Archive for category PTSD
Yeah, that title isn’t a me original. It’s from this cool book I got that basically goes against most popular culture or should I say popular occult? culture? Witches and vampires and even the crusades apparently all delusions caused by chaotic crowds or vice versa. I haven’t really read it yet.
Anyway, I digress. I haven’t updated in a hot minute.. or months. Turns out I do not have avascular necrosis which I wish my ass of a doctor didn’t assume that I did and tell me prematurely before the mri. Which left me scared to death that my bone was just going to collapse on me one day with no warning, at all. But it still doesn’t make my overall condition any less severe. If anything it bought a little bit more time before the hip replacements go in. Which, in my case still about 35 years too soon. I hate going to pain management though. they treat me like I am this criminal because I have chronic pain at a young age… it happens?! Like hey bub, you’re staring right at my mri!! I then I start to get these crazy thoughts wondering if HE is wondering if I went through all this trouble to fake my mri’s so that I could be scrutinized like I was about to go deal my medication on the street! Sorry, same as I am not supposed to act on emotion, that should probably go for the written word too. Although usually the case being not so brutal but still extremely hostile!
So, yeah it seems I have been a little emotionally unstable lately. Honestly, I didn’t think I would have made it this long in this house before now until I totally lost it. I lost everything that I had been working for years in regard to never feeling those insane intense feelings of sadness to the point of hopelessness and anger to the point of rage. I never wanted to feel like that again. I hated it. It felt awful. But yeah, my brother was my trigger. He went for my head and I swore I would punch him in the head the way punched me so hard and lacerated my scalp. Conveniently for him. he has no recollection of such events and I guess I really went into a frenzy when he had such a complete total lack of such self awareness (which I had made great strides in forgiving him for, well, a lot) that finally I even felt myself feeling sorry for him. But no, no, no He called ME delusional. Yeah, that about made feel like I could have gone into a murderous rage. And here I was this whole time like the embarrassed little person I was when I would get like that growing up and for some gosh darn reason nobody seemed to know why?? 33 explaining myself to my mother that it must have just been my PERIOD. I mean seriously?? I mean my brother is married and moved out of the house and I felt somewhat better , but that doesn’t stop from always showing up and when he is back, nothing has changed he still doesn’t understand boundaries or what he put me through. Anyway, not on here to rehash all that. Things just, well, I can tell myself all I want that I let go a long time ago, and maybe even believe it? Nope. It stayed bottled up and the cap just went exploding off.
So in more positive news I will be attending an audition on April 25th for an improv troupe in Cincinnati and it actually pays money, real money. And comedy is a really healthy outlet for me. How bout that? I just hope I don’t blow it.
And in other positive but I am finding it’s a lot to process after reading what it all entails. I just applied for a volunteer job as a CASA. For those who don’t know what I am not talking about and it’s not a Latin house. It is a Court Appointed Special Advocate. It’s for children usually taken from their parent(s) due to abuse and/or neglect. So bad in fact, that the state gets them. A lot of them already turn out to be foster kids placed in a bad situation. Don’t get me started on unfit people obtaining foster licenses for money. Anyway, I would be speaking on one these children’s behalf. They don’t have a voice and if they did they would be too afraid or worried or thinking nobody would believe them and try to help. Because that’s how they felt at one time. So, hopefully I answered the application as diplomatic as I could without imagining why someone would hurt children and then asking for them back??? Anyway, my opinion doesn’t seem to mesh well in authoritative worlds. I did assure that I would keep the child’s best interest at heart. So, yeah I basically wind up spending a year trying to advocate for whatever child I am assigned and I speak for that child and I make decisions and have to talk to social workers and judges and parents and foster parents and family members and teachers and whoever else finds interest in the child’s welfare, I guess. It sounded a bit overwhelming and uh, not gonna lie, I am still quite overwhelmed. But, I couldn’t stomach the thought of another innocent suffering child, especially when there is help, but the child has no idea. So, I wanted to make a difference. I am sure sane people probably would have went out and planted a tree on Arbor Day or something. But, although I am sane, um, I can’t let any child feel the way did growing up. I want to empower them and let them know it wasn’t their fault and they did nothing wrong and they are not worthless and they are not disposable. And they sure as hell aren’t commodities or checks. Ooookay, I am relaxed now, well as relaxed as I can get, ever. I wanted to say, good night. I wish I wouldn’t have let bad people lorde such power over me. I wish I knew differently. But I didn’t.
