Friday, September 18, 2015

Russian Nesting Dolls and PTSD

PTSD can be overwhelming, anyone with it can relate to that. What I think the hardest thing to convey is the world we all live in now, after our event, or events.

Since I started this blog, I have tried again and again to explain that. This time I want to try and explain the inner storm.

The easiest way for me to convey it is, as the title states, with Russian Nesting Dolls. Here is a link, in case you don't know what those are. We as human beings are the outer most layer, the layer everyone see's and understand.

That is the layer we show to the world. That is the layer we are proud of, we show emotion with. We experience life with.

But below that is a layer that is similar to the outer, but it is a raging storm, formless, racing, and bottled chaos. It is the layer we were given with our events. A nice parting gift. Now unlike a nesting doll, PTSD and the emotions that come with it, are not always the same layer.

Your inner layers switch between all manner of feelings. Anger, rage, frustration, depression, guilt, fear. Not fear as a state of mind, but as an emotion. Fear brought on by a conscience memory. Fear as a fully invested feeling.

Anger so hot, and boiling you can feel your face on fire and forget all sense of self. Anger that has no real target, no real end goal. Layer upon layer anger is fueled by guilt, guilt spiraling out of control because of grief, and sadness. Memories flashing, spinning, raging.

All the while the little nesting dolls sits there, maintaining. On the outside it's finely carved edges shape the whole, its purposefully painted lines draw the eyes away from the seam that is quickly growing.Outside is you, a work of art. Inside is more beauty, but hidden by the darkness of PTSD. All the beauty inside is darkened by our inability to open ourselves up and share the pain.

Instead we stand by, waiting and watching as others pass by, unaware that we open up and have many layers within. We spend so long waiting to open up, that when someone comes along and is curious enough to follow that seam. To crack the seam open, every layer within bursts out.







P.S. I have been traveling for work, so I promise, promise to reply to comments asap.


Tuesday, September 15, 2015

September

I haven't posted in awhile, and for a reason, not a good one, but there is a reason none the less.

September is a rough month for me, and I imagine it always will be. My sons birthday is in September, from Sept 1st to Sept 30th, I am reminded of his birth. That is a day I will never forget. For an entire day, I rode the high of holding my son in my hands for the first time. If you're a parent you understand this feeling.

For an entire day I was normal, I was proud, and I was relieved. My son was born healthy, and happy. I have not seen him in years. I love him more than ever, but my heart breaks every day. Everyday I miss him, and everyday I think of him. He is my son, and I am his father. For an entire month my head swims with the what-if's.

What if I wasn't like I am, could I change things?

What if this isn't my fault? It doesn't matter if it is or not I will blame myself.

What if he hates me...

I am forced for an entire month to battle my own demons, and the fears I harbor. I grasp onto hope with an abandonment of my own life. I cast my thoughts of anything else aside, because I can process no more than the pain I feel at my lost.

My son is alive, and I hope all is well.

The funny thing about PTSD, and I say that sarcastically, is that it does not mix well with postpartum. When my son was born, my ex-wife displayed symptoms of increasing severity over the following weeks and months. As the high of having a new child wore off for both of us, we began to mix in the cauldron of our eventual undoing. It was neither of our faults, and I hold no grudges, as I hope she does as well.

But we were poison, I freshly back from deployment, she freshly on the rehab train from the rush of hormones and chemicals that it takes to make a human being. Both of us in withdraw. My withdraw will follow me until the day I die, I have accepted that. Her's got worse before it got better.

All of these are things that run through my mind, that weigh on my in the month of September. There are things I sometimes wish I could change. There are things I wish had never happened, and there are things that I know that had to happen. But all of the logic and all of the reasoning can not make things better. All of the hope in the world can not fix your problems.

All hope can do is light the way to the problem at hand, and show you what you can work on.

I am still working through all of that.

I will now, and always love my son. And in a weird way I will always love my ex-wife. In a weird way I have to love everyone. If I can not love people, how can people love me. If I can not ask for forgiveness, and give forgiveness, how can other do the same for me.

September is a month of dwelling on the coulda-been's and the what-if's for me. But it is also a month where my soul cries out for the ones I love, and the need for the love of others.

Remember, remember the 5th of September.