathing through the aches and pains, everything else melts away. The nice thing was this time I was not doing something to distract my mind, I was doing it because it had to be done. Which was a lovely change.
Until. I was laying the ground cover, my boyfriend out running to the hardware store yet again. I heard a loud pop pop pop. My heart stopped. There is a homeless camp down the street and I immediately thought – a gun. Someone shot someone. I ran to the end of the street looking for activity. It was quiet. I looked around frantically seeing if anyone heard/reacted/was freaking out as well. I pondered should I call the police.
It all came crashing back. I slowly walked back to the house and sat on the back porch shaking and crying. The events of that night started their vicious movie real in my head. The “imagined” parts of that day playing right alongside. I couldn’t move, could barely breathe. My dog came over and planted herself right next to me as I grabbed onto her for dear life. My boyfriend came back to find me a mess. I just grabbed on as he held me. There is nothing anyone can “do” when this happens. You can’t fix it. It doesn’t just “go away.” This is part of my fabric and can happen unexpectedly or like this, via a noise or a scent, or seeing a little girl that looked a smidge like mine.
I generally try to avoid violent shows and movies and avoid graphic descriptions in the news. There have been times in a show where I am surprised with something, mostly someone getting shot. The reaction is varied, but there usually is one. Sunday threw me for a loop. I have not had that serious of one in a long time. After being held for a long time, my reaction turned from totally freaked out to mad. I just get mad because I feel so helpless. I get mad because I miss my daughter. I get mad about how they died, especially her. I get mad about the whole mental health system, how it fails so many people. I get mad at the fact that my body can get hi-jacked at any moment, and the reactions can vary from a small wave to a tsunami. Sunday, I focused the mad on the backyard. I put all the energy into transforming it into something beautiful and spacious. I hauled 20+ bags of mulch here and there, ripping into them, inhaling that earthy smell as I spread it out. I worked on calming my body down one bag at a time. As I was working, I heard that sound again, but a little farther away. My boyfriend came into the backyard and told me it was pile drivers from the construction site. I think hearing that it was not a gun shot helped me reframe in my head and talk my body down a smidge.
It takes a long time when it gets to that state to calm down. The effects can last for days, every sudden sound sending my body into a fight or flight mode. It is hard to explain to people why I want to hole up in a quiet room and read to distract my mind and body from itself. The hard thing with PTSD is that it never goes away. It waxes and wanes for sure. There are times I feel “normal.” But then there are times like Sunday. A reminder of the vast network of responses that are always within my body.
Be kind. When you come across someone who looks like they are freaking out, you never know what is going on in their life. This has happened to me on a street with my daughter last year. I just about rolled into a fetal position on the sidewalk it was so bad. I leaned on the side of a building trying to look “normal” and not draw attention. Can you imagine if I did go into that fetal position on the sidewalk? I have always been a compassionate person, it comes with the territory of being an empath. Experience though compounds that. I don’t wish this on anyone, however, I will urge people to think twice before judging that person who may be curled up on a sidewalk crying.
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