Not long after Mike raped me I began to journal on my
computer at work. I was also very
suicidal at this time. I wrote a piece
where I talked about wanting to kill him. That even decapitating him and
letting the blood run down my arm would not be good enough for him. I did not know, as many of you may not, that
the computer you type on at work is not a safe place to do this. You see my managers went by, every now and
again, and checked those computers to see what we were doing on them. I didn’t know that, until one day I was
pulled into my manager’s office and confronted with what I had written. I was told you either go to counseling, which
was paid for by the company, or you’re fired.
So reluctantly I went. It saved
my life. Two weeks into counseling I
left Mike.
His abuse left me with PTSD and severe depression. After
that I spent about 2 years in counseling, I reached a stable point. I was monitored and kept on
anti-depressants. Meds were changed
every now and again and adjusted as needed.
I have always been anxious, you know my nerves are bad, I’m
wound a little too tight, and it has progressively gotten worse over the past 7
years or so. Since Momma Muriel died,
she was my best friend and Jay’s grandmother.
I developed panic attacks about 4 years ago, often having them in my
sleep. I freeze, I go damn near catatonic
and have trouble speaking, I zone out, I rock, I hum, I want to hide, I am
disoriented and sometimes if this goes on too long I regress to a younger
age.
Looking back I have had a few of them over the years, but
nothing as bad as I did on August 25, 2011.
It took us almost a year to figure out what had happened to me. The final conclusion was that I had a panic
attack in my sleep. I dreamed I was
trapped and could not get out. I awoke
in a panic state. I did not know who I
was or where I was. I sat in the
bathroom for about 10 minutes trying desperately to figure out my name. You cannot imagine how desperate that feels.
With every breath it seemed to come close and then fad away. Something as basic as my name, I forgot. Our
name is such a basic part of identity. Everything
looked foreign to me and not like my stuff.
When I did come up with at name, it was one from a past life. It took a while before I remembered who I
was. The image in the mirror scared
me. I did not recognize myself. I was finally able to come up with my
name. I began to zone out. When I zone out I stare at an object and
cannot break my concentration. You can
sit and call my name and wave your hands in front of my face and I will not
come out. This can go on for a few
seconds to a few minutes. And then I do
it again.
I would have a few moments of clarity, enough that I knew I
had to go out and milk the goats. I got
out my milk basket and stared at it for thirty minutes. I could not remember what went in it. Something I did every day I could not
remember how to do. When I had another
moment of clarity I called my parents to come to me. I manage to remember their number and get out
the words, “Momma I need you.” Jay was
on the road working for Unifirst at that time and could not get to me. My parents arrived an hour later. What I could say was word salad. Meaning I would say a few words at a time,
that was often a great effort on my part, but that made no since at all to the people
around me, but made since to me. I
remember being I the bathroom when my parents arrived, unable to call out to
them and tell them where I was. When I
saw my mother I raised my arms to her, a gesture often seen in young children
who wish to be picked up. My mother was
freaked and they believed I may have had a stroke. I at the time had no idea what was going on
or what was happening to me. I looked at
my father and kept saying “goats.” I was
trying desperately to get him to understand I had not milked and would he
please milk them for me. I was terrified
they would get mastitis, if he didn’t.
It was decided that I
would be taken to the hospital. When I
arrived at the fire station I could not speak only point and shake my head yes
or no. I felt about 3 or 4 years old at
this point. I was loaded into the back
of the truck, where I saw one of my husband’s (he is a volunteer fire fighter)
buddies. “Paul! Paul!”
I called out. I kept saying
“cake.” Trying to ask if they liked the
cake I had brought them the week before.
When asked my social security number I showed numbers on my hand. I could answer no questions verbally.
I did not know until later, that after the ambulance pulled
off with me, that Paul and others had talked to my family. They told them, they knew me and that
whatever had happened to me they had never seen before. They were scared for me. They had no explanation what was going on
with me.
I arrived at the hospital and was immediately given a
battery of tests including drug screen and CT SCAN. Everything came out normal. As the hours went on I got a little better. I was able to tell them the year I thought it
was “1987,” but I knew Obama was president.
Some questions I could respond to, who is with you, “mom and dad” but I
sit could not say my name or what day of the week it was. To that one I answered, “Jay away, green
panties.” Which to me meant Jay was gone,
and Jay got paid on Thursdays and I wore my green panties on Thursdays. It’s not just your speech at that time that
won’t work right but your whole brain. I
remember crying coming back from the CT because I was so frustrated that I
could not communicate and because I did not understand what was happening to
me.
And then the first break happened. Mom turned out the lights, so I could rest,
and BOOM I had my first moment of clarity.
The nurse walked in, “Hey!” I
said.
“Hey” she said
“No I mean turn around.”
She turned around and I unloaded on her.
I told her answers to all the questions she had been asking me. My name, my SSN#, my address, the year, my
age, where I was and who I was with.
“Let me get to my computer.”
She said and began to type feverously.
I ended with, “I have no idea what has happened to me, and no idea how
long this moment of clarity will hold.”
It didn’t last long, maybe 20 minutes. By the time the Dr. came I was back in
it. It finally broke an hour
later. I was clear headed, if not a bit
confused by everything that had happened. I had been in that attack for about 3
or 4 hours total. It was decided at some
point that I was a danger to myself and I would be held in the psych ward. Now going to the crazy ward was one of my
greatest fears. I was held for 24 hours
and then released.
I saw my primary care physician (PCP) that Monday and had an
EEG done a few days later. Whatever I
had had was not a seizure. It took us
months to figure out what had happened to me. That December, thru the
encouragement of friends and family I began counseling again, for the first
time in years. I have been there ever
since.
Panic attacks have changed my life. I now carry papers with me, at all times,
telling of my condition and what to do if I am incapacitated. I carry medicine with me everywhere I
go. It must always be in easy reach,
because I do not know what will trigger it. My panic attacks often occur in my
sleep. I awake terrified and disoriented,
but I never let it get as bad as the first time.
They come on much faster now. I never know where they will hit. Crowds are one of my triggers so I take my
service dog, Sophia, with me on those occasions. But even then she doesn’t always help. Everyday life is difficult and normal events
are often big undertakings. A recent
trip to Wal-Mart and Sam’s, with Sophia and Jay in tow, was too much for
me. I walked into Sam’s and it started,
by the time I got to the back of the store it was on. I tried, like I try every time to fight, to
talk myself out of it, to tell myself I am being silly, by the time I got to
the check out I had to take a pill. Even
after taking my medication it was two more hours, before I was relaxed and
speaking in complete sentences again.
Once you are in a panic attack then comes the guilt, of all the strain
you put on your partner. That they
should not have to be with someone who is as sick in the head as you are. That they deserve a normal life and that is
obviously not with you. That he should
just leave you alone and let you die.
That is would be best for everyone concerned. It’s like a causality loop. It just repeats again and again. All this despite the fact I am on medication,
in counseling, have rescue meds with me, and a service dog. Sometimes there is just no escape from your
own mind.
Ilsa
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