So in order to understand the biological hormonal brain research I have been dabbling a little in. I would just like some input if you would be so kind to help shed some more insight on this fascinating subject. Emotional ADDICTION. Now, it was strange because my therapist has been describing to me in bits and pieces and today I was taken aback. I said oh, my, God… My DAD is addicted to the feeling of anger. I mean ANGER. It is his first go to emotion he doesn’t even realize it’s a subconscious reaction that he has the ability to CONTROL through time mindfulness and self awareness and meditation and you, ballistic holistic. His reactions are just so automatic it’s he doesn’t realize why he’s even angry it’s his inner disposition and he never ever ever self reflects. The man is perfect, in his delusional mind. So basically what I have been learning is that there are these peptides in our brains and wires and pathways and neuro connectivity that our brains find their way there when that emotion gets hungry. These are very deep paths through the neurological brain. So, in essence, a man craving heroin, he releases that same stuff that our emotions release for us, and if he don’t feed that emotion grease up those neurological pathways, give them their “food” – It’s the same feeling a junkie feels when he can’t get a fix. Now, I know this all probably a little new age ish or what have you. But, this basic scientific fact. For instance, you equate love with betrayal, mistrust, heartache, abuse. So your brain, using your emotions is how it seeks out your next relationship, it’s already etched in that lovely portrait of love you’re going to subconsciously find. Laws of attraction. See, my go to emotion, is, well, sadness. I mean, I find comfort in the melancholy, the lone wolf, heavy heart, playing my depressing music over and over and over again. Why? I am learning, that it feeds that monster in me. That monster emotion that I have deeply etched into the rifts and caverns in my brain it longs for it. Then it gets it. I feel comforted for a while and then suddenly wah wah wah I’ve just made myself extremely sad. And I never realized that was the same damn partner I always sought out. The poor little wounded tragic girl. We’d cry together. We’d drink together. She suffered, oh and I felt her suffering. But as all my past relationships have bad patterns; I burned lots of bridges. The fucked thing is I WASN’T EVEN AWARE THAT’S WHAT WAS GOING ON. It’s like i’ve been slapped in the face by brain research. My whole family the lovely triad of the dreaded subconscious go to emotion. Father ANGER Mother ANXIETY/FEAR ME Morose Sadness Melancholy Dreams.\\
But, hey do some research on this. I am very serious. Just type in Emotional addiction or addicted to emotion. It is absolutely fascinating. Here’s the good news though! We, when becoming self aware that monster wants its chemical fix. We have complete power to change our reactions, our emotions, and how we see the world and each other. Nobody’s got anything in the bag in this world. But, it’s better to you know… at least fly a kite over the whole scenario.
So, I have no idea who is even still reading or following my blog at this point. Apparently I had not updated in here since the end of November. There is just cause for my long delay of absence, I promise. So, I am not sure if I had updated in here that I almost died of Renal failure back towards fall/winter months. Well, you think that would have stopped me from drinking so much. Oh yeah, btw, I had a hell of a chemical dependency on alcohol. Anyway, a couple of months went by after the seemingly brush with death at the emergency room. My kidneys had been literally shutting down for 72 hours before I finally called the EMT to take me to the ER. After that and the seizure scare I wound up staying with my parents for a couple of months. I wasn’t really apt to drive a vehicle after that whole ordeal anyway. Well, I finally fessed up to my therapist about the extent of my drinking. I mean, it was bad. I could probably put back 4 or 5 steel reserve 40ozs in an evening. I know, disgusting, right? Believe me, I am not proud of it, neither was I proud of the times I had fallen numerous times (once including in my bath tub, and was literally stuck for over 3 hours). Anyway, that’s neither here nor there. I found a residential treatment facility near where my parents lived but it would have taken them over a month to even have a bed there. At the rate I was going; I honestly don’t think I would have still been alive by the time they would have gotten me into their residential program. When I first came clean to my therapist she must have not realized the extent of my alcohol consumption because she thought I’d be able to do intensive outpatient. I knew the consequences were dire and I told her straight up that I was going to need residential treatment. Well, I got that ball rolling right before Valentines day because I do remember being in detox on Valentines day. I called the National Council on Alcoholism and they referred me to a great hospital who had a very comfortable detoxification program. I was only supposed to be in there for maybe 3 days tops, but they found out I had other medical problems wrong with me as well. Thank God no Hepatitis or any liver damage or anything of that detrimental nature. However, they found out I was Anemic. I was sitting here reflecting on this blog and all this time I had been complaining about how weak I was and how I wasn’t going to be strong enough to make a resilient comeback this time. Well, it turns out that my hemoglobin was so low that I was dangerously close to having to get bloot transfusions. I wound up with a couple IV drips of Ferrous Sulfate solution. Well, the residential treatment program I sought out was able to take me right away. All I had to do was go through detox and they had a bed already waiting for me. I could not believe how smoothly that transition went. I heard from them all the time that there’s always people on waiting lists just to get in there, yet, they basically stalk