I'm Not Quitting . . . Yet . . .

PTSD ... I'm convinced that must stand for "Pretty Tough Stuff Daily" ... the awful nightmares, crippling body memories, intrusive flashbacks, and all the other "fun stuff" that goes along with it.

I had a particularly challenging therapy session today, to the point that I was physically ill & vomiting afterwards. I crawled home so utterly exhausted that it was all I could do to fix supper for the kids before collapsing in bed, virtually catatonic and shaking. I just lay there in a trance for about an hour with the eternal "to do" list running through my mind, trying desperately to will myself to snap out of it, get up, and get busy. But it was no use. My body just wouldn't cooperate. I took a series of deep, cleansing breaths and tried to reground & center myself. Not helpful. Then, from somewhere deep inside, the thought came to me, "So, that's it then, huh? You're just going to let him win? You're just going to give up?"

Not in this lifetime! I drug myself out of bed and began washing the dishes & wiping off the kitchen counters. I checked the kids' backpacks, started supper, and unloaded & reloaded the washing machine ... and was suddenly startled by the realization that I was ... HUNGRY. Had I eaten yet today? I realized I hadn't (aside from the snack I'd eaten during therapy, which I had promptly thrown up afterward). I poured myself a bowl of cereal, sloshed in some milk, and started devouring it. I was FAMISHED. I relished the texture of each bite as it crunched around my mouth, enjoying the wonderful sensation of being ALIVE.

"That's right," I thought to myself, "I'm HERE. I'm alive. I survived. I WON, and HE LOST!"

I may have nightmares again tonight. Such is life. But I'm not giving up. I can't. I won't. I didn't come this far to cower in fear because of a few pesky flashbacks & traumatic memories. And that's all they are -- MEMORIES! It's OVER! He can't hurt me anymore! And I'll be DAMNED if I'm going to let the things he said & did to me keep stealing the joy out of my life.

Walking into my daughter's room to tuck her in and seeing her lying there, sleeping so peacefully, I realized that there are some things in life that are worth fighting for.

Tomorrow is another day. I will wake up. I will put one foot in front of the other. I will go on living. I will go on healing. I will go on BEING. I will learn to let myself feel without fearing the feelings. I will learn to share without fearing rejection or judgment. I will learn to sleep without fearing the nightmares. And someday ... maybe ... I will learn to love again ... without worrying about being tormented & terrorized.

I can do this. I am NOT a quitter. I'm a survivor!

Leaning on the Lord (sonnet)

Just put one foot in front of the other,
And just take one little step at a time.
Trust your subtle instincts as a mother,
Tell yourself, "ev'rything will be just fine."
Just wake up each and every morning,
And with a genuine smile, greet the day.
With each sunset as the daylight's fading,
Say, "we will all make it through this okay."
Never doubt God's power for a second,
Never falter from the path He shows you.
Never linger when His Spirit beckons,
Don't forget He made you and He knows you.
You'll find answers; keep trusting in His word.
You'll find comfort; keep leaning on the Lord.

How are you?

How AM I? If I hear one more person ask me how I am, I think I'll scream. Granted, if they actually GAVE A CRAP about how I really am (or better yet considered actually DOING anything to improve the situation), then maybe I wouldn't be so quick to judge. But seriously, people, when was the last time you answered that question ("how are you?") honestly? So, in the interest of all those times that I REALLY wanted to answer openly, here goes . . .

How am I? I'm despondent. I'm discouraged. I'm disheartened. I'm depressed. I'm dysfunctional.  I'm disgusted. I'm doubtful that justice exists.

Today I got the shit kicked out of me in court by my husband's high-priced lawyer (that he's paying for with credit cards that he's probably going to then claim is marital debt and try to force me to pay half of). Meanwhile, I'm stuck with a pro bono lawyer who takes 5 minutes to form a complete sentence and doesn't do a damn thing I tell her to. 
I've been sick for 2 weeks. Low grade fever, chronic cough, lower back pain, fatigue, and generally "achy" all over. It's most likely bronchitis . . . maybe a kidney infection thrown in somewhere . . . oh, and did I mention the YEAST INFECTION? Yeah, that's fun. The burning and itching all the time. Joy of all joys. Yeah, that's the fun stuff EVERYBODY likes to hear about.  But I don't have time to go to the doctor.  Too busy going to court and working every bloody day.  So I bought myself some OTC stuff for the yeast infection and I'll live with the rest of the crap.
 
Did I mention my boss sent me an email summoning me to an important "team meeting" in her office tomorrow with several other management staff?  Unexpected team meetings are never a good thing.  It always means she's pissed off at SOMEBODY, and it's just easier for her to yell at all of us than talk to the one person she's have issues with.  Less confrontational for her that way.
 
Oh, I almost forgot . . . my 6 year old son was in the hospital for 3 days this week with a bad case of pneumonia.  Being the ever-vigilant, compassionate, devoted, protective mother that I am, I stayed by his side day and night.  I got virtually no sleep for 3 days.  I also missed 3 days of work, and therefore will miss 3 days of pay.   Yeah, that's going to be great come bill-paying time.
 
So yeah, I'm bloody FINE!  How are YOU?
 
(note; some details have been changed to protect our identities)

Freeflow Journaling Through a Flashback or Body Memory

I've found that sometimes there's no escaping from the grip of an intense memory (especially if it's sensory-related). Although deep breathing, progressive muscle relaxation, and meditation help a little bit sometimes, I've discovered that in some cases there's nothing I can do except "hold on for the ride."

