Before and after

Think about your brain’s memory storage system. What comes to mind? For me, as someone leaning toward the visual side of life, it’s an image – my brain is a giant file cabinet. I know, I know – not very original. But never fear, it’s not one of those ugly office colors like putty or cool gray – bland and insignificant. Instead, my brain is a vermilion tower reaching toward the sky. It is a massive and highly organized skyscraper of information filled with more drawers than I can count, chocked full of intricate details of my life. On the front of each drawer, just above the pull, there’s a full color photo that offers a clue as to the contents. It’s pretty nifty, if I do say so myself.

As you might imagine, in those first days following the crime, my brain was working overtime. Not only did it need to create a ridiculous number of new files, but it was also accessing the data stored up there as it searched for clues to help explain WTF had just happened and why. I had a to-do list that was expanding exponentially with each tick-tock of the clock and I didn’t want to make any mistakes. So the wheels in my brain didn’t stop, they kept spinning day and night.

Even in the midst of all that activity, I noticed differences in the way my mind was functioning. One of the strangest was a shift in the way it was labeling my memories. It was as if a line had been carved through the very bedrock of my brain. On one side was “Before”, on the other “After”.

It made sense to label events that occurred around the time of the crime in this way, but my brain didn’t stop there. It sent out a massive update to my entire history of memory and has continued to add tags to all of my newer memories. Now when I pull a file folder out, there’s a “B.C.” or “A.C.” rubber stamped in red, right on front where I can’t miss it.

Before Crime.

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After Crime.

Every. Single. Memory. I. Have. From the day I learned to ride a bike when I was seven to the play Mr. C and I attended in Seattle last weekend. I don’t know about you, but this seems a bit like overkill to me.

What so fascinates me about this memory division is that my PTSD did not come from that one traumatic event. My PTSD is a compilation effort, let’s think of it as another tower, but this one like a game of Jenga, unstable and always threatening to collapse while simultaneously taking me out. This tower is also full of experiences, but they all began with that very first day after the crime. Granted, that piece – the foundation of the whole structure – was quite a cataclysmic doozy, but if that had been the end of it, I am certain I would have recovered without professional help.

Instead, in the year that followed the crime, additional blocks composed of betrayal, fear, chaos, and loss were added, often on a daily basis. As the tower grew, my trauma symptoms multiplied and became more challenging to manage. Ultimately, my brain erected a PTSD tower so immense that it blotted out the very sun and sky. I was its prisoner. I needed help.

This is a disorder that is confusing, not just to folks lacking first-hand experience but also to those of us who are actively living with it. Sometimes the symptoms are predictable and obvious, like an overactive startle response or a compulsive need to make sure the doors are locked fifty times a day. But at other times it seems nonsensical or even downright bizarre, like my brain reclassifying every single memory I have in temporal relation to the crime. If those of us who struggle with PTSD only had to cope with one symptom at a time, most of us would have no trouble maintaining our regular lives and getting the things done that need to get done each day. But that’s not how PTSD works.

PTSD is not:

• Overwhelming anger – or –
• The inability to trust others – or –
• Being on guard at all times – or –
• An exaggerated startle response – or –
• Trouble with memory and concentration – or –
• A fear of public places – or –
• The need to sit with your back to the door – or –
• Feeling anxious or panicky in a variety of situations – or –
• Experiencing inappropriate guilt or shame – or –
• A need to be in control at all times – or –
• Feeling depressed – or –
• A lack of control over repetitive and highly disturbing memories – or –
• Using any means necessary to cope, even if detrimental to your health, relationships, or finances – or –
• Nightmares – or –
• A need to avoid the things that remind you of your trauma – or –
• A never-ending number of other symptoms, big and small

PTSD is often all of these things, or some combination of them, at the same time.

No wonder this disorder destroys lives and entire families. No wonder so many combat veterans are homeless and living on the street. No wonder suicide rates are higher for professionals who are exposed to trauma on a regular basis.

No wonder people with PTSD lose hope.

It is brutal.

This is not a disorder to be trifled with. If you suspect you have PTSD, please get help. There are effective treatments available. And there are a lot of us out here who are standing with you. We want you to find the treatment that works for you. We want you to find hope again.

Today’s photos are from a crazy-fun weekend in Upstate New York. Mr. C and I went to the Sleepy Hollow Cemetery. I get that some of you are not fans of doing touristy things with dead people buried underfoot, but I LOVE it. I can’t tell you how many of my stories are born in cemeteries. Really, people, it’s a lot.

#PTSDandMe