PTSD, Anxiety, and Depression - Part 2

Anxiety is a weird and ominous feeling, and that's putting it lightly. I mean, we all have anxiety to a certain extent when we're about to do something where we might fail (public speaking, dance recitals, pre-final examinations, etc.). In fact, there are millions of situations that cause us to be, what I call, rationally anxious. People naturally feel this feeling, and it's indicative of having pride in what you're about to do and wanting things to turn out for the best.

But there is definitely another kind of anxiety...the irrational kind that has no bearing on anything rational. Instead it hits you so fast that you absolutely can't think straight. Sometimes it leads to a full-on panic attack where things get really bad. Sometimes the symptoms can induce a heart-attack-like-event. You can't breathe, you're sweating, you have this wicked knot in your stomach, your thoughts race, and all you can manage to do is hide...in a corner, in your car, in your bathroom, or closet, or bed...whatever.

I experience both the former and latter types of anxiety. Yet most of the time I am afflicted with the latter type: the irrational kind. I rarely have true panic attacks, for which I am extremely grateful and feel loads of empathy for those that do experience them. A good example of my irrational anxiety taking hold of me was the day I went to see a double-feature at the movies. I was having a wonderful time until the second movie ended. As I walked out of the darkened movie theater and towards the lobby, I was hit with massive anxiety. The minute I reached the lobby I felt like a brick wall had appeared in front of me. I had that nervous knot and overwhelmed feeling come upon me so fast and so intensely I just put my head down and got to my car as fast as I could. I felt that everyone there could see right through me and were thinking to themselves, "What's her problem?".

The truth is that this type of anxiety can make you feel like you're screaming at the top of your lungs because you're afraid and you need someone to help you, except you can't speak a sound to ask for that help. Sometimes you even gather the strength to try to yell out, but all that comes out of you is a whisper, even with the intensity and volume you are desperately trying to accomplish. So instead you ball up and hide in a small space, or in your bed, or whatever, sometimes shaking so much you get  tense to the point where your body starts to hurt (and for me that's not a long time).

And a sucky part that is no one's fault is that, unfortunately, people in the house (or wherever you are) are going about their business because they have lives to lead and can't cater to you, particularly if they don't know what's wrong because you can't tell them. And sadly it could be because, let's face it, they've been through this 1000 times before with you, so it's somewhat par for the course. Even though they may have sympathy for you, they ultimately leave you alone and keep on with their business. After all, they know you're in a "safe" place all huddled up in a corner, the bathtub, the closet, etc., regardless of how desperate you are feeling. And you can't express how much you need them because, again, you can't effectively communicate. Yes, that does suck.

In moments like these, which for some reason now happen to me a lot post-accident, my thoughts typically race...and none of them are good. Thoughts of demeaning self-criticism leading to thoughts of hopelessness leading to thoughts of how I'm such a waste of time and space, confirming that I'm a failure and will never be anything more. I could go on, but you get it. The reality is that all of these thoughts and more are in your head racing back to back at unbelievable speeds, and you're too overwhelmed to know how to stop them...so you do what feels right (even though it's wrong) and you believe them...ultimately making the anxiety worse and your feeling of fear and desperation absolutely unbearable.

Someone who experiences anxiety also deeply hates being lonely but is too freaked out to socialize. (I have no doubt I am a full on agoraphobic at this point, speaking of.) I mean, maybe they can handle virtual socializing through things like Facebook, Instagram, whatever, but that's pretty much the limit. They don't go shopping for pleasure; don't feel that they can just jump into the car and go anywhere...even for just a ride, you name it. They are trapped by this affliction, and it takes its toll day after day.

Personally, I have anti-anxiety pills that I take, but if I'm being honest, they aren't nearly enough. If anything, the most I can say about them is, on my good days, taking them helps me (doesn't always work) to stay positive and social instead of giving into my anxiety so that things become overwhelming. Even with regular counseling and breathing exercises and all of the other coping mechanisms I have learned, when severe anxiety hits me, all I can do is take my prescribed pill and hope it is at least somewhat effective...whilst I curl up in my closet or corner or bed and listen to the happiest music I can handle.

Unfortunately, I have no positive ending to this post. I'm sure my high levels of anxiety come from some of my PTSD (described in another post). I mean, this certainly started after 9/29/09 (my accident). Whether I get them because of a TBI or a remnant of PTSD or some physiological reason or other trauma that I have indeed experienced, it's a mute point in part because I still have to deal with it...and no one knows how to help me.

Tonight I missed out on going to see The Dixie Chicks in concert in Bangor because of my severe anxiety. I was left alone for the day and anxious feelings grew like a weed until I was overcome by them. Not to mention my relatively new members of my family are here, and I am trapped in my room, so I'm totally embarrassed. I really wish they didn't get to see this side of me. I really, really hate my life sometimes.

Thanks for reading.

