June 22, 2020

PTSD, panic attack.
 
Long post ahead!!!! This past week, my mental health has been unwell. And I have hidden that away, isolated, cancelled get-togethers, and done all the things I used to do in an effort to “save face” and crawl into my hole. But I want to continue to be transparent, even if that means I am in the middle of a storm. Because what I really need is more life vests until I see the sun again. Healing in mental health is definitely not a direct path, it is up and down, steps forward and back. But the beauty I have begun to see is that when I do have a bad moment, there is a beginning and an end. It does not continue on and on, spiraling deeper and deeper as it did before. I am going to discuss some things about this past week, and there will be mention of suicide.
 
I have surgery coming up on July 1st. Yes, yes, I know. We are moving this weekend, closing escrow on the 29th, pre-op is also that day, and then surgery. It’s a lot. But it is just the way things fell into place and so we are going to make it happen. When I met with my therapist last week, we discussed possible PTSD triggers during any of the appointments and/or surgery itself. My PTSD is surrounding the illnesses during pregnancy as well as both hospitalizations postpartum. I had not even thought about the possibility that anything could be bothersome. I have had several surgeries, so this was just going to be another one to me. But God knew what he was doing, as he always does. Because my therapist had the foresight to discuss this with me and to talk through what my anxiety looks like so I could recognize those symptoms, and to remind me that it could be something very small, I was able to pay closer attention. The very next day, I did have a pre-op appointment, and it was something very small that sent me over the edge. I sat down to do my paperwork and my hands began to shake. I thought, “oh no”. The shortness of breath and tachycardia quickly followed. I felt like I had to get out of there. I knew I was having a panic attack. I knew it was because of the paperwork. I hadn’t yet figured out why it was the paperwork. But I knew I had to try to hold it together. So I focused on breathing as best as I could…. Which wasn’t really possible. I couldn’t even tap into my tools. Everything felt so out of my control. I just needed to get out of there. And having that mask on made it so much worse. So I found the busiest, most hideous cushion in the office and started counting the yellow stripes. They were really hard to see, so I kept losing track and would have to start over. It made me focus and got me back into the room. I made it through the labs, out the front door and sat in the car sobbing. While in the car, I realized what about the paperwork hijacked my brain. And truthfully, the depth of this thought wasn’t even fully known to me until that moment. The surface portion was that the paperwork triggered that response because the last time I filled out paperwork was to sign myself into the perinatal psychiatric inpatient unit and it was such an awful feeling. The depth of that which came to light was really this thought that was in my mind that day at UNC: “you don’t have to sign this; there is still time; all you have to do is get up and run and jump off that pedestrian bridge; it’ll be quick, and then this will all be over; no more pain and suffering; no inpatient that isn’t going to help; get out of here; run; run; RUN!”. Wow. My mind was so broken. And healing is going to take so much time because it is still quite fractured. Hearing that echo hurt my heart, to feel the shadow of that pain pass over me. Fresh tears streamed down my face. I was exhausted. But I made it through that day, and the next day was better. That day did not dictate the rest of my week. That trauma response was no longer able to take hold and drown me. Now, did I bounce right back to be fully where I was prior? Of course not. I won’t lie to you all. In fact, what has happened, is my OCD tendencies have popped back up. I’m not sleeping as well again because my hypervigilance is increased, and I am checking doors and locks and burners more frequently. But it is still at a manageable point.
 
Perinatal mood and anxiety disorders are not a quick fix. I know this is a long-term treatment strategy for me. I am learning grace for myself and am getting better at allowing myself space to go through this process. Space was very much needed this week when I packed up Olivia’s room. I had to allow myself the space to grieve so much of her little life already that I have been so emotionally absent from. So many of her first holidays that I was so hollow inside, I can’t even really remember. I’m grateful there will be many more, but there will also always be that absence. This upcoming week will be full of challenges leaving this house. We brought Olivia home here, but I also tried to end my life here. There are so many different emotions intermixed here, and I feel the sizzle of my struggles strengthening, so I would appreciate prayers over this process. The other thing that the panic attack has brought on is this intrusive, ruminating thought that I am going to die during surgery. That is quite unrealistic, but my mind is busy lying to me because I already feel like I am on borrowed time, so prayers that my mind will quiet down that racket would also be appreciated. And as always, please know I am here to support anybody that is struggling. I am happy to help you find any referrals in your area or be a listening ear anytime.
 
If you aren’t familiar with some of my story and would like to read it, please scroll to the bottom of the blog where it is posted. 💜
 
 
(photo credit UNC Chapel Hill)

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  1. Pingback: One Year Later – MyPostpartumStory.Org

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