National PTSD Awareness Day (June 27, 2015)

National PTSD Awareness Day (June 27, 2015)

To bring greater awareness to the issue of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), the United States Senate designated June 27 as National PTSD Awareness Day. June has been designated as PTSD Awareness Month by the National Center for PTSD (NCPTSD).

The definition of PTSD is listed as “an intense physical and emotional response to thoughts and reminders of a traumatic event that can last for weeks or months after the event.”

According to the American Psychiatric Association, the symptoms of PTSD fall into four broad categories:

1. Re-living
2. Avoidance
3. Disturbed thoughts or moods
4. Increased sensitivity or arousal.

Re-living an event includes having flashbacks, nightmares and extreme emotional and physical reactions to reminders of the event. Avoidance includes staying away from anything; activities, places and even feelings, which remind you of the traumatic event. Someone with PTSD may experience recurring negative beliefs or emotions or feel detached from others; they may be easily startled or overly alert, have difficulty sleeping, suffer from irritability or be unable to concentrate on routine tasks. 

In 2011 I was diagnosed with delayed onset Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. This is my journey through Grief, PTSD and PPD…

At first my symptoms seemed to be linked to postpartum depression or at least that’s what my Obgyn thought when I went in for my 8 week check up after having my son by a 2nd cesarean. I was referred to a counselor to “talk” about my options and what could be done for my postpartum. In talking to the counselor about my life and opening up to her about my past, I began to actually talk about my aunt and her death, the impact that it had on my life and those around me. During one of our sessions she said to me the most startling thing “I don’t believe you have postpartum depression, I think you are handling having a baby and a toddler remarkably well. What I think is going on is a case of PTSD.” I think she knew from my reaction that I basically thought she was nuts. So she explained to me that it wasn’t just something that affected military, or attack victims but that it was something that affected anyone who has had a traumatic life altering experience, like the death of a loved one.

September of 2008 my life was rapidly changing. Things were never going to be the same. I was pregnant with my first child, I was planning a wedding, attending and working on fundraisers for my uncles campaign, moving into what I thought would be my first home and trying to set that all up as well as dealing with all the hormones of a 9 month pregnant (and overdue) body.

I gave birth to my beautiful daughter on the 11th. She quickly and understandably became the center of my world. Everything else paled in comparison to caring for this new little life I had ultimate responsibility for. I was in love and in awe with motherhood. What I didn’t know was that while I was basking in afterglow my mother was making sure I was intentionally kept in the dark about the problems my aunt was having. My 26th birthday passed quietly with a dinner out. The next day I was rescued from the house by my mom who took me to visit my grandmother and my aunt who lived next door. I thoroughly enjoyed my day out but exhausted myself quickly, so my day out was a short one. That was Monday. By Thursday, my aunt was dead.

My aunt, how to explain her, she was without a doubt, an amazing person. She was an inspiration, a mentor, a teacher, a friend, and more like a big sister than an aunt. She is a major part of the reason I am the person I am today. She was the person I could run to with my problems no matter how big or how trivial. It didn’t matter what the issue was, she held no judgment and offered advice or a shoulder to cry on.

She wasn’t my only aunt; she wasn’t even the one closest in age to me. But she was my favorite. She was the one who I related to the most and wanted to be like when I grew up. She wasn’t blood, but she was absolute family. I met her when I was 6 years old; I stood up in her wedding to my uncle, my mom’s younger brother. There were 16 years between us but some days those 16 years could feel as wide as the Grand Canyon or as narrow as the ditch by the road.  From 1988 to 2008 I had the privilege of being able to talk to her whenever I wanted to, to listen to her tell jokes, stories, laugh, and cry. To bitch/commiserate when her days were bad, to cheer when they were good, to celebrate the highs and wallow in the lows.

2 weeks to the day of my daughter’s birth, my world went from happy and full of promise to the deepest darkest hole I had ever seen. I didn’t know how to recover from this immense loss. Just thinking about it was enough to cause hyperventilation and uncontrollable tears. I know now that my beautiful 2 week old daughter probably saved my life. She became my reason for breathing, for getting up and doing what was necessary. My mom will deny this and tell me that I would have been fine, that I was stronger than that. But she wasn’t in my head, my heart or my soul. She didn’t know the hours I laid in my chair in the living room at night staring at my daughter, not able to sleep, just crying. She didn’t see the days I would barely move through the motions of the day. If my daughter’s needs didn’t have to be met, I don’t know that I would have remembered to take care of my basic needs. There were days when my fiance would come home and nothing had been done except taking care of our daughter. I don’t know how he put up with me like that. I was so out of it that I barely remember the fact that we moved the weekend of Halloween. I couldn’t careless about my favorite holiday. I barely remember decorating the house we moved into, which probably accounts for the questionable paint choices (navy blue??)

