Healing…how many times are we told that we have to forgive the transgressions of others? How many times have we been told that part of healing is letting go? These ideas have lead to shame and unnecessary self-torture.
The above scene from “The Handmaid’s Tale” echoed my own desire for revenge. I saved my rapist’s business card for years. I fantasized on finding him to slowly inflict my vengeance. I wanted to kill him; but even more, I wanted to destroy his sense of normality and safety. I wanted him to feel the same pain that I have felt since that night. I wanted him to beg death to take him because the thought of living another day was too painful. I wanted to ruin his ability to be intimate with another human. I wanted to destroy his life.
Luckily the fear of prison was greater than my desire for revenge. While it took almost a decade, I allowed myself to destroy that business card. While I can never avenge myself, I openly admit that wish him pain. Forgiveness will never an option.
“Holy water cannot help you now. Thousand armies couldn’t keep me out. I don’t want your money. I don’t want your crown. See, I have to burn your kingdom down.”
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I voluntarily admitted myself for inpatient, psychiatric care; once in March 2006 and then again in October 2006. I couldn’t control my thoughts: paranoia, ideas of reference, obsessive thinking, and indescribable delusions. I needed a safe place to bring myself back to reality. After the second admission, I wondered if I would become a frequent flyer at Ward 7. Was this going to be how I coped when life became overwhelming?
In an attempt to distract myself and perhaps normalize mental illness, I began to seek out movies like Girl, Interrupted. I needed to know that I was not the only person battling my mind. The following quote from the Girl, Interrupted hit me hard:
What world is this? What kingdom? What shores of what world? It’s a very big question you’re faced with Susanna. The choice of your life. How much will you indulge in your flaws? What are your flaws? Are they flaws? If you embrace them, will you commit yourself to hospital for life? Big questions. Big decisions. Not surprising you’d profess carelessness about them.
I realized that while I may live with the fear of returning to an altered reality, I had to make a decision. Was I going to limit my life in order to avoid another possible bout of stress-induced psychosis? Or was I going to find a way to fight/challenge my thinking and live with mental illness?
It has been almost 15 years since my last inpatient, psychiatric admission. I wish I could say that during those 15 years, I have been in complete control of my thoughts. I’ve had moments of extreme paranoia. I’ve had moments that I want to beg my psychiatrist to put me back on an antipsychotic. And I have had moments that I wondered if I needed to admit myself for inpatient treatment. While it has not been an easy battle, I am grateful that I have not let C-PTSD keep me from living.
To my friends and family who maybe struggling, please find a way to live. There is no shame in asking for help, taking medication, or sharing your struggles. It’s not easy; but you’re worth the fight! “Do not drop anchor here.”
Over the last eight years, I’ve often asked my psychologist and psychiatrist if they felt I was a functioning alcoholic.
The fear of turning to alcohol as a coping mechanism has kept me from drinking when I’ve felt hopeless, angry, or completely defeated. And I’m proud to say I’ve sustained from turning to it during those extremely low points.
What about the normal periods of my life? What about the times I socialized? What about the high points?
Alcohol was a daily habit for me. One drink would lead to another. It seemed that no matter how many drinks I consumed, I never quite felt intoxicated. Perhaps my tolerance increased to the point that “catching a buzz” required an abnormal and unthinkable amount of alcohol.
I decided to see if I could go thirty days without alcohol. I’m proud to say that even with four of my favorite beers, my favorite whiskey, and two fantastic bottles of wine at my disposal, I made the thirty days.
I read a lot of articles which listed the benefits of giving up alcohol for thirty days. To be honest, I didn’t experience 99.9% of benefits listed. I still had day time sleepiness. I didn’t notice a decrease in my anxiety. And my sleep patterns and quality of sleep remained essentially the same. However, I did realize that I don’t need alcohol to socialize. I don’t need to end the day with a drink. And I am not an alcoholic.
So where do I go from here? Is it time to pop open one of the many adult beverages lurking in my kitchen?
For right now, I am going to continue this journey of life without alcohol. While I didn’t have any mind blowing, positive effects over the past thirty days, I did learn that I do not need alcohol as a part of my daily life. When the time is right, I’ll have an occasional drink without the looming question: “Am I a functioning alcoholic?”
This arrangement is dedicated to the Survivors of Sexual Assault
“[Referring to rape] It already is bigger than everything else. It lives in front of me, behind me, next to me, inside me every single day. My schedule is dictated by it, my habits by it, my music by it.” ― Daisy Whitney, Mockingbirds
On April 10, 2003, I awoke to the sound of the shower. Where was I? Why was I naked? What happened?
How could I report “it” when I didn’t even know what “it” was. That evening I told myself that whatever happened was my fault. I had to put “it” behind me and push forward. It was time for me to focus on my Airman Leadership class; once again I would graduate as a “Honor Graduate.” And that’s what I did. I buried “it”deep down inside.
