Chapter 10... Walls

Trust in the Lord with all your heart

and lean not on your own understanding;

in all your ways acknowledge Him

and He will direct your paths.

~Proverbs 3, 5-6

 

Walls shield us from the sticks and stones some mean people like to throw in hopes of breaking our bones. We put up walls to protect ourselves from the names and faces that hurt us. We put up walls to keep someone from breaking out hearts. We climb walls. We sit on walls. We dig under walls. We peek around walls. Some walls even absorb our total essence, turning us into nothing more than a flowery image which eventually fades away. Walls trap us. Walls, in human behavior are nothing more than a simile for what I keep repeating to myself as “silly me.”

The two most common treatment approaches for PTSD is medicine and psychotherapy Earlier in the week, I did a little research on the medications I've been prescribed for PTSD and was shocked to find that two out of every five people (including veterans) who commit suicide were prescribed these very same meds. I question psychotherapy as the other obvious solution. Most people, like myself are not ready to explore those painful times again, and I'm anxious to the point of nausea and vomiting before each visit having to relive the past. I've already isolated myself from my community, my friends and my family and the last thing I want to do is to sit in a closed-in office with a stranger for what seems like an extended amount of time and relive a period of time I've worked at hiding my entire adult life.

How is it that PTSD can be cured by exploring feelings or even experiencing reminder of a horrible events that were undergone? Upon my further investigation, there have been no significant medical approaches to the resolution of PTSD since the diagnosis came into use over forty years ago during the Vietnam War. In all the medical advances made during that time, it's telling me no one knows exactly how we tick.

I am learning I can't achieve recovery by myself. I am one of those people who feel the need to do everything by myself, another way I was raised. When you're in the middle of the woods and the wolves are howling and you can't start a fire, there is no one else. I've had my legs kicked out from under me many times by this attitude. A dear friend of mine told me it was time to ask others to help me, especially those who cared for me, because that was a way to return the love for someone. I deprived myself of that love because it meant I was weak. I still find it hard to ask for help, I won't lie. I believe in love and I believe that it was ego that sabotaged me from healing earlier.

Last week I managed to take two steps ahead, this week I fell back again. It seems to happen more often than not. I'm reading about twelve-step programs and how it can apply to PTSD. The first step is to become aware that you are incapable of managing your life by yourself. I believe this challenge is my first step after darkness. Recently, I have been surprised where the most profound directions and support come from. It came from a supportive friend whom I haven't had contact in years whose kind words made me truly aware of how important the Serenity Prayer is to healing. It came from sitting in the outdoor chapel overlooking the Blue Ridge Mountains where the verse from Psalm 121:1, I will lift up thine eyes unto the hills...” is carved in the timbers, another Divine source of strength. It came from mutual tears shared with my sister this past weekend as I told her my journey. It came from the moving letter from a surviving soldier who lost his legs in Nam. It came in a letter from the young firefighter who witnessed a family of four die in a burning vehicle. It came in the form of blue birds, and butterflies, and the purr of my fur kids. It came from all those who are reading this blog.

Those walls are beginning to crumble as the mortar weakens, liberating those of us from our self-made prisons. In the words of my son's old band instructor, “I'm not telling you it's going to be easy, but I am telling you, it'll be worth it!” Remember, you are not alone, we're in it together...

Take my hand...

Blue Butterflies...

Forgiveness is not about forgetting. It is not excusing or condoning the event which happened, and you have to quit telling yourself that whatever happened was all right, because it was not and is not. It's not letting those who were involved escape the accountability and responsibility for what they did. We all have consequences for our deeds. Eventually justice wins out and one day balance returns to our world. Forgiveness is releasing that hate and revenge you feel to something else, a higher power. Forgiveness does not overlook the action. It rises above it.

Just words, you might say. I know, I've thought it and verbalized it. Easy for someone to write about all the right things you need to do to achieve the happiness, it's another thing to actually experience it. After being shown my brain scan, I was told one of the most significant effects of PTSD is losing the ability to find joy in your life. It assaults the pleasure centers in front of our brains to turn down to a very low level of activity making those who suffer with PTSD to lose that internal direction or the sense of control we have over our thoughts and our actions. If we don't have positive reinforcement in one form or another, our brains don't know how to heal and find pleasure.

This is where I am failing, and I'm discouraged my life is not on an even keel. Some days I feel like I don't want to teeter on the wall and just fall like old Humpty Dumpty did. By the way, how did that egg-head happen to be sitting on a wall and fall? Did he miss the Spring Equinox and deliberately fall instead his obvious fate of being scrambled by the queen if he failed to stand up on end?

How can you get positive reinforcement when those you love treat you like you have an infectious disease or that their problems surmount yours? It's not about any competition, or who's life was worse than yours. I miss the one person who I believe would listen, my mom. My mom passed away thirty-two years ago, and today is her birthday, she would have been ninety-eight. I miss her, and I think I would be brave enough today, to talk about the yest-er-years. I believe she would finally understand my actions and the words I wrote in my diary so many years ago. I don't believe I'm too damaged to be helped now. I know where I want to be, I'm just having a hell of a time getting and staying there. I am learning new exercises that focus on hope, faith and tranquility. It gets quite discouraging to see the sun set at the end of a beautiful day and feel nothing...no one said things would be easy.

I haven't seen any bluebirds since I wrote my last post, but this afternoon as I sat in the shade enjoying the less humid afternoon in the backyard, a Pipevine Swallowtail butterfly landed inches away from my hand. Was this another Divine sign? I think so. This blue beauty is more common in other places than my yard, and the admission I was granted to watch him dance was free. I smiled when I took note he was not carrying any rocks.