Do we ever get over it? (poss trig)

Man-oh-man,
First, I guess so you'll get the drift of it, I need to fill you in. I come from a very dysfunctional family (yup...I know...who doesn't?)

My father died when I was a little girl and it was right around the Haight-Ashbury days. My brothers (three older) were young teenagers. When my dad died my family sort of fell apart and life as we knew it was over.
My brothers were heavily into drugs and crime went along with it so they could support their heroin addictions. Mom worked nights, and our house became a crash pad. I was basically raised by drug addicts.

My job was to make sure the cigarettes they all had between their fingers were put out so the house didn't burn down, be a look out for the cops or any other member of "the establishment" or to make sure they were all breathing. When junkies "nod" it can be frightening for a ten year old who lost her father and now is afraid the dozen hippies in the house will all die too.

There were many cases of the ambulance coming to whisk them away. There were times when they were in fact DOA. The sound of slapping and begging people to wake up, was a common occurrence at my house.
Life went on like this for eight years until my mother and I moved away.

The boys (I speak of two out of three brothers here) tried to clean up their act and were successful to some degree. On and off rehab. In and out of jail. Overdosing here and there. For the most part they survived. I thought if they made it to age 30, they would live. I was wrong.

One, who'd been clean for about eight years (or so we thought) fell off the wagon. Hard.
The other one, announced to the family he had tested positive for HIV.
They died within five years of each other. One overdosed and one from AIDS.

Nine years later, here I am. My husband goes in for shoulder surgery. I am doing well at the hospital, a few heart palpitations, some worry, but I was in control. He came out of it okay, I got the car and drove it around to the front to pick him up, but a nurse flagged me down and told me to park. He passed out and they were keeping him a little longer. When they finally let him go, he passed out on me in the car on the way home. I get him home and he's not feeling well and wants "the bucket." He begins to retch...and passes out. This time he bites down on his tongue so hard I cannot open his mouth and I am beginning to panic...this is how my brother who OD'd died. He choked on his vomit. I was slapping and begging hubby to wake up.

Needless to say, I absolutely fell apart. My hub is fine, it turned out to be a blood pressure problem. But I am still reeling from this. Even typing this my eyes are filling up. Here I was thinking I was doing so good! And BAM! back I fall. Not only do all the old feelings come back, but I feel stupid.

Does it ever go away?

Thanks for listening,

Petunia

The answer to your questions is these feelings will eventually go but the menories will come back. Don't give up now you are doing so much better! It sound like everything went wrong when your father died. But I'm so proud of you for coping with that. It's not easy at all, no one said it would be this hard. But you manged to have your own life. Indepently and wise. To be honest you won't get over the fact that it happend, but just to reform you that none of this is your fault! I'm glad that your here now talking about this and trying to move on from the past...

Thanks for listening, Miss A.

(((hugs))) I'm sure you know then, from the years of therapy, that it never goes away... totally... but that it can go away from the present and can go away from intruding constantly into the current life....

Welcome petunia.

Sky,

See, I guess that's where feeling stupid comes in.

I have not had an episode where I was so in-touch-in-the-moment with all the old feelings as strong as I did the other day. I guess I was starting to feel like I was "out of the woods" and was thinking...I USED to have PTSD. Sigh...

Thanks for all the hugs and welcomes!

Petunia

NOT stupid! Nah can't use that term here! PTSD is so difficult to deal with... even when you "know" something it doesn't mean it "clicks" when you need it.

TC

Hi everyone,

I feel much better today. My petals are perky and my stem is much more sturdy.

Thanks for listening...



Petunia

"Good to hear that the sun is shining down on your petals and making you feel brighter today!"

Hi Petunia,

I'm glad you are feeling better. This is wonderful news!!

Hay there Petunia,

I am glad you are feeling better now....guess that is part of the rollercoaster of PTSD. I am new to the reactions that come from it but seem to think that as time passes, the lows seem to last less time the longer we are able to deal with our PTSD.

I hope you know that those feelings that find their way back into your life are by no means stupid...& like _Sky said...that word isn't to be used here....because we all are there at different times.

I can only imagine how much a part of your life your trauma became since you lifed it daily for so many years. The trauma I went through was only 5 days with it extending several months into my Mothers death & the fear didn't stop then. I realize how consuming the feelings can be & they will never go away. I'm amazed at how well you have come through everything you have experienced & hope that there will not be many triggers in your future.

Here's hoping your perked up pedals can last for some time now......
Debbie

Wow.

I want you all to know how happy I am that I found you. You are wonderful people, thanks for your kind words and support.

Petunia

((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((PET))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))

Jan

Jan,
Thank you for all your hugs.
They mean a lot to me.
Petunia

This is why things like my husband passing out spins me in and out of the past.

