What people didn't understand was that these ponies, and my daughter with her horse, they were like my children. I trained them all, it was my personal hands on with each of them, and people do not realize how affectionate and childlike these animals can be. They looked to me for guidance and trusted me to care for them. The relationship between a person and a horse, has a lot to do with building "trust", especially with horses and ponies because they are creatures of flight, they are "very sensitive". The things that I did with them took time, a lot of years of constant patience and training. The ponies I had needed to learn how to be very good with children, patient, safe and understanding when a child is trying to learn how to ride and is sending them mixed messages because they are trying to figure out how to balance and control all their little body parts.

People do not understand how hard it is to find the right kind of pony with the right kind of temperament and even how they carry themselves in a way where when they are ridden by a child they are comfortable to ride. Ponies are very smart, have personalities so much like children too. To get together what I had took a lot of hunting to first find them and then a lot of time in training them.

When I saw that dog destroy so much hard work, and ponies I loved like they were my children, that is how I felt about them. It was too much!!!!

People who lose their dogs and pets grieve badly, some grieve that loss like it was their child. I had too many, too many!!!! And it was not quick at all, it lasted and lasted and totally overwhelmed me. A day for me was morning until late at night doing nothing but caring for hurt and sick ponies and horses. I had a pony in the barn on IV's three times a day and I had to try to feed her with a syringe full of food that was watery to nourish her. Then I had to hand walk other hurt ones to get blood to their injured legs, then I had to deal with a white pony that had a fractured pelvis and damaged hip bone joint and torn ligaments all down his hind leg. I had to wash his back side twice a day because he was in pain and stressing and had diarrhea and it was all down his bottom and legs. I had to figure out how to address his pain because horses and ponies have such delicate stomachs that you can't keep giving them pain medications. I then had to hand walk my daughter's horse who was now so completely terrified of dogs that just being able to look over and "see" their dog would get him upset, he would rear up and try to take off with me handwalking him. He was a horse that was "never" like this but just a gentle bomb proof giant. I ended up developing planter's facietus in both my feet so bad that I could barely walk, and if I woke up at night to go to the bathroom I had to crawl because it was much too painful to walk. I had to get injections and have special inserts made to put into my shoes, it got so I wanted to wear them to bed at night so I didn't have to crawl to the bathroom. It would get so hot in the ring because of when this all happened, so I would try to hand walk a couple of them up the shared driveway in the shade. My neighbors would speed by me, upset the pony and almost hit me. I finally got so mad that I stepped in front of her car and told her to slow down and have some respect. She called the police and the police "yelled" at me, can you imagine?

This all went into developing the PTSD because I was so angry and yet so full of grief and also so hyper vigilant with fear of having them die on me, that I broke down.

I honestly did not know what "trauma" was, or what post traumatic stress was, and I was also developing complicated grief disorder. I broke down so bad that my husband took me to a psych ward. I begged them for "rest and grief counseling", I have had bad things happen to me, even almost died, but this was something that just wiped me out, more than anything. This time, it felt like my soul was badly damaged. The psychiatrist should have seen the clear red flags, but unfortunately he was "indian" and spoke broken English, and from India and women should not be this upset, so he misdiagnosed me. I was there for nine days, and it was horrible and over Thanksgiving. They kept trying to give me drugs that only made me sick, one day when the gave me Rameron, I spent the day kneeling at the toilet with the heaves. The just wanted to keep pushing drugs at me and I kept trying to tell them I just wanted rest and even if they could find a priest or minister to see me, but all they could find was a rabbi, and when he found out I was Christian, he said he could not help me. I was followed around by some young guy who kept telling me he was Jesus and if I let him touch me he would take away my pain. A part of me was wishing, if only he really could, yet a part of me was totally creeped out.

My sister came in an sat across from me at a table and yelled at me that I better get with the program and take the drugs or I would not get out of there and I would lose my family and my farm. My sister would not let my mother come and see me either, my husband also stayed away, my mother could have helped me, she would have understood, she knew how much I loved them. My sister broke down and struggled when her dog died and I comforted her, wouldn't one think she would at least show me compassion instead of being angry at me for breaking down in grief? Oh, it was horrible, it was such a horrible place, not a place for someone traumatized and grief stricken to go. Yes, I was told many times "it was the wrong place for me to go", yeah, but I was taken there and kept there for nine days and I could not leave. All that place did was traumatize me even more, it doesn't do me any good to say it was the wrong place "after" I spent so much time there.

When I was finally diagnosed with PTSD, it was not explained to me. I thought it meant, deep grief because that is all I felt. I thought that after a while it would ease up, but it didn't, it got worse and worse. And I was on my own for a couple of years because with the debt from all the damage, still trying to figure out the damage and losing so much business, we could no longer pay for insurance and could not afford a therapist either. I managed to get one horse well enough to sell, and my husband crashed and would not get out of bed for over a month, didn't work, didn't pay the bills, nothing. I used the money to pay the bills, "PRAYING" that he would get himself together and get up and work again. And I got "worse", and I don't even know how I managed to do what I did do. It is very hard to know what I know now about PTSD and see how I kept trying to reach out for help and was failed by professionals. Part of my therapy is also about having bad therapists/psychiatrists.

Oh Alisha, I have not really talked about all this, only little pieces here and there. I have tried not to talk about myself too much, but instead be her to support others. I will never forget how very much I needed that myself, how so dark it got, how crippled I got with it and I really feel sorry for anyone who struggles with it. My family was so mad at me, even mean to me, which made me worse. I am so sorry because I know how that happens to people who suffer, it is so important that a professional explain to family what PTSD means and how the person suffering can't help it and genuinely suffers. For myself, it took almost four years for that to happen and that was much too long. Now they are "sorry", but that doesn't change how those four years just kept making me worse, so lonely, many dark days where I had seriously dangerous thoughts too.

It is so important to get support for it, read about it, and get therapy. It does take time, depending on the trauma and the person, but it does get better with "time and patience" and support. I still struggle, still have bad days, but not nearly as bad as it was.

OE