While in therapy the counselor asked me questions but basically allowed the conversation to flow where I wanted it to go. She didn’t force me to discuss things, but when I would clam up or hesitate she would ask a question which in turn would make me talk more about the topic. She told me that I had buried my feelings and my sorrow in the need to care for my daughter, my cousin and my uncle. I had buried the pain and hurt so deep and refused to talk about things so much that I had in a sense, damaged my ability to react “normally”. My reactions to certain things would be swift and angry, for example when someone pretended to shoot themselves in the head… I would freak out. At one point I remember screaming and bursting into tears.

The day my aunt died started for me the same way as the last 2 weeks had, I got up took care of the baby, the dogs and basic house clean up. I was still recovering so I wasn’t able to do a lot but it was the 2 week mark and I was able to try stairs! I was so excited to go to the basement and do laundry. After I threw all the dirty laundry down the stairs and the laundry baskets, I put the baby into a front carrier and ever so slowly and gingerly inched my way down the steps. After I sorted all the laundry into piles and started a load, I heard the door bell. Making that trek up the steps after all the laundry I had sorted was painful and long. When I opened the front door my best friend and godmother of my daughter was standing there with her husband. Surprised as I was I invited them in and thought we were just having a normal visit, until my fiancé walked in the door. His own reaction to the news of someone he had known since 1997 was something I can only akin to shock.

His 5 simple words were short curt and to the point. “Your Aunt Kim is dead.” my reaction was anything but.

I thought he was lying, I didn’t believe him, I yelled at him looked at Amy and Craig who confirmed it all with tears and hugs. I was in a state of disbelief but my mind rationalized it within minutes. I later would realize that I had gone through multiple stages of grief within those minutes. Somehow based upon his words I thought my fiance was telling me my aunt had been in an accident. I accepted the way she had died without much comment. Little did I know that my “quick” acceptance would come back to hurt worse when my Mom came later that evening and filled me in on the details, the how and what.

The next day was probably the absolute worst day of my life. I was forced to pretend that everything was fine, that nothing was wrong, and that my aunt was still alive because my 9 year old cousin had no idea his mom was gone and he was spending the day with my mom, my daughter and myself. Several times through out the day I had to hide in the bathroom and cry because, here was this little boy who was so carefree and happy to be spending the day with me, and I had to lie to him. I still feel guilt over that day.

After the funeral, things became a blur. At night when my husband was a sleep, I would let myself go. If I was home by myself all day, I would sit on the couch and cry. Unless my daughter needed something or cried, I did not care what happened around me. Then the holiday season started. I knew I had things to do and I couldn’t let it bother me when others were around. I told myself that I had to be strong. I would lock away any feelings of depression or sadness and push on through the day. I kept telling myself there would be time later, I could cry later, when I didn’t have so much to do. By Christmas of 2008, I was becoming a master at disguising my feelings. I focused completely on what I needed to do to get through the day. By the time my wedding happened, I had successfully buried everything away and locked it down tight… or so I thought.

After the birth of my son in January of 2011 something felt off. I could not control my emotions any more, I could not stop the crying. I could stop the anger and sadness from affecting my every day life. I felt like I was going crazy. One minute I was fine, the next I was screaming over the most minimal things. One day my husband came home early and I burst into tears. He was so lost that he called my mom over to sit with me. She made me call my doctor the next day for an appointment.

Because it took me so long to get in to see the counselor, it was May-June before my first appointment. I went 2 days a week for 55 minutes each time and talked to my counselor. By the end of July, I was at one day a week. By the end of August I was at every other week. By the end of September we decided to come once a month. By December of 2011, I was told to call her if I needed to talk to her but otherwise I was doing well on my own.

I am not cured, I dont believe there is a “cure” for PTSD but I do believe that I am better. There are still days that are harder than others and triggers that cause me to pause in my every day routine. I am not going to go into to much detail of my discussions with my counselor because those sessions were private but I will tell you that talking about everything helped to make things better. Discussing my aunt and her death with the others who were close to her helped me to cope and continue to grieve. In 2012 I actually had a full conversation with her younger sister who was living in florida at the time and going over her timeline of events and what she knew of the days leading up to and after helped. Talking with family and friends, co-workers and people we knew helped. Just talking period helped. I did not realize how closed off to the entire situation I truly was until I started talking.

If you or a family member has PTSD, you may also have noticed some of these symptoms and perhaps also panic attacks, depression, substance abuse or even suicidal thoughts. Help is available. You can call a crisis hotline 24 hours a day, 7 days a week or make an appointment to see your primary care provider. Please do not wait to get help.