The gift that keeps on giving

"You have Complex PTSD."

That's what the lady said. Well my therapist to be more precise. 

Let me back up a little.

For years I have had this feeling like I wasn't like other people. That I didn't think like others, operate on a day to day basis like others or even always react like others to even moments of crisis. And not in the way you think. More often than not I seem to everyone else operate astonishingly well during a crisis, almost to well. I always thought this was due to the fact that I just had so much practice at it, so many experiences to draw from...so many horrid things that has happened over the course of my 46 years of life that I just functioned well under such pressures.

But in the past year and even more so in the past six months I found myself struggling in ways I didn't understand. I was getting more jumpy, especially with sudden and unexpected loud noises. Even someone sneezing could send me flying up out of my seat.

I was also having more and more nightmares where I was waking up screaming, gasping for air because I felt as if I couldn't breathe and soaked with sweat and I am told my arms flying around in the air.

One terrifying night I woke up at 4am to find myself standing at my bathroom sink and I was in the midst of brushing my teeth. I started to recall what I thought was a dream but to my horror was me actually having spent the last few hours walking around in my sleep doing bizarre house chores and I was able to see the evidence of my activities laying about.

I was finding myself with less and less energy and wanting to spend more and more time alone in my room watching tv, a preferable activity to going out and seeking the company of others in any social capacity and very content to do so. That's not me.

I didn't like how I was feeling or the things I was thinking about.

So I did what any reasonable person would do and I started to see a therapist because I definitely felt lost in all of this mess and figured maybe someone else could put some light on the situation. I was to tired to think about it anymore and just wanted answers.

After about a month after I started seeing her I got just that, an answer.

"You have Complex PTSD." 

...?

......??

........??!

.....SHIT! Really?!? 

I went home and read up on this and what the " complex " part meant.

I cried. I cried all damn night. I was over whelmed, angry, terrified and not sure if I was happy that I got an answer but the cat was out of the bag. I was also none to thrilled to discover the down right almost criminal lack of resources for any kind of PTSD therapy not only for a career survivor such as myself but for even folks like our vets. 

"Well this just sucks... Now what do I do?"

I desperately wanted to understand what this was, what this meant for me, how did I get it and can it be fixed.

I learned that I likely first got PTSD when I was rather young, about 14 or 15 and with one thing after another thing happening and never having a chance to heal and recover before the next wave of hell came my way it has literally changed the way my brain works. It has also had a huge impact on my health and chronic pain issues making already difficult health issues more, well more "complex." So that feeling I had that I was not like others to a certain extent was true, but not in a good way. I some how found ways to cope though.

How I did I am not sure I will ever truly understand. Right now I am trying to learn to stop asking " why" as it's obviously an act of futility and need to just ask "how?"   How do I fix this?  How do I move forward? 

The part I cannot shake, or ironically that makes me and my hands shake since I was 15 is that this gift, the gift that keeps on giving was given to me by the very people in my life that were to love and cherish me, be it by Gods hand or by vows and promises. They gave this to me and from the sounds of it, it may be here to stay as it's been a part of me and so much so removing it could possibly do more harm than good. I don't know, I don't have all the answers right now. 

I suppose that is where the title of this blog comes into play. " The Art of Surviving." Truly this will be an art or it will get really ugly really fast. 

Needless to say there is a lot of soul searching that has been going on recently and I imagine even more will down the road. This didn't get broken over night and so there is no quick fix.

There are no support groups anywhere in the 50 mile radius that I can find so perhaps one needs to be created. I know I hurt for others who are suffering alone in silence. If others who carry this invisible injury read this, know as I am sure you do, but it never hurts to be reminded, you are not alone.

Namaste,

Raven Muse

"Just Leave"

I finally realized today what the two most painful words are you can say to a woman living in a abusive and or violent domestic situation. 

Today while in the pharmacy waiting for a prescription to get filled and sitting next to a woman about 10 years older than I - looking rather cross, I couldn't help but hear her short but curt conversation with her 36 year old son. "I am still here waiting. Well you will have to pick her up! I don't care!!! Just get out of my house and don't come back!"

After a brief moment of silence she began to cry, sob. Not knowing if I would get chewed out or worse I reached over and put my arm around her. She started to just pour out everything. Her son is an alcoholic. He was drunk and couldn't pick up his own daughter - expecting his already very stressed mother to pick up the slack. Her abusive husband, his girlfriend, her hell. Then she said "what do they want me to do? All everyone ever says is 'just leave.' Leave where?!?"

I talked to her for a few more minutes, gave her my card and told her to call me sometime. We have a lot in common.

I've heard those same words, "just leave." In a similar fashion I would say, "well there are some real pearls of wisdom, duh, why didn't I think of that ever so simple and attainable answer before? Oh wait, I did. There is no where to go!" However I hear underneath the Washington Ave bridge has breath taking views this time of year, but to reserve my milk crate now - spaces are going fast.

Of course you follow up the "just leave" scenario advice and say "I have no where to go" and you are lovingly forced to endure hearing someone who has absolutely no clue give you more great advice about going to a shelter that you get thirty days in. Because you never thought of that yourself.