Over the next year, I felt so much anger. I was so pissed off at the world. And I found myself resenting everything about the Air Force. What happened to the overachiever? The perfectionist? Was I giving up on my dream of becoming a commissioned officer? What was wrong with me?
I volunteered for a 45-day deployment to Rhein Maine, Germany. My hope was that I would remember everything that I loved about serving our Nation. Unfortunately, the 45-day deployment turned into a 53-day, psychotic inducing series of events.
Two days into the deployment, a fellow NCO started to flirt with me. As a female in the Armed Force, it wasn’t anything new. “Boys will be boys”, right? The flirting didn’t feel harmless. And I wondered how many times I would have to deny his request to “give me a massage” in my room.
I did not realize at the time but the “harmless” flirting triggered memories I had buried the previous year. 5,300 miles away from safety, I realized that “it” had happened. I realized that “it” had a name: rape. My acknowledging of the rape was significant. Yet it would not be part of the trauma I experienced in Germany.
I am not a victim of sexual assault. I am a survivor. No amount of inner strength erases the questions that I had when I woke up to the sound of the shower. After the rape and as I endured multiple bouts of psychosis, I often wondered, “How could this happen to me?”
I was scheduled to leave Frankfurt, Germany on July 31, 2004. I checked in my luggage and obtained my ticket/boarding pass. The relief I felt as I handed over my boarding pass quickly vanished. Somehow my ticket had been canceled and I would not be allowed to board the plane. Fortunately, I contacted the individual responsible for securing transportation for arriving and departing members. This individual’s name is Jaime. Jaime was able to purchase a ticket to depart the next day and lodging off base. Jaime assured me that he would not get into any trouble and that the MEO (Military Equal Opportunity officer) would protect him. Jaime and another member of the deployment squadron drove me to the lodging without informing anyone else that I was still in Germany. Jaime told me to rest, not to go back on base, and to take the hotel shuttle back to the airport in the morning. I should have listened to him.
I ran back to the base which was a few miles up the road and made my way to Jaime’s room. I needed to ask him one simple question: what was said behind my back about the informal sexual harassment complaint I had filed? I was told that I was seen as a traitor and all I did was complain. I was told that my room and office had been bugged and everything I had said and done would be used to prove that I was mentally unfit. That the goal was to get me kicked out of the Air Force. My heart broke into a million pieces with each word. I thanked Jaime for telling me the truth and left.
I returned to my room with a broken soul. I knew I had not broken any rules or regulations. I knew I followed protocol when I reported the sexual harassment. What did I do wrong? All I knew was that I could not face my family if I was going to be dishonorable discharged from the military. I couldn’t return to my unit and be seen as anything less than an overachiever who loved the Air Force. Betrayal, despair, confusion, and a severe lack of sleep lead me down a very dark road which ended with suicide. I picked up the phone to tell my Mother goodbye one last time. When she answered she was crying. My Mother told me she missed me and just wanted me home. As I put down the phone, I knew I couldn’t end my life.
The next morning, August 1, 2004, I boarded the plane. As the plane ascended, I started to write down everything that happened during my 53-day deployment. The lack of sleep, the betrayal, the fear, confusion, and reliving my experience created the perfect storm. This perfect storm was the switch between sanity and psychosis. As I was leaving behind one nightmare, I did not realize I was slipping into one which would last for two years.
When the lights of Albuquerque became visible, “This War Is Over” started to play in my mind.
Take off my shield Carry my sword I won’t need it anymore Find me a sky Give me my wings Frozen and broken but free
Tell them I’m all right I’m coming home Tell them I’m all right I am alone This war is over I’m coming home
Take off my shame Bury it low I won’t need it anymore Find me the sun Give me it whole Melt all the chains in my soul
Tell them I’m all right I’m coming home Tell them I’m all right I am alone This war is over I’m coming home
Take off my pain Carry me slow I won’t fight here anymore Tell them I’m all right I’m coming home Tell them I’m all right I am alone This war is over I’m coming home
I will never be able to make sense of what happened in Germany. I will never be able to forget the torment and fear that is called psychosis. I will never be able to forget the shame I felt when I was denied re-enlistment. But I will also never forget that somehow in all of the confusion, I found the strength to fight for a medical retirement. I found the strength to ask for help when the psychosis was too much to handle on my own. I know that strength started the moment my Mother told me to come home. And the strength continued with the love and support of my Parents and family, my friend Mark, Theresa, and La-Tressa, and so many other amazing people. I am so grateful that I found the strength to keep living.