called me to find out if I was still interested in going. Mind you, I was a self admit. I didn’t realize how many women were there who were court mandated, came from CCNO (Correctionals Center of Northwest Ohio) which the judge I suppose suspended some of their jail time for treatment in lieu. There were also other women there who came straight from prison. But, I mean, these we were just normal women who got caught in the small towns they were from either doctor shopping, manufacturing illegal chemicals, and there were quite a few women in there who suffered from heroin addiction. One girl apparently was shooting up bath salts (I didn’t know that stuff was even around anymore) and there were very slim pickings when it came to alcohol chemical dependency. I would say the entire time I resided there I think maybe 2 or 3 women including myself were being treated for alcohol dependency. There was also another client in there with me who wound up being kidnapped and sold into human trafficking when she was just a teenager. She became addicted to crack during that time and actually wound up becoming addicted to prostituting herself even after she had her pimp put away in prison for a very long time. Most of the women I met there were pretty decent. There were the occasional weirdos, like the girl who supposedly said her drug of choice was Dramamine. I still don’t know how I feel about her story. There was one woman in there with me who appeared seemingly normal when I first met her. Apparently she had met her abusive husband through Alcoholics Anonymous. I’ll tell you what though, towards the end of her treatment, bitch lost her damn mind. She was paranoid saying that people were bullying her during group every time she’d bring up her abusive spouse. Also, she tried to have me believing that I was being bullied as well. I am not sure if anyone knows much about residential treatment, but bullying is definitely not a behavior that any of those women exhibited. So yeah, this woman lost her damn mind at the end of treatment. She had put her husband away for over 5 years without parole. He almost completely beat her to death. She had a traumatic brain injury and everything. Also, it was told to another friend of mine that he actually beat her so badly that he beat a baby out of her. They put it in Tupperware in their backyard or something and didn’t even get a death certificate for it or anything. It’s funny when she went into psychotic crazy manipulative phase at the end of her treatment she changed the tune of her story entirely. Claiming that the baby had been stillborn. There are two things that fuck me up more than anything about her behavior. She had another baby by her husband and in her “rational” mind she thought that if she was holding the baby at the time that he would not abuse her. That’s some pretty fallible logic if I may say so myself, because I am pretty sure infants weren’t created to be shields. And, if you’re dying to know, no, that did not stop him from beating the shit out of her. But, what I suppose perturbs the most about her situation and the fact that she testified against her husband in court and put him away. She was trying to figure out a way to write him in jail despite what he had put her through. I mean don’t get me wrong. I understand Stockholm syndrome and all that, but she put him behind bars, yet still desperately tried to communicate with him. That girl had definitely lost a marble or a thousand. Oh, and the icing on top of that cake is that she wound up “successfully completing” the program around April and guess who shows back up for round two in June. The way I had it all mapped out in my head is that she waited for the girls who were apparently “bullying” her because according to her they were jealous of how attractive she was. Oh, that’s priceless. She walks like Quasimodo but almost has the face of a hit Marsha Brady? By no means would these girls have felt any twinge of jealousy towards her. Oh, and I failed to mention according to them it’s my fault she turned all psychotic. Believe me, every chance they could find to call me into the administrators office, they would. I got blamed for everything from riling up group members to encouraging bad behavior. Yeah, it’s not like I ever broke any actual rules there, i.e.. getting caught smoking, testing positive during drug tests, etc, No, I had strictly behavioral problems, which I am pretty sure they can’t kick you out for that haha. According to the administrator of the facility she swore up and down that the perception she gathered about me that I have Borderline Personality Disorder. Mind you, this administrator/counselor didn’t know the first damn thing about C-PTSD and SUD. She led a very charmed life with no setbacks, adversity, financial burden or even a god damn nicotine addiction. I was very upset with my therapist (not at her) during my first session back after leaving residential. I could not stop talking about how peeved I was that the administrator totally misdiagnosed me with BPD. I guess I was livid for two main reasons, the symptons of C-PTSD and ADHD are very similar to the traits that one with BPD would possess. I mean, trauma itself fall under an anxiety disorder and ADHD is a learning disorder. However, due to these factors, I may have overstepped boundaries, had intense mood swings, and even questions during an inappropriate time during our 3 hour long group therapy sessions almost every day of the week. Oh, I was also accused of being condescending and verbally abusive towards staff. Also, they did not understand my sarcastic and completely dry sense of humor often questioning me as if I were actually joking or not. Now, in all fairness, I can understand how growing up in the environment I did, with the family I did, and the trauma I was exposed to, might cause me to exhibit some traces of BPD. But, shit, I didn’t know any other means of survival. So, being 4 and a half hours removed away from them for almost a complete 6 months, I was able to acknowledge that some of my behavior may not been totally apropos.