This is when you have to, yet again, relay the fundamentals of homelessness and the staggering statistics against you once you no longer have the stability of a roof over your head. That once your time allotment in a shelter is up, then what? Then where? 

Family? - dead or not willing to help

Friends? Half of them are in hard times and caring for their own and if you want them to stay as your friends best not put them in a position to say no.

State Housing? 4 year waiting list or longer in some areas.

What of everything you own? Might as well sell it or just kiss it goodbye. As if losing your mind and soul is not enough, this little extra bit of demoralization is the icing on the cake. 

Then there is the help you are supposed to get, which often makes you feel like YOU did something wrong. 

    http://www.newhopeforwomen.org/abuser-tricks

Is it any wonder why women don't leave and many choose to live in a miserable silence, in hell? At least you have creature comforts and a place to call home albeit a miserable one. Once you remove yourself from the home you stand a very high probability of hitting the streets if you are unable to provide yourself with enough income to make it on your own.  This is more so painfully true with women who also suffer with disabilities and chronic illness and may not even be able to work. They are just sitting ducks.

Now don't get me wrong - there are really good people out there doing incredible work,  doing the best they can. But I dare say the ones who are honest about it also know they are fighting an up hill battle. Resources are very scarce and more and more people are trying to access them. They try to take only the most severe cases, but even then many don't make it to help in time and fall victim to their situation. A very sad reality that any social worker worth their salt is painfully aware of.

The women who stay and live in these often horrendous domestic situations are the ultimate survivalists. They don't stay havenot thought about leaving, they stay because they HAVE thought about leaving, long and hard.

They have carefully weighed the pro's and con's and understand clearly what they are up against. They say it takes an average of seven attempts for a woman to leave an abusive relationship. That does not sound like a person who has given up and is not trying. One must ask why they fail with so many attempts?

Because that hell is preferable to the very dangerous one on the streets. And because when they do try there is not enough assistance out there aimed at specifically making sure they do not have to return to that situation or end up homeless. 

So if you ever find yourself sitting with someone confessing to you that they are living in an abusive relationship. Please, please... Don't tell her to "just leave" as it's the most demoralizing and thoughtless thing an alleged friend can say. You may not have realized that at the time, and it seemed like the most reasonable thing to say, but hopefully after reading this you understand it's not reasonable and understand just a little....

And a little is all we need.

P.S.  If you are going to tell her to "just leave", make sure it's because you are offering her a safe place to live and escape to. Escape and exit plans are a whole other topic for another day.

Namaste,

Raven Muse

             http://www.thehotline.org/

Musings

Just a late night musing...

What Is The Art Of Surviving?

sur·vi·vor
sərˈvīvər/

noun

1. a person who survives, especially a person remaining alive after an event in which others have died.

   "the sole survivor of the massacre"

   • the remainder of a group of people or things.

     "a survivor from last year's team"
   • a person who copes well with difficulties in their life.

     "she is a born survivor"

A reasonable yet vague definition of what or should I say who a survivor is. 

What qualifies an individual to fall under the "survivor" umbrella? Divorce, death of a loved one? Loss of a home or a job? A sudden health crisis or victim to a horrible crime. Wrong place, wrong time and a natural disaster crossed your path or you crossed its? Over achiever and a bit of all of the above? I like to call that career survivors.

This blog will hopefully be a platform for some answers on the Art of Surviving.

art

ärt/

noun

1. 1.

   the expression or application of human creative skill and imagination, typically in a visual form such as painting or sculpture, producing works to be appreciated primarily for their beauty or emotional power.

   "the art of the Renaissance"

   synonyms:

   fine art, artwork "he studied  music, literature, and dance. "the visual arts"

   • 
     

     
     
   • 
     

     
     
2. 2.

   the various branches of creative activity, such as painting, music, literature, and dance.

   "the visual arts"
3. 
   

   
   
4. 
   

   
   

Note the words "emotional power" and "creative activity."

The ART in SURVIVING is all about our own inner emotional power and the creative activity we engage in to save ourselves or cope with the situations we find ourselves surviving from.

There is no secret formula as it is different for each person and they each go on their journey to discover these truths about themselves. That old saying of "what doesn't kill you will make you stronger" is true, but - and this is a big but, you must want it to be so or it can kill you.

We are human and so we hurt, and the things that happened to place us in Club Survivor will always be with us to some extent. 

View surviving like you would various forms of artistry. Sometimes you are extremely skillful and perhaps even prepared for it. Graceful, like painting a watercolor of a beautiful sunset. Other days you are finger painting and it just gets down right messy as you get paint (your emotions) all over the damn place. But that's ok, truly it is, because there is always a time and place for finger painting.

So where do you think you fall as a survivor? Are you a sprinter where you had just one crazy traumatic event that changed everything? Or when filling out new doctor forms and it asks for "occupation" you write SURVIVOR. Let me know, I would like to hear your story.

The other intent on this blog is to have multiple authors sharing their experiences, survival stories and perspectives on life now that they are official survivors. There is no one right or wrong way to go about this. Everyone's story is unique as is their art of survival.

May you find peace and comfort in all your days.

Namaste,

Raven