getting the diagnosis, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder

Originally written on October 2, 2011

August of 2010, I started having higher anxiety and feeling lonely. All of my friends had gone off to college and I was stuck here in Kansas City with no one. Between August and September, I felt as if I was completely alone and that no one cared about me. Dealing with the fact that all my friends were away at college making friends, going out and partying, while I was stuck here with no plans and no friends, killed me. I had my first anxiety attack in years in September. I originally contributed it to the fact that I wasn't dealing well with the change of everyone leaving and now being a college student. I thought it was just added stress to my everyday life. But it only seemed to get worse and worse.

Between January and March, I was having feelings of panic. I began thinking that when I left my house, it would be the last time that I would see someone or that they would see me because one of us would die. I had problems driving my car because every time I got into my car, I worried and had really high anxiety at the fear that I would get into a car accident and die. How was everyone going to handle my death? Would they even care? Would they just deal with it for a week and forget all about me? I then began worrying that my friends at college would make stupid decisions that would cost them their life. I would lay in bed at night in constant fear that I was trying to go to sleep peacefully and one of my friends was lying dead somewhere and I wasn't able to help them. I could no longer go over to my grandparents house on a frequent basis because I was worried that while I was upstairs talking to my grandma, my grandpa was probably lying dead downstairs. If people weren't returning my text messages or phone calls, I was worried they were dead. After leaving work each day, I was worried that it was probably the last time I would see some of them because they were going to die. When I am happy, all I can think of is the fact that I shouldn't be happy, because if I am happy, something bad is probably going to happen. And these fears just go on and on and on....

In April, I realized that I wasn't having all of these problems because of the changes in my life. This was a much more serious problem then I could handle. I hit my lowest of all lows. I had literally never felt worse in my entire life. I would come home from school and lie on the couch until bed. On the weekends, as soon as I got home from work, I was in my room until it was time for bed. My thoughts of death seemed to be increasing by the second. The thoughts had literally taken over my life. It was as if I had a giant weight sitting on my chest, and I just kept letting the weight get heavier and heavier. When the end of the month got closer, I realized that I could no longer try and work out my problems on my own. I needed help. So on the first of May, I sat at the kitchen table and broke down and told my mom the "general stuff." I had tried to tell her for what seemed like weeks, but it was too much for me to do. I can't even tell you how hard this was for me. I didn't feel better telling her, but I knew I wouldn't be able to make the call to the doctors on my own. It was so hard to hear my mom call and hear the words "possible depression." What the hell did I do to myself? Depression?!

Half the courage was telling my mom, the other half was actually making it to the doctors office. On May 9th, I was diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. (PTSD) I never thought in a million years I would ever be diagnosed with this. But, all of my thoughts were all related to the deaths I had experienced. Grieving over multiple deaths in a short amount of time can cause PTSD. In the past 10 months, I have experienced 5 deaths. A total of 8 deaths since 2003 that have truly effected me. When the doctor said PTSD, I broke down and cried. I realized that what I was going through really did have a cause, it wasn't just changes I was going through. I really had a problem and I needed help.

I was immediately put on Lexapro, an anti-depressant, but that only lasted a couple of weeks due to side effects I was then put on a half dose of Paxil (one of the strongest anti-depressants on the market.) I was told that I should also go to therapy. The thought of therapy didn't scare me only because I had been there before following one of the deaths I had experienced. I couldn't make the call though, it was too hard for me. To me, it sounds ridiculous because all I had to do was pick up the phone and schedule an appointment, but I couldn't do that. I needed someone to do it for me. I told the social worker at Prairie Point about what was going on, she recommended a therapist and made the call for me. In early June, I started therapy with Nicole.

I've realized a lot in therapy over the past 4 months of therapy. Not only are all my thoughts related to each death, but it's the reality that it could happen to me that effects me. 4 out of the 8 deaths, the person was my age. The reality that it could happen to me made every symptom and thought ten times worse. I also realized that I did not fully deal with my first death, Ian's death. I was still stuck in the denial stage of grieving with him (a total of 5 steps in the grieving process.) I choose not to deal with his death because admitting that it happened means a healthy baby was taken away. Admitting that it happened means feeling the pain of his death. I don't want to feel the pain. After 8 years, I still don't find myself fully ready. But honestly, since I started therapy 4 months ago, I feel more ready than I did 5 or 6 months ago. Feeling the pain to me is admitting that he died. I don't want to admit that it happened.

I have abandonment problems. The thought of someone leaving me shatters me. I don't want friendships to end because that is a form of abandonment for me. My abandonment problems come from all the deaths that I have dealt with, 6 out of the 8 were unexpected, 6 people left me unexpectedly. I let some people hurt me because I don't want to lose them. My abandonment problems stream directly to my thoughts of death because I am constantly thinking about if it is the last time I am going to see someone alive.

I care way too much. I didn't want to tell people about what was going on because I was worried about how they might react to it. I don't want people to worry about me all the time. When I told my mom, the first thing out of her mouth was "this just kills me as a mother," which is EXACTLY the response I didn't want to get. I don't want to hear that this hurts you I know that it probably does, but I don't want you to tell me that. I don't want anyone else to feel the pain that I am experiencing because to deal with the pain that I go through every single day is pure torture.

I keep way too many things to myself. I don't like to share my true feelings with anyone. Seriously, anyone. Sharing my feelings to me is spreading the pain. Sharing does not make me feel better. After writing all of this so far, this does not make me feel any better than I was feeling an hour ago. People can say to me that it doesn't cause them pain, and they just want to be an ear to listen, but to me, its spreading the pain. I don't want ANYONE to go through what I go through on any given day. Therefore I do not share, which in return only hurts me more.

I can hide anything and everything. It's true. My mom was surprised when I broke down and told her everything at the kitchen table, she wasn't expecting it. My friends that I have told so far, were completely surprised. I am sure that as you read this, you are surprised at how much I have gone through. I am great at hiding things. I'm sure most people don't think anything is wrong. Hiding things from people only hurts me, but I don't think people need to know what I go through. It is easy for me to put a fake smile on and pretend everything is perfect, even though it's not.

This is my own personal battle. It's something that I have to deal with every single day. I feel pain every single day. If you ever ask me if I feel okay, the truth is, I never feel okay. Each day is a battle for me. To make it through the day without breaking down and crying, or having certain thoughts take over every aspect and minute of my life is a complete success. I hate living like this, I wish I didn't have to live like this. This is a battle that I will have to live with every single day for the next few years. I am hopeful that ten years from now, I can live a normal life. I will always have triggers. Every death I experience will be a trigger. The likelihood that I will have to be on an anti-depressant for the rest of my life is extremely likely. I don't think there are enough words to describe what having PTSD feels like. Looking back over everything that I have wrote, I think this may only give a person like a 10% understanding of what it is like to have PTSD. It just flat out SUCKS.