All my life I've been different. I remember being left at 6 years old with a babysitter. My parents wanted to enjoy a night out. I could feel the fear culminating inside of me as they walked away. My body starting to rush. My heart starting to beat. I didn't color pictures or watch tv with the babysitter. I sat. I sat on the cold foyer floor watching the door. My mind playing over and over again my parents getting killed in a devastating car crash. How did I even know what that was at this age? I hadn’t experienced any trauma. TV? Hearing grown ups talk? Why was my mind that negative after only 6 short years of existence? I let it loop in my head. I played out the whole scene. I let my mind take complete control. Irrational fears, catastrophizing, panic attacks, feeling disconnected from my body, insomnia. This all became my norm. I've never known anything different. My parents didn't understand. My friends just knew me as the scared friend. The one that was barely any fun and could never stay the night. I didn't understand why I was different. It was frustrating and exhausting. And extremely lonely. It still is. It's a day-to-day battle that sometimes I am winning and sometimes I am losing. Anxiety has been here with me all along. It is relentless. It is sneaky. And it has now met its new friend trauma.
There has not been a day in my entire life where I didn't picture a loved one dying. (Or something happening to myself.) But mostly other people because I'm destructively empathetic. I often wondered why I married a cop. I think it was oddly comfortable. The turmoil of life and death was all I'd ever known. Even if it was all in my head. Anxiety was where I lived. It was where I was born. It was my being. So why would I choose a life that didn't put me there? Seems weird. (Note: bring this up in therapy). I like to think I got a handle on my anxiety and OCD as I got older. It was there but it was not overtaking my life as it had been in the past. In reality, it was as big as ever, I just found ways to live my life in a “safe” way. Doing the same exact things every day, rarely going to new places, obsessively checking my phone, having few friends, calling Sean every few hours. What a way to live. Ahhh yes I must be cured. But what happens when your safe little life falls apart? What happens when in one moment everything that ever made you feel safe crashes down? Cue mental breakdown.
I've described in other posts the range of emotions that happens after a trauma. I honestly don't even know them all because it seems like a new one comes along every day. One thing that was clear for me when Sean died was that my greatest fear had come true. All my days, I obsessed over this and now it was here. The monster that was always lurking finally went in for the attack. I remember feeling a sense of freedom for a bit. Wow. This is a trauma. And look at me I'm still standing. I'm not scared of anything anymore. The monster came and I survived. That feeling was fun while it lasted but it was false. I was free of anxiety because I know longer cared about my existence. I was in so much pain that nothing felt like it could hurt me anymore. What is there to be scared of when you don't want to be here anyway? That is a hard sentence to type. I didn't feel like that for long but, I think the majority of widows will tell you there was a point, or a day, or a second where they wanted to go to sleep and not wake up. As I was coming down from that episode, my old friend was waiting right there for me. Oh you want to live again? Ok, here is your original catalog of fears (car crashes, heart attacks, predators the usual) and I have added an extra few hundred pages since you have been through a trauma. Thanks buddy!! Intense. That's the only word I have for it. The most intense anxiety I have ever felt. I had a panic attack in New York City. The paramedics came. I laid in bed for 2 days afterward not able to move. Unless you are familiar with this it is hard to understand the toll it takes on your body. Like physically getting hit by a bus and mentally watching your favorite dog die. Crushing in all senses of the word. I got back home. Wow I guess all the alcohol and food and other distractions weren't curing me like I thought. WEIRD. I went back to grief counseling. I tried to do better. I tried to understand my anxiety and how the trauma had made it worse.
At around 15, I was diagnosed with GAD (Generalized Anxiety Disorder). I had it my whole life but 15 was when my parents finally took me to the doctor. I couldn’t drive. How depressing is that? All my friends were getting their license and being free. Not me. Nope. Why would I want to drive a car?! I was clearly going to die! DUH! I slept about 3 hours a night. I was sick all of the time. It is weird to look back at it now and see how it was all connected. Nearly every health problem in my entire life has been connected to my anxiety. I had chronic heartburn at age 10. 10! A complete and total ball of nerves. In my mid 20’s after college, I went to a doctor because I couldn’t drive to work when it was raining. Basically, my anxiety was keeping me from being a functioning adult. I told her if I knew there was a chance of rain and I had to get up at 6 for work, from about 3-6AM at night I would check the radar every 10 minutes. When I would try to drive to work anyway, because Sean or my dad, would tell me I was being ridiculous I would have to pull over because I would have a panic episode. She told me these were called compulsions and I was OCD. Something that is typical for people with anxiety. So not only do I fear every second of the future, I obsess over possible outcomes and use compulsions to try to lessen the anxiety brought on by the fear (which does not work but feels absolutely necessary). Cool cool cool. Flash forward to 32 and my husband dying, I felt all of these things more intensely than I ever had. The trauma made it all real. I walked around my neighborhood in circles talking to my sister about whether or not today was the day I was going to commit myself. Then, I decided to fall in love. You know because a widow falling in love isn’t complicated at all! Nothing to worry about here. Sometimes, I think I'm a bit of a masochist. The first bit was rough. I didn't know what to do or where to turn or if anything I was doing was making sense. Luke was steady. Never wavering in his love for me. Clear and without conditions. Calming my anxiety with every hug and cleansing me of self-doubt.
A pandemic was a weird time to form a relationship. It's not real life. It was pretend. It felt safe. Just like before. But it was fake. We were together all the time. I could keep my eye on him. I could ride with him everywhere and make sure I let him know he needed to slow down to stay safe. I could control every little part of every little thing. See nothing to worry about. Now it's real life. He goes to work or out. Sometimes he can't answer his phone. Sometimes I don’t know where he is. Sometimes he might have regular coke instead of diet coke when I'm not around and what if that kills him?! I don't like that. How do I know he is safe?! My original illness amplified by the trauma and projected onto him. If he doesn’t answer his phone twice. Sean didn't answer his phone. Sean was dying. He must be dying. If someone makes him mad at a grocery store. Please don't say anything. Please. What if he has a gun? A whirlwind of ‘what ifs.' They become much more intense when you have something beautiful to live for again. Luke is a real trooper. He is the most accepting and understanding person of my mental illness(es) I have ever been around. He has his own story on all that but let's just say he is exactly what I needed at exactly the right time. Thank you universe. Thank you Sean.
As “normal” life continues I think this will always be a struggle for me. I am surviving the trauma and I am surviving the illness. I have come to terms with the fact that my mind is different. My trauma is different. My life is different. Some days I can't see through the weeds and other days I am astounded at the beauty of the life in front of me. We all struggle. Some people's bags are heavier than others. Move through life with understanding and empathy, and always a grateful heart.
I’m praying that today is as easy as possible for you. You’re a very strong woman and I relate to your writings. Continue being strong and writing, it’s what he would’ve wanted❤️
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