This is what a PTSD meltdown feels like.
My breathe grew sharp. I got cold chills. There was a ringing in my ears. I told myself I was safe. I continued driving. I drove for the next ten minutes, white knuckled barely breathing. There was the toddler in the back happily talking to me about going to the store. I gritted my teeth and spoke calmly, the words left my mouth broken but he was unaware.
He was unaware that his mom in driver seat just took everything she had to make it to our destination while having one of the worst meltdowns to date. I was loopy, I was exhausted. I hurt from the tips of my toes to the top of white hairs on my head. My skin hurt to the touch. My clothes caused immense pain.
I called my best friend and put her on stand by for a rescue mission. I got a hold of husband. Between the two of them they got me calm enough, and the good adrenaline ( not the bad adrenaline where I feel constantly under attack) kicked in and I somehow mustered the energy to go grocery shopping.
Now, remember I have one kid on the Autism spectrum, the only time I ever pay attention to the lights in stores is when I find myself having a meltdown. I have been told it's similar for kids on the spectrum too. The words over intercom, and strangers mouths every sound I could see the vibration. The lights made me feel like I was at a dance club, bright and dark, and erratic. I had no list that I could now remember. I dropped many things. I didn't even pay attention to the total. I just slid my card.
By the time I made it back to the van, I was beyond exhausted. It took every last bit of me to put the groceries in the van. It was painful, I thought I was going to pass out. Minutes felt like hours. I got in the driver seat, took a few deep breathes, practiced a mindful exercise and headed home.
We have a mantra in this house, we discovered in therapy that it calms me and my anxiety ridden children, we are safe in the house. We made it home. I made it home to my husbands arms. Home is my safety. I can build forts, I can hole up in my bed with the kids eat snacks and watch tv. We are safe in the house.
PTSD doesn't care where you are, and I am not always aware of my triggers. Today was one of those days where something unplanned killed my day. Its been almost 12 hours since this happened and stringing together a cohesive sentence to speak is almost impossible. Writing is a process. The little red squiggles say I spelled many things wrong ( thank god for spellcheck) but it comes with the course. The brain lives in a state of mind that I can't control. Today is a bad day, but I'm okay.
He was unaware that his mom in driver seat just took everything she had to make it to our destination while having one of the worst meltdowns to date. I was loopy, I was exhausted. I hurt from the tips of my toes to the top of white hairs on my head. My skin hurt to the touch. My clothes caused immense pain.
I called my best friend and put her on stand by for a rescue mission. I got a hold of husband. Between the two of them they got me calm enough, and the good adrenaline ( not the bad adrenaline where I feel constantly under attack) kicked in and I somehow mustered the energy to go grocery shopping.
Now, remember I have one kid on the Autism spectrum, the only time I ever pay attention to the lights in stores is when I find myself having a meltdown. I have been told it's similar for kids on the spectrum too. The words over intercom, and strangers mouths every sound I could see the vibration. The lights made me feel like I was at a dance club, bright and dark, and erratic. I had no list that I could now remember. I dropped many things. I didn't even pay attention to the total. I just slid my card.
By the time I made it back to the van, I was beyond exhausted. It took every last bit of me to put the groceries in the van. It was painful, I thought I was going to pass out. Minutes felt like hours. I got in the driver seat, took a few deep breathes, practiced a mindful exercise and headed home.
We have a mantra in this house, we discovered in therapy that it calms me and my anxiety ridden children, we are safe in the house. We made it home. I made it home to my husbands arms. Home is my safety. I can build forts, I can hole up in my bed with the kids eat snacks and watch tv. We are safe in the house.
PTSD doesn't care where you are, and I am not always aware of my triggers. Today was one of those days where something unplanned killed my day. Its been almost 12 hours since this happened and stringing together a cohesive sentence to speak is almost impossible. Writing is a process. The little red squiggles say I spelled many things wrong ( thank god for spellcheck) but it comes with the course. The brain lives in a state of mind that I can't control. Today is a bad day, but I'm okay.
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