PTSD. Such a stigma, thee. The good thing is that I simply don't care how people react to my telling them I sometimes suffer from the strange symptoms. That's what the little girl in me says as I stomp my foot and pounce off; taking my ball back home. In reality, I care. I see the subtle wince as I am forced in certain situations to tell some lovely soul that I suffer from such a horrible anomaly.
I've tamed the dragon of the symptoms of PTSD quite well for over a year, if I do say so myself. The dragon likes to be fed and I refuse to feed it. That isn't to say the dragon doesn't sneak up ever so quietly - coming out of that mind cave with a flaming rave. I'll give you an example. When my counselor started speaking of her own abuse as a way for me to relate to her, it threw me in my symptoms of PTSD; wanting to run away but having no idea where to run to, disorientation and feeling *not real*, migraines, nightmares, disjointed thoughts and speech. That was before I even realized I had PTSD. I'm a thinking person and highly interested in the intricacies of the mind. I studied my symptoms and researched different treatments. Basically, the person suffering from PTSD must be vigil in their own care. It's a full-on self treatment program that takes constant awareness of not only the external stimuli but the internal stimuli, as well. What does that mean? It means positive self-talk is one of the best ways to douse the flames of the dragon.
Notice how I said "self care." Medications could possibly help but I wanted to avoid that route. Ibuprofen makes me tired as a side effect. I tried over-the-counter allergy medications to alleviate hay fever (daytime formula) and it made me a proverbial medicine balloon head; mumbling and smiling and falling asleep suddenly so I stopped taking it and prefer the symptoms of my allergies over that feeling. Nyquil? Yes, I take that but it's a well planned out agenda no matter how bad or beastly my cold / flu-like symptoms may be (off work the next day, no pertinent errands, and everyone around me is warned. Pre-dosed swig right before bedtime and I sleep. Sleeping like a newborn infant all night - well into the next day). So self care was my only option.
Self Care I Use:
Napping. I have a 4yr old, remember. My son knows the importance of naptime. I make no excuses. There is no negotiating. When it's time for a nap, Mommy takes a nap. Most of the time, he will take a nap with me. I find it to be a lovely, subconscious way to bond. We both wake up feeling rested and refreshed. Highly important for both of us.
Meditation. Sitting quietly, anywhere from 5 minutes to 30. No white noise of the outside world. Close my eyes and just relax. Deep breathing and focusing on the inner light within me without thinking. Letting all of the worry slip away. There are many techniques one could use all spelled out in perfect detail per Google and YouTube.
Smiling: I had to practice this, at first. Once I knew the symptoms of PTSD and my personal triggers, I literally had to practice smiling when I absolutely did not feel like smiling. I could spend hours writing about the brain, itself. I'll save you from that (maybe. That's a future post at a later date). When we smile, the subconscious mind interprets only that smile / emotion. It forgets the bad mood / vibes, almost immediately. So I practice happy thoughts and *smile*.
Music and / or Dancing: There was a time I could only write in complete silence. I was constantly frustrated by external noise while writing. Now I write with my earbuds in. Music softly playing. The music literally helps me forget my PTSD symptoms if and when they arise.
Dancing. I have not met a person that is sad while dancing. There's that mind thing again. Just like smiling, if you're dancing you're telling your mind you are now ready to be happy and it complies.
Writing: I can only say "Thank God for my writing." Just like I'm doing now. Spelling it all out in grave detail - whether in an essay or in poetic form. Writing heals me. Whether it's poetry, essays, novels, or journaling - writing the pain is a wonderful way to extinguish any inner flame of emotion that threatens to burst out of control.
Last night was my first real and hard PTSD dragon bomb in over a year. Deep breathing helped. I am not taking anyone to church and I feel absolutely comfortable in saying I pray and I pray hard. It helps me.
There are after shocks of fighting and taming the dragon. Not everyone understands it. Here, in social media and this blog, the world knows that someone named Kendra has PTSD well under control but she has it, nonetheless. My family does not know (unless they are so inspired to read my blog). 3 of my friends know and only 2 truly understand it. Perhaps they understand because they suffer from similar symptoms. Or maybe they have it, too. Or maybe they are just that kind and gracious. Whatever it is, they know when and how to approach the encroach of my silence that could bury me emotionally. I think of the burden it is for them to listen to me sometimes talk about it; knowing I don't always talk about. They listen with such unselfish ears. I think of the worry I might cause by talking to them about it. They do it anyway. They understand my boundaries and sometimes barrel right through them without asking. They listen to me spill out epitaphs that would make a sailor blush. When my fire hose slips from my hand, they pick it up and douse the gaping mouth of the dragon threatening to do more than bite.
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