In April of 2008, I blogged about my feelings after watching “The Brave One,” starring Jodie Foster. When I first watched it, I was drawn to her description of the stranger she became after her trauma. “It is astonishing, numbing, to find that inside you there is a stranger. One that has your arms…your legs… your eyes. A sleepless, restless stranger who keeps walking…keeps eating…keeps…living.” I, too, saw a stranger each time I looked in the mirror.
The stranger who emerged as a result of my trauma is the woman I am today. My reactions aren’t always justified or warranted. My reflexes are still easily jolted. I often push people away. Sometimes, fear is the only identifiable emotion coursing through my veins in this perpetual state of “fight or flight.” I have often been ashamed of those changes; but that shame stops today.
I’m so much more than the negative characteristics. I’m a woman who shares her heart and loves too easily. Even though I have often regret it, I still trust too easily. I try each day to be a better person than I was yesterday.
As the movie ends, Sarah McLachlan’s song, “Answer,’ begins to play as Jodie Foster’s character, Erica, says, “There is no going back to that other. She’s gone. This thing, this stranger, it’s all you are now.” And in the moment, I realized that my answer CANNOT be found in another person.
The reality is that my strength and the answer on how to continue breathing can only be found from within self. The courage needed to wash away the regret I’ve often felt for “choosing not to fight,” cannot be found in another person. I, alone, need to forgive myself and acknowledge that I did what had to be done in order to survive.
Anniversaries are common. Some anniversaries are celebratory; and other are not. Whether or not the date is joyous, an anniversary seldom passes without a moment of introspection.
Before November 7, 2004, the date was a day of celebration. November 7th is my Father’s birthday. However, November 7, 2004, was not only my Father’s birthday but also a date of personal growth.
On this date, I begged God to either end my life or give me the strength to get up off my knees and give me the courage to face my reality. As I stood up, I was not sure how I would navigate my way out of my trauma induced-psychosis. All I knew for certain was that I was ready to fight.
This November 7th, I was feeling depressed and defeated. Normally when I’m depressed, I’ll listen to sad music. Instead of wallowing in self-pity, I decided to listen to new music suggested by iTunes. The first song that played was Harder by Keala Settle. The lyrics of this song resonated deep within my soul.
When I was in that place I’d look in the mirror wishing she could go away Never thought that I would still be here today I’m still fighting but I’m stronger every step I take along the way
I was reminded that I‘m still not ready to give up. I am a testament that a person can be lost and find their way back.If you’re in a bad mental place, please don’t give up.Let’s fight harder together.
I had an psych appointment today at VA. As I approached the waiting area, I recognized a male member of my squadron. He was someone in my line of command whom I had trusted and respected. Unfortunately, his inaction destroyed both of those ideals after my deployment to Germany. Even though we had made eye contact, he quickly shifted his attention as I sat across from him. I wonder was he embarrassed to be seen seeking mental help or was he just avoiding me. Whatever his reasoning, I know why I refused to acknowledge his presence. He was one of the people who didn’t help me when I needed help the most. Instead of being a leader, he let rumors and speculations dictate his behavior.
I arranged this video several years ago. The lyrics reminded me of how I felt when another NCO told me that no one in our squadron believed that I had been raped. I never told any one in my squadron about the rape nor was I provided with an opportunity to explain what happened to me while I was deployed to Germany. How did my personal trauma become known throughout my section? Which of my past actions caused them to doubt an event they knew nothing about?
I can never forget the betrayal and that is why I could not make ‘small talk’ with the man who lead my section. I forgive myself for trusting my fellow Airmen but I’m not willing or able to forgive them for turning their backs on me.
Getting ready for work, I felt my thoughts trying to take over me. All of the events and conversation from yesterday started to shift to form a picture different than reality.
I’m not safe.
They’re working against me.
I’m under surveillance (which is true with my employer).
These are just some of the fleeting undertones which sped through my mind. My pulse quickened as I searched for other signs of danger.
“Ideas of reference” is one of the hardest aftermath of the trauma I experienced in 2004. Although I’m now able to rationalize away the anxious thoughts, I wish this thought pattern would leave me. When a person looks at me, they can’t see my internal battle. I’m in a constant battle against my thoughts and the fear which lays just beneath the surface.
I’m afraid of so many things but the main thing is that I will lose myself to my thoughts. I’m afraid that I will return to the altered reality which my mind created to survive my trauma. I’m afraid to lose myself.
So as I get ready to face another day, I remind myself that I am not lost. I am safe. And no matter how many times I have to fight my thoughts, I am strong. I will continue to fight. I am not a victim. I am a SURVIVOR.