A Different Path

I'd like to interrupt my tales about PTSD, Anxiety, and Depression just this once and instead give an update on the path to meeting with a neurosurgeon to see if I am a viable candidate for this spinal implant surgery that could effectively relieve my nerve pain. I met with the pain management psychologist--with an open mind, as I promised to do--but it turned out to be (sadly) exactly what I figured it would be. Definitely a waste of money, yet I have to be fair and say the time wasn't a total waste. Yes, she asked me everything there is to know about my past (as if my distant past psychological state is even relevant to my goal) and then she explained what she does. When she was done interviewing me about my past and current whatever, I asked my mom to join me to listen to what she had to say about what she does.

I am not going to give you a play by play recap of the conversation, but there was something extremely important that I learned from her when we questioned her about some things. The most important information I received from her is that I should not expect to not feel anything with the implant device. Instead I will still feel something; it will just be different. And in fact, she currently works with several people who have had this surgery and need help managing their pain.

I think I had a minor stroke, I was so shocked. This was the first time anyone out of all the medical professionals I had seen had told me this. And frankly, that's a big deal. Here I am expecting to have my pain managed by this implant (based on what I have been told by several neurologists and pain management clinic doctors) when in fact, it's just going to be a different sensation that I may (or may not) have to figure out how to deal with. I was flabbergasted trying to process all of this. I didn't want to have to learn to deal with a new kind of sensation! Sometimes the devil you know is better than the one you don't, and in this case, that was exactly what I was thinking. Not to mention that I will also have this implant with a battery pack in my back that (according to her and another source I know in the medical field) many people cannot tolerate.

So I took that information and researched it, finding several cases that supported what this woman had told me, and I took a while to think about all of it. I mean, the most important thing is my ultimate goal: to stop feeling this pain or at least be able to live my life with it instead of it ruling the way I live. And this goal certainly does not include exchanging the pain I deal with now for something different that I will have to get used to--essentially repeating the process of what I have already accomplished in some small part. I mean, after all I have been through these last (almost) 7 years, in particular learning how to deal with these shocks that I receive randomly yet fairly consistently every day, the thought of doing this all over again was not something I wanted to even consider. All this time of learning how to suck up the pain and learning not to show people that I am hurting taught me an important thing in the context of this new information: I now definitively understood that this convoluted process I have been following is not in line with my ultimate goal. So on Thursday I decided to discontinue my journey to pursue this implant. Maybe in a decade the technology will be there, and maybe then I'll look into it again; but for now, nope.

So what did this leave me with for options? Not many that I haven't already tried to be honest. Well, all except one which I am going to pursue actively now. A new path and a difficult one indeed, but one that I think will be the best for me. When I wrote in my last post how much showering hurt, I remembered something else. I remembered that EVERYTHING I did (including just laying in bed or changing my socks) hurt like 25 times more than it does today...even on my current really bad days. What I gleaned from this revelation were two things: 1) The pain has lessened either because of physiological reasons or, more plausibly, that I had learned over the years to suck it up, and 2) because I can remember the difference, I see no reason why I can't simply push myself to continue learning to suck it up when it happens. If any continued lessening of the pain also has to do with physiology, that's awesome. But for now, it's time to get busy living a life while I have this pain.

There's no way that this new path is going to be easy. It's going to hurt, maybe/probably for the rest of my life, and somehow I am going to have to find ways to get through it. Yet, the coolest part of all this is that I believe I can do this. I really and truly believe it. That's something I never really felt when it came to the prospect of having that implant. Faith that it would work, I mean. However, I do find that I have faith in this pathway where I am in charge of how I react to moments of pain and not allowing them to rule my life anymore. The short of it is that it's just going to take time and practice. 

And the most interesting thing about all of this is that this idea is a true example of believing in myself. Something that in my old life was completely natural for me, but through this horrific experience over the last (almost) 7 years has become a stranger in my typical way of thinking for several years now. I guess I am saying that I think a part of the old me is slowly returning: the part where I believe in myself...where I know that I can do anything I set my mind to. And that's a tremendous breakthrough, especially if one considers the roller coaster of emotional and physical states I have been going through.

I daresay that (today at least) I am looking forward to a positive outcome. I can hardly believe it myself, but I, for the first time in a long, long time, am feeling hopeful. I can't tell you how suddenly light the burdens of these last (almost) 7 years feel now that I have reached a point of true hope. I am again flabbergasted, but with a smile on my face this time.

Stay tuned, and as always, thanks for reading.

PTSD, Anxiety, and Depression - Part 1

For those of you who are lucky enough not to be diagnosed with a severe depressive disorder, PTSD, or anxiety, I find myself wondering how many of you truly understand what happens to those of us who do, in fact, have these afflictions. I know that there are many people with horrible situations who face these things every day, and even I don't fully identify with or understand what they go through because it can be different for a lot of us...even though there are typically common elements to these conditions. And I have to be honest and say that I feel particularly vulnerable explaining my experiences with these things with the public because they stem from a very intimate part of me...my brain and how it thinks. It's going to take a few posts to cover this stuff; however, I did promise to be completely open in this blog, so here goes.

