The Terrifying Boat Ride In The Original Willy Wonka

I guess it began 6 years ago. Not all at once. Slow. Like a winding river. I would notice myself become paranoid about things that I, at one time, never would have thought twice about. Loud noises made me cry. Literally cry. To the point where one a friend opened a to-go box at a restaurant too loudly and there I was, back in the hospital, tubes up and down my arms. Tube coming out of my nose. Those leg compressor things to make sure I didn’t get blood clots. I tear up. “It was just a box, Anna,” she said, “get over it.” Her words cut sharp. But little did either of us know that I had just been triggered into having a flash-back. Motorcycles and loud cars did it too, made me have flashbacks. I had dreams that my stomach was still open and I had to protect it from being touched in any slight way. But it was okay for a while, manageable. Then this past year and a half happened. I guess it was a combo of bipolar and PTSD, but I went crazy trying to numb this phantom pain of which I did not know the source, nor could have dreamed that it would have been the surgery.

When people ask me what it’s like to learn Arabic as a primary English speaker, I say its like treading water with a brick. I would say the same now that I know what to call this silent foe, except I would add that the water I’m treading is in the middle of the Atlantic, no shore in sight. PTSD.

I wore a hole in my bottom sheet because I barely left my bed for about a month. I couldn’t drive farther than the Starbucks down the road for more than two. I would have panic attacks and nightmares almost every night, for seemingly no reason.

But now I have a name for this foe. I can study it, and learn how to defeat it. I just got an American Translators Association t-shirt in the mail… a glimmer of hope. I’m going to live. I’m going to live fully. I’m going to be a translator if I want, or a ballerina, or a pilot. I will not let mental illness stop me.

If you’ve read this far, welcome to my journey. It’s not always pretty, but I can promise it will be gritty and I will come out better on the other side. I hope you stay along for the ride (and for the record it will not be like the terrifying boat ride in the original Willy Wonka that traumatized us all as children.. maybe a little terrifying at times but no Oompa Loompas). See you all on the journey!