But I guess what still bothers me when I think about it AGAIN, is that the administrator and my counselor were dead sure that I was manipulating them and all the people around me. When I would to say to them “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” And they’d still accuse me of lying. I honestly didn’t know half the time what they actually were talking about in regards to my behavior?! They made it seem like I was sitting in my room rubbing my Monty Burns hands together thinking of ways I could cause chaos and disrupt my treatment as well as the whole 9 other girls (who they managed to keep at that consensus at any given time) because I apparently was some evil mastermind. And 9 girls with, two case managers (one was an intern when I got there then she wound up working there as a counselor as well), a facilitator who only did group, the administrator who did counseling and group, and the other therapist who did group on Mondays but also saw individual clients. There was also a nurse on staff, a monitor every 8 hours, a glorified secretary, and I think that’s about all. Point being, they couldn’t manage 9 women!! I had a therapist in Cincinnati who had over 100 clients, she never cancelled an appointment, and she remembered everything about me. That whole thing just blows my mind. So, yeah this treatment center was in a place called Fayette, Ohio. It used to be a roller rink, but they renovated it in 2001 to turn it into a residential facility. I was fortunately able to talk to my trauma therapist in Cincinnati once a week. I would always let her know the latest trouble I had gotten myself into. I also got a stern talking to because I never wanted to attend AA meetings. I still am, I don’t know, neither really here nor there with them. I mean they exist, I have 5 month sobriety coins and I had a temporary sponsor for a little bit. I just never really meshed with any of the group members where we would attend meetings. But yeah, my therapist said two very enlightening things to me that helped me put the one group facilitator into perspective. Oh god, I absolutely hated her, she was an idiot, to say the least. Anyway, my therapist told me that I didn’t always have to fight everything, that I didn’t always have to take a stand, and that if I left group or wherever saying things like “i could have done that better” she said that meant I hadn’t learned anything during that group. I halfheartedly agree with her. But, as for always not having to take a stand and fight everything and everyone (mostly staff and AA) I became a much more agreeable person who showed a lot of growth and maturity and blah blah blah. At the end of my treatment though, a bottle of liquid e-vapor was found in my trash and I got a little bit in trouble for that and wound up actually getting my certificate of completion a week after that incident. But, another horrible thing that administrator said to me was that if I kept treating staff the way I had been treating them the last two weeks of my treatment there that I was going to lead a very lonely life. I was like damn, that’s harsh. And you know, I don’t know if that was something I necessarily needed to hear or not. I know sometimes therapists have been known to say things to me I don’t want to hear but that I actually need to hear. But, I am still debating this instance. She had no idea how close I was with the residents, how many lives I had touched, how many of them listened to me when I had answers or feedback for them and how I was very easy to talk to and get along with. I am actually extremely cordial, kind, empathetic, warm, funny, sensitive, introspective, and just basically got along with everyone I was in treatment with. It was just that damn staff that got on my nerves so bad. Oh, and I did learn a shitty lesson while I was up there. A few of the residents were going to Walmart and I had to go to urgent care or something for swollen ankles, so I gave my (whom I thought was a friend at that time) my debit card and told her to pick me up a couple of things, it couldn’t have totaled over 20 dollars. Well, I went to use my credit card not too long afterwards, like a week or so, and it said I had insufficient funds. Bitch had ripped me off for 150 dollars! She said in her little innocent voice, oh I may have spent a few extra dollars, but when confronted with my bank statement she knew nothing about those purchases made, when they were made in her home fucking town. I would never do that to anyone, but then again, I was surrounded by addicts. So, therein lies my case in point. At any rate, I learned a lot, set boundaries with my parents, my hips are much stronger now, I am no longer anemic, I sleep just fine, I haven’t drank in almost 200 days, and aside from all my mental disorder shit I still apparently am going to need to work on for quite some time even after my discharge (btw the program was only supposed to last 90 days). I exceeded my welcome on that one…