Starting with PTSD, it's an odd condition to deal with and not at all pleasant or convenient. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder is a terrible thing to experience, and even with tons of therapy and learning techniques to overcome the severity of it, sometimes one can't ever truly get away from it. My PTSD was very severe after my accident first happened. I had a hard time, as you can imagine, being in a car with someone who might take their eyes off the road for even a second (which, let's face it, we all do while driving). I would literally watch the person who was driving me to ensure they were paying attention at all times and would totally freak out (in my head mostly...although at times I would make a small scene) if they diverted their attention for even a second. Because if you read the story of my accident through the link in my last post you know that I had done that very thing: taken my eyes off the road for a split second. I am happy to say that this part of my PTSD has calmed down a lot since the beginning. I am even able to drive myself and can take my eyes off the road for a second to adjust the radio, the air conditioner, or whatever. Something that astonishes people sometimes. It certainly astonishes me that I am able to do it.

Another part of my PTSD stemmed from the severe nerve damage and horrific pain that I dealt with every day when I was first hurt. When I was first introduced to learning how to shower with my new injuries, it was a terribly painful process. I had to sit in a shower chair, as you probably imagined, and use a portable shower head to rinse myself off...meaning that I wasn't kept warm by the water on a consistent basis. Now, anyone who knows me knows very well that I cannot stand being cold...ever. My friends have often jokingly teased me about developing temporary tourettes syndrome because I can't stop swearing until I am warm again. So that was the first part of my new showering process that was traumatic.

The second part was that the temperature of the water was never quite right. Not because it wasn't an appropriate temperature but because my body's lower extremities were so sensitive to temperature changes that it literally hurt to shower...whether the water was on me or not. My body couldn't handle the changes in temperature, and it would cause me so much pain that I could hardly bare it. Imagine, if you can, someone already in a tremendous amount of pain just laying in bed, who had to face what she knew was going to be torture when it was time to take a shower. It was very traumatic for me to say the least.

Since I have learned to stand again, I no longer have to sit in my chair very often and my shower doesn't have a portable head, so I am centered in the warm water throughout the process. However, the trauma I experienced for a few years when showering still affects me to a point today. I am happy to say that the instant change in temperature doesn't hurt as badly as it used to, and it is extremely helpful to be able to stay under the warm water continuously (of course getting out of the shower is a slightly different story because, like all of us, I am blasted with colder air the moment I turn off the water and open the shower curtain). Yet I get through it.

Unfortunately though, I am still severely affected by this particular part of my PTSD. I have an extremely difficult time motivating myself to take showers. In fact, to this day, I procrastinate and avoid them as much as possible because I can't stop my brain from connecting those harsh memories of pain with showering today...even though that painful process doesn't happen any more. I still can't be the person I was before the accident: one who showered almost every day and was fine with it. It's something I mourn for quite vehemently because I don't like being dirty. In fact, I hate it and am extremely embarrassed by it. Yet, it's part of my PTSD that I haven't conquered yet, after almost 7 years. As hard as it is to admit this, I can go for a week without showering, if I'm being completely honest. And although I hate every minute of it (truly), something in my brain stops me from simply going into the bathroom, taking off my clothes, and getting into (what is now) a lovely, warm stream of water. I mean, once I actually do get in, I always tell myself to remember how good this feels and how good it feels to be clean. Yet, to date, that has not helped me get over my PTSD regarding showers. I try to put showering into my schedule so that I do it on a regular basis, but that hasn't helped yet either.

I am now, interestingly enough, mostly able to force myself to move past my fear and get in when I have appointments, social or otherwise, because I am going to be seen by others. It's as if my PTSD gets overcome by the fact that I don't want people to know I have this problem, so I use every bit of inner strength that I have and just grit my teeth while I get in. And once I'm there, I'm totally fine. Like I said, I enjoy it and love the feeling of being clean. So my objective is to be more active so that this part of me gets (hopefully) easier and easier. After all, I can only hope that someday I will conquer this obstacle in my life for good.

As for the "becoming more active" part, there's always plans to hang out with people I know, or doctor appointments to which there is no end in sight. But I actually mean more than that. I am sick and tired of staying at home most of the time, so I have decided to go back to volunteering. I have a few places that I have contacted and am waiting to hear back. I'll let you know more when I do.

And finally, an update on my journey to getting help with the constant nerve pain in my lower extremities, etc.. Today I meet the psychologist who is trained in pain management. If I'm being honest, I have pretty much lost all hope that this journey is going to do anything but be a waste of money and time, but I have promised my mother that I will go to all of the appointments in the process and have an open mind while doing so. Of course, if I had my druthers, we all know that I would rather skip all of these unnecessary steps and just see a freaking neurosurgeon to determine if I am a candidate for the spinal implant procedure or not. However, since that's obviously impossible, I have resolved myself to getting on with my life and just accepting the fact that I have pain I have to deal with. I mean, yes, it can get very bad at times, but after almost 7 years of practice I have learned to endure it so that no one even knows it's happening. So, again, we'll see what today brings, but I have little doubt its just another step that wastes my time and money...oh, and is also a step that I am positive will have to be repeated several times before this psychologist finally writes her damn recommendation. Yes, it sounds awesome, I know (again, as my keyboard drips with sarcasm).

Until then, thanks for reading, and stay tuned.