Today is a special anniversary. Three years ago on this day, on September 10th, 2005, some of my friends spread some gossip about me, which ended up causing a giant shit storm of drama. As a pretty passive, people-pleasing person, this was enormously aggravating and confusing. It hurts– it hurts my brain– just remembering it.
I mark this anniversary because it’s interesting. Something interesting happened as a result of the drama: my dormant, chronic PTSD was “churned up” … “agitated” (I guess the proper term is “triggered”), and I went completely nutters for a bit. I quit my job and stayed at home eating ramen and watching reruns of the Twilight Zone; I quit my extracurricular activities and stopped talking to friends; this went on for months. I was also diagnosed with lupus around this time. My life totally changed. I started having surges of indescribably horrible emotion that I had no explanation for. I had no skills to deal with this. My husband eventually persuaded me to go see a therapist. I went through a few crappy therapists before I found a psychologist that specialized in treating adults with trauma backgrounds. This is the psychologist I am still seeing. She’s one of the coolest and most intelligent people I know.
I want people to know that getting treatment for PTSD is a long, slow process, but it is one which is highly rewarding. Getting qualified help has enhanced the quality and tolerability of my life in ways I can’t adequately describe. For example, I don’t have thoughts like “wouldn’t it be nice if I could just die right now?” floating through my head all the time anymore. (Just occasionally– and now the question feels more academic than visceral.)
Each time this anniversary passes, I feel surprised at how long it’s been since the party, since the lessons and feelings have stayed so fresh and raw. Chronic PTSD is a serious thing, peeps. PTSD has dug it’s black claws into the deepest parts of my brain, into all aspects of my life, each tiny thing, each moment of living.
I guess that’s the thing I’m really trying to say. It’s serious. If you suffer from chronic PTSD, please try to get the best help you can. If your insurance will pay for it, see a psychologist. That’s someone with a doctorate. A Ph.D. or Psy.D. There is a big difference between that and someone who just decides to register themselves as a “therapist”.
This is a photo I took on September 9, 2005, the day before that party– it’s a favorite portrait of my friend Jen, at her (severely belated) birthday party:
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