Monthly Archives: September 2012

And so it goes, the soldier knows the battle with the heart isn’t easily won

But it can be won.

 

My battle has been an ongoing war for the past four years. I’ve been struck down, many times, covered in the dirt and thirsty for pure water. Reaching out my hand, begging to be saved, I breathe and one step at a time, I lift myself up and push onward.

The past may be the past, but living in a constant memory is bringing me down. Fear of faith, fear of doubt, unable to manage present, unable to see the future. An unknown road, but no dead end sign keeps me moving forward.

This battle may be lost, but there’s still hope for victory in the war. Sense of failure, sense of heartache, but clinging tight to the breath of tomorrow. This dirt road is full of tragedy, but it’s also full of love and a fellow heartbeat pulls me along.

Scratches and wounds, open and wide keep me in a bad dream I often wish to forget. Fear of self, fear of memory, unable to forget, but unable to see. Those chains wrapped around a victim, but they are loose, fighting to keep going.

Forgiving eyes, comfort in words, I struggle to trust, and drown in uncertainty. Sense of imprisonment, but subtle sense of compassion. I look to my left, I look to my right, walking side by side, I trust and see a shadow of me, taking the shaken hand, I pull along.

That battle was fought, and mine bombs are still exploding. Some strike, some miss, as I walk down a street, walk past a house. I look to my right, a sense of silence, a sense of shame. With these soldiers, my fist rounds tense, pounds the door, breaks it down. A frozen girl, sad girl, fighting to be heard.

These arms sneak in, scoop her up. Sense of jailbreak, sense of pain. I carry her out, through the war zone, her eyes look up. Fear of belief, fear of alone. With her in my arms, I carry her along.

This unfinished battle, this ongoing war. Having been struck down, I am picked up, dirt washed off, hand grabbed, not letting go, saying “you will be saved”, I breathe as I am carried by each step forward, I carry on, not alone. We keep going.

Panic

There are extremely good women out in this world. I was in an AA meeting tonight, and I was experience time loss all day. I had blackouts and was extremely anxious. I was sitting in AA and journaling, because I was trying to figure out what was triggering my dissociative episodes. While I was sitting there, I started panicking, sweating, shaking. Every time a man came to greet me (usually I am okay and manage it) I felt sick and scared. Every time I was hugged or touched by them, I’d shake. I ran out to my car and locked myself in. I smoked a cigarette and tried to breathe. I was trembling. I finally worked myself up to try and go back inside and sat in my seat. I pulled my legs up to my chest and couldn’t stop shaking. I was having flashbacks and couldn’t get calm and became afraid. I thought I was not going to be able to breathe. I finally got my stuff to leave, and one of the women followed me outside. “Hey,” she said.

I turned around and looked at her and allowed her to come up to me. I told her that I was afraid, that I couldn’t stop shaking, that I kept seeing him, feeling him, and my anxiety was really bad. I told her I was having a brutal panic attack. I turned to her, and I started gasping for air, crying, sobbing and shaking. She then embraced me, held me tight, and she then cried with me, while my body’s shaking caused hers to tremble as well. She held me, and she wouldn’t let me go, took my hand and walked with me. It was then that we sat for more than an hour and talked to her. I told her what had happened several years ago, and now the episodes get so bad, since being home from treatment and I am always afraid. She told me her own story, and she cried with me.

That is a good woman. She kept me safe. She looked into me, and saw what happened to me through my words.

Transition and PTSD

I still struggle with the concept of post traumatic stress disorder. In fact, often times, I don’t believe I have it. I just think I am high-strung and overly emotional or sensitive to situations. But according to my treatment facility (post discharge) I am diagnosed with PTSD (not to mention that my therapist who I have been seeing for more than two years diagnosed me with that a year ago (about-I don’t really know). So I guess technically I have PTSD. Give my background, I have a difficult time accepting that I was sexually assaulted. I often don’t think I was. Or I block it out and try and forget about it. But if I was sexually assaulted, then I guess that makes sense that I have PTSD.

Oh, upon my other diagnosis upon discharge, I learned that I have panic disorder (I didn’t know that one) and anxiety disorder (knew that one) and major depression (didn’t know that-I thought I just got really sad sometimes). Oh, and anorexia nervosa, but we knew that because I have this blog.

I wasn’t really sure where I was getting at with this post. Perhaps I just needed to start posting again because I started this blog to anonymously share my journey of progress, relapse, and recovery (or as they say in AA: experience, strength and hope). Yeah, the AA statement sounds much more flowery.

Since being home from treatment, I have been staying with a kind family. They have blessed me with a home until I get back on my feet. That’s gonna take forever (I almost feel guilty. No, not almost, I do. A lot of guilt) but the Lord blessed me with a second family, whom I love dearly. From there, I am back to working full time, and also part-time at the bookstore. I like it. It’s nice, but something just isn’t connecting well with me.

I feel lost. My bulimic tendencies have been under control for more than two months now. Hooray for purge-free life that I never thought was attainable. However, I’m not gonna lie, the urges to come sometimes, very intensely, but I reach out and get through them. I would like to hope that I am in a place where I can say good-bye to purging. My starving however; I am eating, which is amazing. And I have maintained the same weight since I have been home from treatment. I do still drink one 2-cal a day plus I eat three times a day plus snacks. Only thing is, I eat the same things everyday or a similar variation: waffles, sandwiches and cereal.

Maybe I strayed a little but I feel okay. Healthy. Stable. Something I haven’t felt for four years. The only problem I have now is that aside from all the other life-situations that are here from when I left and obviously, they don’t go away by a geographical trip.

I do take my nighttime medication–which puts me in a sleep coma, but I fight it. Because I don’t like to close my eyes. I don’t like to be in the dark with closed eyes. I don’t like not being able to see or know what is happening around me. I do eventually pass out, but I fight it. I have very bad panic attacks and flashbacks and I find myself getting afraid and having physical reactions to memories (okay, I am stubborn, perhaps it is PTSD). But I just get to a point where I have doubts. What if I cannot get through it and get to a point where I truly stop blacking out, dissociating or losing time. It scares me that I may never live a normal and happy life, so I need some reassurance. Probably from myself but I am simply lost, wandering, confused.

I am tired and I rub my eyes; trying to fight the night. It consumes me.

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