Will It Ever Go Away?

 Someone once asked me how it felt to live life with PTSD.  I think this picture sums it up pretty well.  It feels lonely.  It's terrifying.  It's unpredictable.  You can go months without an episode and one little thing can happen that sends you into a downward spiral.  It never is "cured".  It never "goes away".  It's "controlled" or "noncontrolled".  I learned just how unpredictable it can be this week.

I had spring break this week, which for me meant no work and no school.  I decided I'd spend some extra time with Kamden doing things he likes to do but we don't always get time to do, as well as that I'd do something for myself.  

On Wednesday, I went to get my nails done.  It's always a time that I mentally escape, relax and just reset myself.  When I got there, the salon was fairly busy.  I had intentionally left my phone in the car so I could disconnect for a bit and had taken to reading magazines and people watching.  There was one woman there who was very pregnant.  She was bubbly and chatting with the workers as well as other customers.  I didn't think anything of it when she went to the bathroom.  In fact, I smiled because I remembered when I was at that same point in pregnancy that I felt like I lived in the bathroom.  

All of a sudden, I heard someone ask her if they needed to all 911.  She said no and that her water had broken but she'd called a family member to come and get her.  I completely blacked out.  Not like passing out...I lost several minutes.  I didn't realize I had just been staring into space until the person doing my nails asked if I was okay.  I was light headed from holding my breath, my stomach hurt as if it'd been cramping, and I vividly relived every moment of Kaidi's birth in whatever amount of time I was "out".  

I kind of knew some sort of a break was going to happen.  I'd been having dreams about her for a couple of weeks.  Once I woke up thinking I heard a new born crying.  I had to lay in bed for several minutes giving myself a pep talk that there was no baby and that I could get up and face the day.  Another night I dreamed that she had been "haunting" our house, only to appear to me when the "cleansing" of the house was coming to completion.  I was hugging her when she disappeared from my arms.  

They say "time heals all wounds".  I call bull.  It doesn't heal them.  Not completely.  It may place a very strong bandage over the hole beneath, but every once in a while that bandage is punctured and the hole inside is exposed again.  I think it is more that we learn to adapt to having that hole and working around it to live a semblance of a normal life.  We learn that it's not socially acceptable, nor is it healthy, to dwell on the loss on a day to day basis and so we numb ourselves to it and compartmentalize it and only take it out to deal with it when we have time and can be alone. 

Then there is the guilt.  Not only is there guilt over the death, but there is guilt over the grief.  Unless someone else has lost a child, they don't understand why you continue to celebrate their birthday every year.  They don't understand why you are so sad when kids start school, especially if you have other children.  (Kaidi would be starting school this fall...)  While you know that they can't understand, there is a sense of guilt tied to having the feelings that you do about things.  There's no wrong way to grieve, but there is a stigma tied to it that can't be escaped.  It's going to make someone uncomfortable.  It's going to upset someone.  I know it shouldn't matter how anyone else feels, but it does to me.  So many times I suppress feelings or thoughts that well up so that I don't upset someone.  It's not the healthiest, but it works...  I compartmentalize until it's "safe" again.

There's the guilt of wanting another child.  I know that there shouldn't be guilt tied to it, but part of me thinks it'd be like forgetting her to have another and that even wanting another is a betrayal.  I know that's not something that's even remotely on the calendar of life at this point, but the thought and concern are still there.

In exactly one month, we will be at the anniversary of her MRI date.  I dread that date more than I ever have her birthday.  Trust me, if you saw my agenda for the month of April vs the month of May that would be glaringly obvious.  

I want to write more...I need to write more...but as the tears have begun to fall, I am increasingly less able to do so.  What is PTSD like?  Some days it is like nothing.  Other days it's like nothing I could ever describe.