Walking Semicolon

Before you read this:
I don't want to accidentally trigger anyone. If you are a rape, assault or suicide survivor, you may not want to read.  If you have lost someone to violence you may not want to read.  If you were a member of the SSPJ class of 1986, this is going to stir up bad memories.  Please take care.




I used to have a lot of hangups about naming what I've got going on.  I thought PTSD was reserved for people who have or have had far worse life experiences than I've had, as if you have to earn it by reaching a certain benchmark of awfulness.  I've come to see that that just isn't true.  There are no parameters, trauma is trauma and how it affects your psyche, how it changes your brain, is not in your control.  You can only manage the damage afterwards.

There is a world full of people who have it worse than I do.  I am very conscious of that and it often keeps me quiet.  But this is a difficult time of year for a lot of people who won't speak for themselves because they can't. They may be your family members, your friends, your coworkers or facebook aquaintances; no matter who they are, what you say to them matters. What you say about them that gets back to them (because these things always do) matters.  But they won't tell you that because, frankly, in addition to the demons that they fight in their heads everyday, it's just too damn hard.  "We all have demons", you say.  And yes that is very true.  Some demons are more powerful than others though. They take more time and energy to manage from people who may not be as well equipped as you and I are. I believe that there are reasons that I walk my own specific spiral of anxiety in this lifetime.  I think perhaps the biggest reason is that when I get a reprieve from my own fight, I can put things into words for the people who can't.  These are the people I want to speak for, and I am going to get real and raw and specific as I do so.

I have had a horrendous eight months.  In March, believing I had finally beaten my own demons, I began to view life as if I was free to really, truly live it without the limits that an anxiety disorder puts on you.  I didn't know that this belief was at the core of what had originally shaken me, that by approaching life with joy I was unwittingly just pulling off another layer of the deep seated fear that lies at my center.  Within days of  reaching that happy conclusion I was taken down by the worst panic attack I have ever had. I almost didn't come back from it.  The truth is that this time I didn't know if I wanted to. What was the point if after twenty plus years of fighting, of countless types of therapy, of stints on various medications, of mustering up all the courage and strength I could find to defeat another round of panic attacks, wasn't enough.

Thirty-three years ago a man murdered my friend after stalking her to rape her in the woods.  He took her life before she'd had time to live it.  He stole time that I needed with her, time that we would have used to finish our conversations about God and faith and the universe, time where maybe, just maybe I could have convinced her that the problems she had been confiding to me could be solved, time where maybe I could have eased her soul before she returned to God.  There was so much left to be said between flute lessons and band rehearsals and recess but we never got to say any of it. A man I'd never heard of violently ripped my friend away from all of those who loved her and in doing so he tore apart our souls.  It's taken me thirty-three years to say all of that. Thirty-three years to wonder if I am just too broken by the past to have a future where I am not haunted by fear and nightmares and the belief that anything good can be ripped away in an instant.

I told someone the other day that I haven't focused on things involving Christmas because I have a lot going on. I was met with this response: "oh yeah, what do YOU have going on."  What I have going on is that I am still collecting pieces of my soul from a schoolyard on Long Island where they lay waiting for a friend who will never return.  I am slowly and painfully trying to put them all back together, mend them well enough to be a good mother who won't instill crippling fear or pain in her own daughter as she approaches the age where my friend died.  I'm slowly recovering from joint pain and swelling caused by the medication that was supposed to make my brain function better. I am praying that the panic attacks won't return when it's out of my bloodstream.  I am monitoring my kid for signs of damage I might have done to her by being debilitated by anxiety and depression all summer.  I'm working on convincing myself every morning and every night that this fight is worth continuing. I am a walking semicolon. But I shouldn't have to say that.

I shouldn't have to explain anything to anyone at all.  And neither should anyone else with PTSD or depression or anxiety or any other condition.  So please, this holiday season, don't put them in the position where they feel they have to defend themselves.  Don't ask them what they've been doing. Ask them how they are today.  Tell them you are happy to see them.  Offer to take a walk or get a cup of coffee or a pitcher of sangria. Listen if they want to talk and accept it if they don't. And know that these "broken" people that other people whisper or shake their heads over are in fact some of the strongest most resilient badasses you have ever met.  They will wake up again tomorrow to fight the very same fight they fought today, which is the same one they fought yesterday and the day before. They do it knowing that there is no cure, that they are surviving battles in a war that may never be won.

And to Robert Turley who murdered my friend and stole so much from so many of us, your power over me has worn off.  I used to think that you were the devil who created the storm I live in, but I've done a lot of work in the last few years.  As it turns out I am the storm.  And I'll be fighting with the power of written words I couldn't form before now if you are up for parole again before your release.