The Nightmare of September
A few weeks ago there was a bad night here. It cemented two things for me, I have PTSD and my flight, fight freeze response is off, well more then off, like totally of the rails, down the ditch and into the water never to be found again.
There was something going on in the neighborhood. Usually I mind my own business because life has taught me it always ends poorly for me. The urge because this night was different was strong so I waited till the moment was safer as it was dark, and had hubby come with me.
Let's say the whole thing went left. Not only was a knife pulled but I entirely frooze. I felt like the world was spinning away from me and I was frozen. I felt like I was in a nightmare. While I was standing there being charged at, my husband looked me square in the face, touched my elbow, and in three very clear, consise words brought me back to earth, " House, run, now." I'm not sure if that's what he really said, but my memory that is all he said.
Now, here is the thing with me, MOST of my trauma remains unprocessed. I have been in therapy for two years, a large chunk of that was weekly or bi-weekly, and we have just got to the point where I will talk about some of the first traumas. I KNOW I do not respond to these situations in the best manner but what I didn't realize until processing the whole events in a small dose, is just how much of the past I carry with me.
Now, that wasn't the only thing of the night, pretty much, when the cops showed up, I was screamed at, cussed at with a gun pointed at the kill shot in the head. ME, five foot two, crying sobbing, hyperventilating.
Then, in the moment the switch was flipped. My scared turned into fight. While I complied to commands, my body language was pretty damn clear I was pissed off. As the minutes dragged on, I was angry, eye rolling, shooting metaphorical daggers from my eyes, short sentenced, pissed off little dragon mode.
Like I said here, I learned two things that night. You would have thought I would have been pissed the moment I was being charged at with a knife. Nope, the difference was the yelling. The man charging at me with the knife was silent. The cop was yelling.
When we, my therapist and I processed this night in therapy we found a link to my reactions.
The yelling is my trigger. It brought me back to the first trauma. The first time someone stole my power. I was that girl all over again, this is the PTSD coming into play, it's a flashback to that moment, it's all the feelings being relived all over again. The past and the future meet and become one.
Once again, I sit in that rocking chair in my safe place, and we process. Once again, I find myself looking at the Pandora's Box that is my memories. For the first time though, the lid is off. It's all coming out, bit by bit.
I can't wait for Pandora's Box to be empty. To reach the bottom of that box is to find my power.
There was something going on in the neighborhood. Usually I mind my own business because life has taught me it always ends poorly for me. The urge because this night was different was strong so I waited till the moment was safer as it was dark, and had hubby come with me.
Let's say the whole thing went left. Not only was a knife pulled but I entirely frooze. I felt like the world was spinning away from me and I was frozen. I felt like I was in a nightmare. While I was standing there being charged at, my husband looked me square in the face, touched my elbow, and in three very clear, consise words brought me back to earth, " House, run, now." I'm not sure if that's what he really said, but my memory that is all he said.
Now, here is the thing with me, MOST of my trauma remains unprocessed. I have been in therapy for two years, a large chunk of that was weekly or bi-weekly, and we have just got to the point where I will talk about some of the first traumas. I KNOW I do not respond to these situations in the best manner but what I didn't realize until processing the whole events in a small dose, is just how much of the past I carry with me.
Now, that wasn't the only thing of the night, pretty much, when the cops showed up, I was screamed at, cussed at with a gun pointed at the kill shot in the head. ME, five foot two, crying sobbing, hyperventilating.
Then, in the moment the switch was flipped. My scared turned into fight. While I complied to commands, my body language was pretty damn clear I was pissed off. As the minutes dragged on, I was angry, eye rolling, shooting metaphorical daggers from my eyes, short sentenced, pissed off little dragon mode.
Like I said here, I learned two things that night. You would have thought I would have been pissed the moment I was being charged at with a knife. Nope, the difference was the yelling. The man charging at me with the knife was silent. The cop was yelling.
When we, my therapist and I processed this night in therapy we found a link to my reactions.
The yelling is my trigger. It brought me back to the first trauma. The first time someone stole my power. I was that girl all over again, this is the PTSD coming into play, it's a flashback to that moment, it's all the feelings being relived all over again. The past and the future meet and become one.
Once again, I sit in that rocking chair in my safe place, and we process. Once again, I find myself looking at the Pandora's Box that is my memories. For the first time though, the lid is off. It's all coming out, bit by bit.
I can't wait for Pandora's Box to be empty. To reach the bottom of that box is to find my power.
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