“But it’s not the fact that you kissed him yesterday, it’s the feeling of betrayal that I just can’t seem to shake.” ~Dean Lewis
When I heard this song, I was reminded of my own journey. Two years ago today, my marriage ended. While there were many signs that it was over, it was still incredibly difficult to walk away. While our marriage wasn’t perfect, I truly believed in my vows and desperately wanted to make it work. While it would take several months to get the heartwrenching confirmation, I knew the truth: my ex-wife strayed from our marriage vows. While I have moved on with my life, the hurt caused by the affair remains. As the lyrics state, “nothing heals the past like time and they can’t steal the love you’re born to find.” This fact continues to help me push past the hurt. After all, “it’ll be alright.”
Over the past 20 months, I have continually wonder how the Republicans party stands behind Trump. Trump’s behavior is a constant source of embarrassment to the United States of America. The demeanor associated with the office of the President has been eradicated by Trump.
There is no way to explain the heaviness I feel every day as I read the news. How could this man be elected to represent the virtues once associated with the President of the United States? What happened to our Country? In my opinion, it all boils down to fear and racism. It is easier to fear differences rather than educate oneself on different cultures and religions. It is easier to blame others for the shortcomings in one’s life. When did it become acceptable for a President to demoralize others based on gender, weight, intellect, and ability? Many Americans like Trump because “he’s not politically correct.” Is it politically correct to respect diversity? The words and actions of Trump only serve to further alienate minorities and our Allies. Trump’s utilization of fear incites hate crimes and further divides our Nation.
I have tried to understand the devotion and admiration demonstrated by Trump supporters. I tried to find a way to respect Trump as the Leader of our Nation. No matter how much I try, I just can’t do it.
"Words matter, especially when they come from the President of the United States." CNN's Brooke Baldwin reads off a list of insults President Trump has used to describe people since taking office. https://t.co/TMxwFBlxm6pic.twitter.com/knGOQ8Cyvu
I have felt an unexplainable amount of fatigue since the moment I opened my eyes this morning.
What’s the cause of this desire to hibernate and crawl into myself? I volunteered to take pictures at a social event tonight.
I love helping the community by donating my time to capture a moment in time. Still, the moments leading up to the actual event play havoc on my anxious mind as I fight the inevitable desire is to “SHUT DOWN.” Here are some of the questions which start to swirl around in my head:
What will I talk about?
Will people be able to tell that I’m screaming in the inside?
Will I say something to embarrass myself or someone else?
Will my need to escape be evident?
Will I be able to be in the present moment and simply enjoy myself?
Why can’t I just be “normal?
I can will myself not to give into my racing thoughts and try my best not to avoid social gatherings. I continually fight my desire to become a hermit.
So what is my point?
While social anxiety may not make sense to every one, it’s important to practice patience with those who struggle with it. We really don’t know the struggles/battles another person is facing. So instead of resisting it, we should embrace one another’s little quirks. When you see someone, remember to kind to them. Behind someone’s smile, there maybe a nervous soul desperately trying to fit in.
Work has been incredibly stressful for the past few months. I’m constantly being written up and harassed by management. If I didn’t have 18 years under my belt, walking away would be such an easy option.
I was once cautioned by my Psychiatrist not to work full-time. Did I make the wrong decision when I went full-time? I’ve survived 4 years so far. I can’t let fear rule my life and keep me home. I’m not a quitter.
Some days I feel so strong and indestructible. And then there are days like today. Days that my body and mind want to shut down. I want to just close my eyes and have it all disappear. I’m just so tired.
For now, I will keep my head up and keep on fighting the good fight.
Today as I got dressed for work, my mind wandered to the past. I wondered if I would be able to work safely or if I would be filled with anxiety all day.
Part of me wanted to stay home and give into the anxiety. I took my time getting ready and allowed myself to reflect on the significance of today’s date.
My life was altered forever on this date in 2003. I will never be able to remember the details of the rape due to being drugged. I will never be able to fill in the gaps of time. I will never be able to process the evening. I wonder is it better that the night is a blur or does it hinder my ability to heal.
All I know is that I didn’t do anything to provoke my colleague to take my body when I was unable to fight back. I didn’t ask to be raped. I wasn’t given a chance to fight back. I was completely helpless as he forced himself on me.
For many years, I blamed myself for drinking with strangers. I blamed myself when I couldn’t remember anything past my first drink. I blamed myself when I found my way back to safety. I blamed myself when I denied that I had just been raped. I told myself that no one would believe me. I tried to push the rape out of my mind and pretend that it never happened.
It happened. I may not recall all the details. I do remember wanting to scream as he undressed me. I do remember waking up without clothes. I do remember leaving the room and not knowing who “he” was that had just raped me.
I felt shame for not reporting the incident. At the time, it was the only way I could survive. It took years for me to admit that I was raped. It took years to realize that I wasn’t a victim. I am a survivor of rape. I am a testimony to the strength of the human spirit to overcome trauma. I am greater than my past.
"I pray you find peace in the next life.." ~Chester Bennington 
Sharing And Surviving 