Anyway, so I was out of treatment for maybe two days, yes, I was released on Tuesday, and I was staying with a friend in Findlay near Toledo, and I remember telling her on Wednesday night I wasn’t feeling very well. So, I took off for bed around 11:30 pm or so. Well, me and nobody in the world would have guessed what happened next. I woke up and I did not have my glasses on. I realized my throat was absolutely killing me. I didn’t understand why it was is in so much pain. Well, I go to move my arms and they are being held down by restraints. So, I have no idea where I am, what time it is, why my hands are in restraints and why there are tubes down my throat. Apparently, my friend tried to wake me up around 9 am or so to see if I wanted to take a walk with her and her baby. Well, she said I just kind of grunted and rolled over. Oh, also she said I was coughing pretty profusely at around 3:00 AM. So, I suppose some time had passed since she first tried to wake me up. Her mom heard me in the bedroom and thought I was snoring. No, that was not the case at all. I was aspirating. So, my friend luckily being an RN and a DON called the ambulance to come get me. She said she even tried rescue breaths on me but I was still unconscious not responding. They also tried a sternal rub to see if that would bring me back to consciousness too. That did not work, either. Well, they had me on a ventilator and then eventually put me in an induced coma so they could Intubate me. I got multiple answers from multiple doctors, they don’t know if I possibly had cardiac arrest or if my heart just failed momentarily due to unnecessary stress that possibly could have been caused by a seizure. I am still unclear. I had a touch of pneumonia and I almost stopped breathing completely and lost almost more than half of the oxygen in my brain. So, yeah, ICU and my friend saved my life two days after I got out of residential treatment. I still find that so bizarre. God just had to pull one over on me didn’t he. I guess his cosmic sense of humor is as dry as mine. I have been recovered from that for about 2 or 3 weeks now, but you’ll never guess what happened after that. I broke my damn leg. I tripped in the hallway tried to grab my balance and landed on my fibula. I have a black cast on right now. So, despite all these adversary things happening to me I have not had the urge to go out and drink. So, I think I got that pretty much licked, for now. All in all, residential treatment did wonders for me. I am totally different person. I am ambitious again. I am not just doing nothing all day like I used to. However, I am kind of forced to right now with the broken fibula. I actually want to return to school and get my masters so that I can become a counselor for addicts and also trauma victims. I know what empathy actually feels like. I still want to do comedy on the side, and hell, maybe the memoir I had planned on writing can basically be about my stay at Serenity Haven. It was the best of times and it was the worst of times..
Hopefully I will start updating sooner now rather than you know 8 or so months from when I last posted.
Oh, and how could I forget. My brother is finally married and moved out of my parents house. I thought the day would never come. Unfortunately, I could not be in his wedding, because I was still in treatment when he got married and, also, I knew I would not have made it if I was presented with an open bar. I wasn’t being selfish, but maybe I was, maybe I am allowed to. I was only looking for my best interest. The wedding went on without me. Nobody spontaneously combusted. Crisis averted!
These demons that engulf my soul. Why do they want it so bad? I am changing the title of my memoir to “What The Hell Did I Do?” It’s more suiting than “Sad Clown” anymore. And, that publisher from NYC keeps haranguing me for my manuscript. I don’t even even have and editor! First off, I can’t even afford a fucking editor.But, yeah, tonight I talked a young Pakistani girl out of committing suicide. So, that was an accomplishment, I guess? Putting my years of free therapy into use. I am not good at editing my own work! I need it to be looked over and polished and primed and whatnot. When I can’t even manage to take care of myself. Dammit. Dammit. Dammit. I am useless in a sense, but hopeful in a naive way.