The Vermilion Road - A haircut and a movie

Yesterday morning, I settled into my comfy chair with a cup of coffee steaming nearby. My dogs positioned themselves at my feet and a cat settled on my lap between me and my computer. Dvořák’s New World Symphony offered just the right amount of background blur to encourage my creativity to hum along. I have no clue where the hell the other cat was – probably looking for trouble. She’s sneaky like that. That’s why we love her. That’s also why she has a bell on her collar.

I started writing a brand new post. I got a good chunk of it down and not just as an initial draft either. I was writing stuff that was actually going to make the final cut. I was pleased. It was good. Then I had to stop. It was time to get my hair cut. This felt like a bad idea.

When I’m in the zone, I hate to pause. It doesn’t matter if I’m hungry. It doesn’t matter if I need to pee. It doesn’t matter if it’s past my bedtime and I have to get up early the next day. It doesn’t matter if I’ve been working for five minutes or fifteen hours. If my writing is going well, time does not exist. I have to get every word out while it’s still vibrant and alive in my head. This state of writing nirvana is not a given, so when my brain and fingers are communicating like soul mates – I don’t want to stop. I write until I run out of words.

My son understands this. Mr. C knows that if he speaks to me while I’m writing, one of three things will happen.

If I respond immediately and make eye contact, he can keep talking. I may even be ready to take a break and go do something else.
If I throw my hand up in the air like a stop sign, he should sit tight and go on about his own business until I look up from my computer. Then he can say whatever he wants.
If I simultaneously give him the hand and shush him – shhhh! – then he shouldn’t do anything that might interrupt the ideas bouncing around in my head. He might want to consider going to make a cup of tea or even retiring for the night. He definitely shouldn’t wait for me to feed him. He might perish first.

Yesterday’s post was about the unfortunate way PTSD is portrayed by the entertainment industry and, to a lesser extent, the media. I described how skewed and incomplete, or even flat out wrong this portrayal usually is. Yet this is the main message the general public hears about PTSD. I had a lot to say about this particular topic. I was on a roll.

But then I had to get that dang haircut. If I hadn’t booked my appointment ages ago, I might have skipped it. Let me tell you, I’m seriously glad I didn’t. Not only do I now have a full head of glossy hair, but I also ended up stopping for a good long chat with my parents and then running off to see a movie with a friend. And because of that movie, I scrapped everything I’d written and started over.

Portraying this disorder accurately is tough – I get it. The symptoms can be combined in an endless variety of ways and their severity depends on an infinite number of variables. This is not a one-size fits all sort of a disorder. And obviously, there is no way to portray PTSD in a way that will speak to everyone who struggles with it.

A Private War spoke to me.

Trigger warning – if your PTSD comes from combat trauma or first-hand exposure to genocide or war, this movie is probably not for you.

Rosamund Pike was brilliant as real-life war correspondent Marie Colvin who was killed in 2012 as she exposed the truth about the Syrian government’s war on civilians. The entire movie is worth your time, but the PTSD side of things really hit home. There were times that I gripped the arms of my seat hard, reminding myself that the actor in the movie was triggering – not me. I’m not sure how Ms. Pike prepared for her role, but she nailed those intrusive memory scenes. At one point she repeatedly shakes her head as she tries to rid her brain of the horrors she has seen. This was a small moment in the movie, but it sucked the oxygen out of the theater as it washed over me. I have done this same head shake more times than I can count. Watching someone else do it flattened me. But at the same time it was fascinating and strangely satisfying. It looks crazy. And it looks exactly how I’ve felt every time I’ve done it. I could feel her excruciating and desperate need to banish the memories that refuse to leave her alone for even one second. Holy hell.

Any time I see someone else’s PTSD on full display, I understand my own symptoms a little bit more. It reinforces that there are others out there who know exactly what it feels like inside my head. Watching that movie was a good reminder of how much effort I’ve put into recovering and how much progress I’ve made.

I am resilient. I am determined. And I am healing.

Happy Thanksgiving.