Trying to Find the Words

** If you are an abuse survivor, this post could contain possible triggers.  Please make sure you are safe before reading it.  Also, this is a very heavy and adult post.  Listen to your heart and do not continue if you know this won't be okay for you. **


Words are important to me.  I sometimes take a little longer to speak because I am trying to find just the right word.  Not one that's close, but one that conveys a multitude of meanings all at once, one that conveys truth and feeling and exactitude.  Just the right word.

But sometimes I don't have the word.  If I could communicate telepathically, I could make you understand.  But there just isn't a word for it and nothing else really does the job.

This is what happened when I tried to explain to someone what triggered a PTSD event for me this week.  I didn't have the words.

A little history, somewhat vague, to help set the stage.

There are dark things in my past.  There was abuse and assault.  Over many years I was hunted.  And too often I was caught.  I wasn't killed physically, but pieces of me were destroyed.  I was changed.

I was changed in a way I believe many others who were abused are also changed.  But I can't speak for them.  I speak only for what is true in my life.

I was prey.  In many situations.  And, yes, there were times I feared for my life.  Other times I just feared for the inner me, the part that was being attacked.  What happened to my body didn't matter.  What happened to my core did.

Because I was prey, I was on constant alert (an alert that is never silent, even now).  I learned to read the emotions of everyone in the room.  To sense even the tiniest shift if something changed.  Long before anyone else knew.  Because I had to in order to protect myself.  It was necessary to stay alive.

But it goes beyond just reading emotions.  And this is where I lose words.

Some people have a . . . something to them.  A color/flavor/spirit.  Each of those is somewhat close, but none of them are accurate.  I would say aura, but it isn't visible.  A presence?  A feeling?  An emotional radiation?  None of these are right either.

As a child I often swam in a lake.  I would be swimming along, in the warmth, and hit a cold spot.  Out of the blue all the warmth was gone.  It's kind of like that.

And this last week a person crossed my path whose . . . whatever it is . . . triggered my PTSD.  This person's color/flavor/whatever is darkness.  This person carries evil with him.  Willingly.  The cold spot that he wears is that of a predator.  Even with all the abusive situations I've been in over the years and all the people I've known and all the horror I've experienced and witnessed, I've never felt like I was in the presence of evil.  Until him.  And he knows it and uses it to control.

He is not a close part of my life, but there is potential that our paths will continue to cross.  I am trying to strengthen myself and gather support so he can't wound me again.

I hate that it only took the mention of him to make me feel weak and powerless.  And scared.

He triggered one of my most difficult memories.  One that I haven't fully processed and healed in therapy.  One of a very early sexual assault.  One that causes me severe physical symptoms.  So since he crossed my path, I have been having very painful uterine cramps.  Nonstop.  Whether I am thinking about it or not.  Sometimes so bad that I have trouble standing up.  My anxiety is high.  I am snapping more at my family.  My nerves feel like they are on fire and I cringe if anyone tries to touch me.  Even when I am completely safe, there is fear.  Like the rabbit whose ears prick up when he senses danger.  I will not relax until the danger is gone.

I was not ready to go back to therapy.  My therapist and I have some things to work out.  I wanted to do more processing on my own on that stuff before I went back.  But I may have to put all that aside and go back to therapy anyway.  I may not have a choice.  I'm having trouble functioning.  I'm having trouble getting every day things done.  I need help.

Triggered

All it takes is a PTSD trigger to make everything else in life that was bugging me seem like nothing.

Rally the support troops.  Deep breaths.  You can do this.

A Possibility of Healing

This post is a follow up to yesterday's post, A Bad Therapy Session.

Yesterday I wrote about the pain.  About the trauma of a bad session.  About trying to decide what to do next.  About being unsure of whether or not I could continue to work with my present therapist.

What I didn't say was how badly I wanted to continue with him.  I wanted everything to be better.  I knew that we could work through things.  But I was absolutely not okay with spending another $100 to make it all better.  I was not okay with paying for another session so we could work through his mistake.

I wondered if I was just being stubborn.  After thinking about it a while and realizing the only way I could go back was if he agreed to work through it without it costing me anything, I wondered if I was being self-righteous and unfair.  But I don't think I was.

I was saying that my time matters.  That I deserve to get what I pay for.  That we are equals.  That just because I come to him for help it doesn't mean I have to gratefully accept whatever pittance he decides to grace me with.  I was saying I matter.

So that was my decision.  After lots of thought and prayer, I knew that was the only condition under which I could go back to work with him and still honor myself.

I expected him to call in response to my letter.  I didn't know what I'd do if the time came for my next appointment and I hadn't heard from him.  Luckily, I didn't have to find out.

He called today.

My phone rang.  I looked at the number and knew it was him.  I'd been expecting this but still wasn't ready.  I couldn't talk to him until I knew where he stood.  I just wasn't okay enough.  I wasn't even sure I could get any words out if I tried.  So I let the call go to voicemail.

He thanked me for my letter.  He thanked me for being open and forthright.  (There was even a note of what a great therapeutic accomplishment it was for me.)  He said he was sorry for "blowing" our last session (his word).  He said sometimes this happens.  When it does, he likes to offer a do-over.  Another session, as soon as possible, without charge.  He said he understood I wasn't sure if I was going to come back.  He said he would like me to.  He said he could make time this week to see me if I wanted to give it another try.  He asked that I call him back to see if we could set up a time.

After listening to his voicemail, I cried.  Kind of a lot.  He'd said exactly what I was hoping for.  He was the person I thought he was.  He honored the importance of my feelings.  He made me feel of value -- like an equal.

Even still, I couldn't call him right away.  I couldn't speak yet.  It was about 45 minutes before I could call, which made it a little after 5:00.  I knew there was a chance he'd be gone for the day and I'd get his voicemail.  I was even kind of hoping to.  I wasn't sure I could converse.  And I did get his voicemail.

As I listened to his outgoing message, I felt a bit of relief.  I could just leave a simple message and that would be that.  Only it wasn't that easy.  I began to speak and got choked up.  I pushed through the tears to say what I needed to say.  I told him he'd said the only thing that would have convinced me to try again.  I told him I could try.  I asked him to call me back with scheduling options.

It's not all better, but it's a start.  And it's not starting over.  Which I just don't think I could have done right now.

But for the first time in over a week, I feel like there's a possibility of healing.  Like maybe the healing has begun.

PTSD and Me

I have a guest post up over at Real Intent about what my life is like with PTSD.  Please pop over and read it.  It's important.