One tool that I've found useful is what I call "freeflow journalling." I've heard others refer to it as "freewriting." Basically whatever thoughts, sensations, words, images, etc come to mind, I write it down -- without worrying about using proper punctuation & grammar (or even whether or not it "makes sense," for that matter).

There are several reasons I've found this helpful:

1) It gives me something to do while I "ride out" the traumatic memory.
2) It helps me sort through what happened afterward so that I can process it.
3) It sometimes lessens the severity of the physical aspect(s) of a flashback (maybe because my hands are "occupied").
Here's an example of a "freeform" journal entry that I wrote about a year ago when I was triggered by simply hearing someone say the phrase "Just take it all." (Note: I added some punctuation to make it SOMEWHAT easier to read.)

-----------------------------------

Just take it. Take it all. Stop your fucking complaining. Can't. No room. Stop. When will he come? Please God, No MORE! Arms over my head. Tight. Wrists. Pillow. Face. No air. Can't breathe. My duty. For my children. I can do this. I CAN'T do this. Lord, give me strength. Help me Jesus. Help me. Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil. Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me. Burning. Enough. Searing. Too much. Go away. Arms numb. Make it STOP. So dizzy. Gonna throw up. So gross. Gagging. Salty. Over me. In me. Dribbling on me. Musky smell of him. Smothering me. Holding me. Fading. Drifting. YOU ARE MINE. I am his. I am gone. Disappeared. Where did I go? Darkness. Don't fight it. Let go. Wandering. Lights. Turning over. Spreading. Slipping. Again. Here we go again. No more. Please God, no more. Hurts so bad. Stretching. Splitting. Tearing. PLEASE let him be done. Mind over matter. He's spitting on me. Says that's good enough to go again. Mad at me. I'm dry he says. Better that way. Spits again. Good enough. It's NOT. Sticking. Pulling. Feels like he's tearing me apart. He likes it. Says I'm so good and tight. Every stroke burns. Agony. Searing pain. Deeper. Harder. Stabbing straight through me to the other side. ALMOST DONE, he says. STOP SHAKING. SHUT UP. Just a little more. Thank God. Hold on. Slipping away. Almost finished. Is he? COME AGAIN. I can't. Can I? Thrusting. Counting. Two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, twelve, fourteen, twenty, sixty nine, HUT. I miss playing football. Think about something else. Anything else. Deeper. Harder. He says he's done. Please be done. Finally. Breathing. Gulping air. Curl up in ball, knees to chin. Is he gone? Have to pee. No, I can't. Too late. Burning. He's still in me. GET IT OUT. But he's gone. Not there. Need ice. Ice. Find the ice. Make it stop. He's gone. Don't care where. Away from me. Quiet. Curl up in a ball. Make the pain go away. Lord, please... Why ... Why ... Why... Is this how it's supposed to be? Am I so weak that I cannot do this? Help me submit willingly, Lord. My body is not my own. It is his. Strengthen me, Father. Need to sing. It will be better one day. I just need to trust. Singing -"All the way my Savior leads me, what have I to ask beside? Can I doubt His tender mercy, who through life has been my Guide? Heavenly peace, divinest comfort, here by faith in Him to dwell. For I know, whate'er befalls me, Jesus doeth all things well; for I know, whate'er befall me, Jesus doeth all things well." Tears. More tears. Why? What is wrong with me? Am I a horrible wife? I must be. This is my lot, my portion in life. I shouldn't let it upset me. God is in control, this is His will for my life, so who am I to question it or complain? Singing-"Day by day, and with each passing moment, strength I find to meet my trials here. Trusting in my Father's wise bestowment, I've no cause for worry or for fear. He whose heart is kind beyond all measure gives unto each day what He deems best -- lovingly, its part of pain and pleasure, mingling toil with peace and rest" . . . God must approve of this, otherwise He wouldn't allow it. And it says there will be pain mixed with pleasure, so I guess I should be thankful even through the pain.  This must be what He wants for me, and I'll just have to accept it. Lord, help me accept it .... Singing-"Have Thine own way, Lord, have Thine own way. Thou art the potter, I am the clay. Mold me and make me after Thy will, while I am waiting, yielded and still" ... I need to just yield. Lord, help me be still and yield. I confess my weakness, my frailty, my inability to properly submit to my husband as is my duty, my inadequacy as a mother, and my incompetancy as a housewife.  I humbly bow before you, Heavenly Father, and beg for your mercy. Haven't you punished me enough? I know I don't deserve to be rescued, but I cry out to you, oh Lord. Footsteps on the stairs. Coming up. It's him. He's back. Wants more. Shaking in puddle. Still singing. Want to believe. Hands trembling. Ice melting. In the doorway. His face. Sneering. Ridiculing. God won't hear me because I'm a slut. Worthless whore. Why am I singing to a God that can't hear me? Or doesn't care to listen? He throws hymnal against wall. Says we need to pray. Pray for my forgiveness. Pray that God will help me submit. Pray that God will forgive me for my weakness. That He will forgive me for my unwillingness. Pray that God will have mercy on me. Pray that God will make me a better wife. God help me take it all. Take it all. He wants more. No, Please, no more. Please, no. He says he'll be "nice" and only do my mouth. Please no. Please. On my chest, he's so heavy. Choking, gagging, suffocating. Bite down. Slap! Let go. Stop. No more. Finish yourself. You have two hands. Will I watch? Video. Awful & disgusting. Makes me watch. Hate porn. Skin crawling. Sick. He can't come. His arm is tired. YOU FINISH. My job. My responsibility. Take it all. Swallow. No. Sick. Gross. BASTARD! Gag. God help me. Darkness. Slime. Room spinning. Pillow soft. Quiet. Fading. Take it all. Just take it all.