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Thursday, September 28, 2017

Sometimes my brain sucks... still

It's  been a while since I've done an "in the moment" post. I thought it'd be a good time. PTSD recovery is like a roller coaster: intense ups followed by intense downs. Today (not really all the day, just this moment) has been a down. 


You know what sucks? My brain sometimes. 

I came to help guide people fly fishing. They are veterans who are part of Project Healing Waters, which uses fly fishing to help wounded veterans. 

I really enjoy fly fishing, and while I wouldn't say it has played a big part in my own PTSD recovery, it is something that has helped. It gets me outside and moving (while obsessing over catching fish instead of exercising). When I catch a fish, every other thought goes away. I forget about everything except that fish. I want to share that with others. 

Today, my brain won't let me. It has decided today is a good day to experience many PTSD symptoms. Memories that won't stop playing. Anxiety with no known cause. Fear that is so intense, I feel paralyzed. Sadness that makes me want to cry, but I can't because of my fear. Shaking which would probably go away if I let myself just cry. So, I turned the guiding over to todd and the others, and I'm hiding. 

I can be more gentle with myself today, I've been working hard with physical therapy and therapy. I know to expect "flare ups" like this. I also know that one on one situations bring up so much anxiety that the general anxiety is bound to trigger more specialized anxiety. Being not needed (there are more volunteers than participants today) makes it easier to fall apart. If I couldn't turn over responsibilities to anyone else, I'd do my best to teach... but thinking of that makes me hyperventilate a little... so I'm glad I'm not needed and I can just expose myself to thinking about guiding somebody. 

There's also the pressure to be a good guide. What if they don't understand what I'm trying to teach? What if they don't catch fish? What if they hate fishing with a girl? What if I screw it up for them and they never try fly fishing again because I sucked so bad and fly fishing could have been the thing that helped them the most but they'll never know it and it's all my fault? What if I hadn't shown up and they'd have gotten to go with someone who knew what they were doing? What if it was just better if I didn't exist at all? (Wow. It's crazy in my brain. It's just a day of fly fishing... and we are all volunteers. I'm as good as some people and no where close to as good as others. I've not guided before, but the only way to learn how to do that is to try. Todd didn't know how to guide a couple years ago, but he tried it and now he's pretty good.) It feels a little better reading my crazy thoughts back to myself. Those are some silly thoughts. 


I still have the memories that keep playing. I still feel a little scared and sad and anxious, but less crazy. I think today, I will take pictures. If I get some good ones, that might be helpful to the project. If I want to, I can even tell people why I'm not guiding but taking pictures instead. Some of the vets might understand senseless anxiety, and some of the other volunteers might too. That might make it easier next time. Maybe next time, I'll even be ready to actually guide. 

Tuesday, September 26, 2017

I am a fighter, and I am not ashamed of it

Fighter. 
I've never identified as one, and definitely didn't want to be one. I wanted to be a peacemaker, kind, gentle, meek, submissive, quietly wise, and never NEVER violent. 

Last week, I had physical therapy for pelvic floor issues, but she spent most of the session doing trigger point releases in my neck. During the session, my whole body started to shake and I just felt sad. I cried a little, but couldn't identify what caused the emotion. 

Several times over the last week I have had panic attacks. I didn't show my panic, but just felt it. My chest was tight, breathing was difficult, I wanted to cry but couldn't, and ended up walking out to the horses to see if that could help. 

Today I had therapy, and was sharing the experiences with Wendy. She asked me to breath into the tension I was feeling. 

I felt sad and tired. The thought was, "I'm tired of fighting. I've fought so long and so hard, and I feel tired."

I had two memories flash in my head. 
  1. When I was 16ish, and my dad was forcing my sister to go to church by picking her up and throwing her in the van. (She was 8ish.) I stood up to him, and told him it's not okay to treat people like that just because you're bigger and you can. 
  2. The only time I fought Larry. The only time it looked like rape looks like on tv. My memory is still from the corner of the room, as if I'm an outsider watching him rape another person. 

The emotions for both memories were similar. I felt guilty for fighting. I knew I shouldn't. I couldn't help it; something in me had to fight. I had to stand up to protect my sister. I had to fight for myself against Larry (even though I later apologized for fighting and making him do that to me. I never fought him again. From that point on, I held my own legs out of his way. But that night, I HAD to fight.)

As we talked, I felt so much energy in my arms. Wendy has pushed me to do this exercise before: we stand facing each other. She puts her hands up and braces herself, and then I push on her hands with all the energy in my arms. In the past, I couldn't really do it. This time, as I pushed, my arms shook. For five minutes my arms and my whole body vibrated. As the energy dissipated, all I felt was pride. 

Proud of the way I've fought. Proud that I'm still here. I'm alive because I'm a fighter. I fought for what I thought was right as a kid. I fought for myself with Larry. I fought my way out of the marriage. I fought my way out of the church. I fought, because I wanted more. I didn't always know what that meant, but I fought for it anyway. I've fought for my health; I've been to doctor after doctor after doctor (and then more doctors and physical therapists and more doctors). I wanted my life to be better, and I've fought for it. Up until that moment in the barn (I see my therapist at the barn with horses around), I was ashamed of the fighter in me. 

There have been so many outside forces pressuring me to give up that fight. My parents (entirely unintentionally), the church, its teachings and it's leaders (mostly unintentionally), Larry, and other abusers all told me to quiet, or change, that part of me. I prayed and hoped and wanted that part of me to change or go away or die. I couldn't kill it, and I couldn't stop it. For the first time ever, I am so damn proud of the fighter in me. 

I'm a fighter. 



Tuesday, September 19, 2017

#TMI? #Endometriosis #Vestibulitis My life at the doctor update

So a quick update on my life:
I had surgery number two. The surgeon was positive he had found what was causing me pain, and that he had fixed it. Unfortunately, it still hurt. 

He sent me to another specialist who diagnosed me with vestibulitis. That's when the vestibule area of the vagina becomes severely inflamed from the body attacking itself. It is usually caused by an infection. It is sometimes caused by surgeries or nerve damage. Treatment is not a quick fix.

Six months of steroids (topical and injected) as well as finding things that can irritate the area and getting rid of those. (Soaps, tight clothes, sitting, exercise, etc.)

After six months, the Dr felt like I should be doing better than I was. He asked me what my pain level was. When I told him a 5, he said I had a very high pain tolerance. After all the shots and never even flinching, he felt like there should be more relief for me. He sent me to a new new specialist. 

She is a neurologist who specializes in pain. She gave me an injection in the coccyx area (steroids and lidocaine ). That didn't help, so she did one in the right pudendal (the nerve that goes to the urethral sphincter and then down the leg). That brought a wonderful numb relief for eight hours. It also made my whole leg go numb, but I didn't even care. It was such a relief to be numb. The steroids eventually took effect, and made it a lot better. Pain level was down to a 2-3, except for when I sat. That lasted for about a month. She also tried the left pudendal nerve, but that didn't help. 

I decided to go back to physical therapy. Pelvic floor physical therapy sucks, but with the new therapist, it was a little different. She has worked on aligning my pelvis and spine by recruiting muscles that had stopped working and stretching and releasing tight muscles. She also did some internal work, but very little - maybe five minutes a session. 

I've had about six sessions, and I don't know if it's helping the main pain. It is definitely helping my posture, and teaching me how to use my muscles the right way. Long term, I think that will be really helpful. Short term, it is relieving overall tension in my body. 


So, anyway, there's the last year of doctoring I've been going through.