RealMental

Guest post by Majarani

I was diagnosed with ptsd about 5 years ago. I never realized that I could be “shellshocked.” I became obsessed with the stories of veterans, looking for a connection, searching for understanding and symptoms- so I could see what that doctor saw.

From a young age, I had panic attacks – being trapped in small places like elevators, even the dentists office. I could have them in crowded spaces. But then I went for many years without a panic attack. “I’m cured!!” I thought.

Present day: The panic attacks are back- and full force. I can’t even function in the middle of an attack. I have xanax stashed in every corner of my house, work, car. I am frozen. I am out of my own body. I am afraid.

I realized while the panic attacks lay dormant for a while, I was never “healed” of ptsd. The emotional centers of my brain are cauterized. I don’t feel happy, sad, angry, hopeful. I feel levels of anxiety. Low levels of fear are good. I can function. Moderate levels cause me to turn my car around, drive 30 miles back home to make sure I turned off the coffee maker. Extreme levels cause me to go to the secret place on my property and hide. I can’t even tell you where it is because I don’t want you to find me. I have to know I’m safe there.

I need more than this in my life. I have seen therapists and psychiatrists, and at its peak I was seeing three doctors once a week. We all worked together.

I thought I was doing ok. Until my boyfriend said “If I was your husband, I’d have you committed.” Oh.

I have an appointment with a ptsd specialist tonight. I hope she can help me come out of hiding.

It’s back to school time, which always brings a certain amount of angst to my household. This year, though, we have an extra something hanging over our heads.

As last school year rounded toward its close, Princess had a significant downward spiral.  She began to have thoughts of self-harm and a rising number of anxiety attacks. I got a call from the school nurse on a Thursday afternoon in late May telling me that Princess had tried to choke herself.  Twenty-four hours later, she and I were both sitting in a hospital room as we waited for a placement in a pediatric psychiatric facility.  She checked in on Saturday and checked out the following Friday, but did not return to school until mid-week, and only for the non-pressure events of the end of year carnival and final school day Mass.

We enrolled Princess in an intensive outpatient program over the summer, to deal with her anxiety and further develop both her coping skills and her socialization with her peers.  Upon the advice of the medical staff at the hospital, we took her off of her ADHD medication (stimulants often exacerbate anxiety disorders) and increased the dosage of her anxiety medication. While the journey is far from over, she did learn to identify the anxiety-provoking situations and ways to keep them in proper perspective and cope with them in the best way she can.  Much of what she has learned hasn’t been put to the test yet, but she has been more cooperative at home and less likely to freak out on her brothers (which is no small feat, given Hoss’ potential for anger outbursts as a result of his mood disorder).

I remain nervous.  While the elimination of the stimulants for the ADHD is likely a good idea (the hospital staff noted Princess’ ability to focus on her work without the meds, leading to a conclusion that her previous issues may have been driven by anxiety instead of inattention), it has been close to impossible to address the anxiety created by being in middle school and dealing with the school day.  Middle school kind of sucks, even for a “normal” twelve year old.  Kids can be cruel, either by intent or by ignorance.  Add an anxiety disorder and some established socialization issues to that mix, and it’s going to be a hard road for my baby to face.  And I am once again helpless to make it OK.

In an article entitled “Army Strives to Reduce Suicide, Mental-health Issues“, Donna Miles from the American Forces Press Service reports that:

…the Army is striving to reduce soldier suicides and mental-health problems by giving troops more dwell time between deployments, identifying tell-tale symptoms more quickly and eliminating the stigma of seeking help, the Army vice chief of staff said today.

I really, really hope it’s true. I spent 7 years as a military wife and experienced an environment that was very hostile to any soldier willing to admit any mental strain. Kudos to the Army if they are willing to embrace those men and women and help bring them up mentally and emotionally. I hope the other armed forces take note and follow.

After finishing my book, after a kazzilion edits and rewrites, I really thought I was done with my whole history and wouldn’t need to dive deeply back in ever again. When I coach and speak, I do talk about my history, but I don’t really dig deep into the feelings behind the story because it isn’t necessary for that work.

When I was asked to write a screenplay based on my book, I considered it carefully because I knew I would have to get back in. I would have to climb back down the well and get into those feelings again. But the opportunity seemed too good to pass up. This would be a way to help spread the story further to more people and hopefully get them talking more about mental health. And help remove the secrecy and stigma. Always that.

What I didn’t realize was how different the writing is. Not only am I writing about it again, but in a whole new way. Writing for the screen is so much different, which I knew on one level having written other things, but not enough to prepare for how this is.

Thinking about how the camera will view it pushes me to write the action much more precisely. When I get to every abuse situation, I write it out so graphically that no one would ever be able to act it, let alone film it and watch it. So after I get done writing it out so completely, I then have no problem going back and editing it into something much more appropriate. I get the abuse across without making it an XXXX film.

But first, I have to get so thoroughly in it that it hurts. It’s taking a toll on me. I take breaks for days at a time. On the other hand, I’ve never worked through these feelings and experiences on this deep a level before and it’s healing. It’s good.