PLEASE OH PLEASE

The sound of a kitten in danger grows faint as the whirring blades of a lawnmower draw near. I see a small honey-colored ball of fur up ahead and I have seconds to save it from the mower’s path. I push and pull and shove, but the kitten does not move. Only then do I realize it’s buried up to it’s neck in the frozen, winter mud. The fumes, the roar, the power of the chopping blades attack, and the cry of the kitten is silenced .

I try to shake off yet another nightmare, even though gooseflesh crawls up my neck, around my throat and threatens to suffocate me. Last night's dream woke me up when I heard the loud splash of a brick tied to a bag full of kittens hit the water in Salem harbor. Not nearly as frightening as the lawnmower's whirring blades I still hear now, even though I'm awake.

I close my eyes and listen to my heart ticking out the seconds of my life. I wonder why I dream of dead kittens. Since Dad died, I think a lot about death for a twelve-year-old. He died in his sleep , Nana said, so now I'm afraid to close my eyes for fear I'll wake up dead. Sometimes, I envision myself lying in a casket, my dead hands draped with Rosary beads, just like Dad's. The
only difference is, my flesh is warm and I feel pain.

I sit up lightning fast when my heart stops ticking and starts pounding instead. The whirring sound has been replaced with a rattling gurgle and I know this is not another dream. Alarmed, I scramble out of bed sensing danger. Anxiety twists my stomach tight around my lungs till I stop breathing, then rushes me to my brother's room where I flip on the light. Stephen's chest is heaving, up and up it rises, almost convulsing as he tries to draw an impossible breath.

A burnt bottle cap and a hypodermic needle are on his night-stand. "Stephen?" No response. I see his lips are purple. "Oh my God, Stephen!" I move in slow motion and touch his cold, clammy arm then jerk my hand back with dread. His dying skin reminds me of my father's lifeless hands that made me cringe when I touched them. The only difference is that Stephen's aren't stiff. Yet.

With rubbery legs I fall into Brian and David's room, trying not to panic. "Brian wake up, there's something wrong with Stephen. ******* it Brian! WAKE UP!" But he's high on heroin and doesn't react right away. "David! GET UP! There's something wrong with Stephen." David opens his eyes and hears the gurgle. He rushes into Stephen's room, takes one look and slaps him
across the face. Hard. I turn my face to the wall and try to escape by pushing into it with all my might.

Please don't let him die, Daddy. Please.

I don't know what to do, where to go, how to help. I want to wake my mother up but don't want her to see this. Brian is up now, sitting on Stephen's chest. Slap - Slap - "Stephen, wake up" Slap - Slap. I don't understand why they're hurting him. Please oh - please don't slap the dying.

"I’m going downstairs to get Ma." Hysteria pulses through my veins and catches in my throat.

"No! Don't wake her up! And no cops," Brian warns.

"Get a bucket of water! Now!" David snaps, but I see his eyes are pleading.

Off I go down the curved wooden staircase, putting extra lead in my feet in hopes of waking my mother, who sleeps on the sofa since Dad died. I clang pots and pans around, find a large bowl and fill it with cold water. I’m trying to hurry when I hear her voice come from the darkness in the living room.

"What is it? What’s wrong?" I hear panic in those simple words.

"Something's wrong with Stephen. He can't breathe and he's turning blue," I sputter, relieved she's awake but so damn sad this is all happening.

"Jesus Christ! Why didn't someone wake me?" she asks, not really expecting an answer. The color of fear changes her into someone I don't recognize, but I follow her up the steps, spilling water everywhere.

It's utter chaos now, slapping, screaming, splashing. I think I’ll burst with fear. My mother yells at David, "Hurry up and call an ambulance!" As he runs to the phone she adds, "And tell them not to use the siren!" Guilt and shame make her say that. She doesn't want the neighbors to know the house reeks of addicts.

Both the police and medics are here, shouting their tough guy orders. The commotion and confusion are too much for me to take, so I drift down the hall to my parent's vacant bedroom. I rest my head on the cool window and watch the raindrops flicker, red - white - red - white - red - white. As the ambulance drives away into the pre- dawn hours, I fog up the glass with my living breath and write with a shaky finger.

Please, oh please don't die.

I had a really hard day after I posted this piece. I flash-backed all day long, really overwhelmed by the sights and sounds this brought up.

I want to thank all those who listened to me and offerred up a hug, but most of all to Kimmy, who kept me safe when I really was at the point of no return.

((((((((((((Thanks)))))))))

Petunia

((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((Petunia)))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))

Schatze...you are so sweet.

Thanks for the hug.

Petunia