“Trauma and grief can
get stuck in your body.”
Suleika Jaouad
I recently had a panic attack, or a psychotic episode, I
don’t personally know which. I will most likely discuss it with my psychiatrist
on the Second of July. But sometimes I wonder if I have PTSD. I mean, according
to the Mayo clinic I do. All the symptoms are there: “flashbacks, nightmares,
and severe anxiety.” Hello, from the girl who can barely leave her bed to go to
the Starbucks down the road. Who drowns her grief in alcohol. Who takes
sleeping pills and klonopin to
hopefully dull the recurring nightmares.
When I got diagnosed with cancer, I honestly went blank. I
didn’t respond at all. That’s what I do when something dramatic is happening: I
zone out. All I remember is a single tear dripping down my cheek.
Today a friend recommended a podcast. I’ll admit, for the
first two stories of this TED Radio Hour I didn’t really connect. But then the
third story completely captured my attention. A girl of 22 years diagnosed with
leukemia with a 35% chance of long-term survival. She went through years of
treatment and eventually was “cured” but she said that “cured” wasn’t a state
she knew how to deal with. She said that she didn’t know how to live life cured
and that “Trauma and grief can get stuck in your body.” I immediately started
weeping. The last six years since surgery have been the hardest of my life.
Doctors say that trauma often instigates latent mental illness that otherwise
might not have manifested. I was diagnosed with depression then Bipolar I, then
was reported as being symptomatic of psychosis. But it all felt very connected
to those months when I was sick and healing, before I was officially “cured.”
Suleika said she sometimes fantasized about being sick
again, and I’ll admit that I do, too. To survive is much easier than to live.
To live takes so much courage. Courage I often think that I lack. Like I wasn’t
built for easy sailing but for rough seas. I only know how to cope, not how to
live.
For a few months I’ve almost lived entirely in my bed,
asking my dad to bring home wine after work to calm my nerves and stop my
crying. Having completely abandoned the idea that I might ever work out again,
friends and family gently suggest that I take a walk around my neighborhood.
That would be lovely if I could even make the walk to the kitchen for food. On
the weekends I typically stay one or two nights at my boyfriend’s apt. in
Norfolk, the one drive I can always, unfathomably seem to make. Oh yeah, I
don’t really drive anymore. I don’t know but the thought of driving more than
ten minutes from home (minus my boyfriend’s) can almost put me in a state of
hyperventilation where I sink deep into my bed, pleading with God to grant me
the peace of nonexistence.
I don’t have a pretty bow to tie on this blog post. If you
relate at all, please message me; I would love to talk. If you’re fine,
healing, or cured, I pray you experience the peace that passes understanding
and know the nearness of Jehovah Rapha, the Lord
Who Heals.
No comments:
Post a Comment