Hello

I was diagnosed with PTSD when I was 37 years old. (I turned 38 in August of 2017.) It wasn't something I sought out, but I always knew that something in my brain was off. I knew that I had ADHD and Bipolar disorder. I knew that certain situations caused me great stress and anxiety. I knew that I had experienced a high amount of ACEs (Adverse Childhood Events) for a woman who is white and grew up in the middle class with many privileges. I knew that some of my responses were inappropriate, but I wrote them off as my quirkiness and being socially awkward. The thing is, being quirky and having a serious mental illness that affects your mind AND body in profound lasting ways are very different situations. One thing I had to do was be proactive, and a little bit pushy, to find the source of my symptoms. I needed a way to repair a damage that was aging my body and hampered my spirit. And I didn't want to be gaslighted by another person who looked at a fat white woman and sees another bored housewife in need of a diet, some cardio, and a bottle of pills. (Not to say I am against medication. Sometimes it is VERY necessary and I have even used meds. But when pills are the only treatment suggested, there is a disconnect.)

The paradigm of my broken brain was shifted when I was given a diagnosis. I finally understood that there was an explanation for my symptoms. It was comforting to have a diagnosis, while also infuriating to realize that I had exhibited symptoms of PTSD from age 5 to the present and not a single psychological provider, PCP, teacher, special education counselor or school counselor identified it in me. I attempted suicide and had a massive panic attack complete with flashbacks and tangible hallucinations (in 2 distinct instances). I was hospitalized both times, but the psych ward doctor didn't see PTSD in me. Initially, my mind would get into cycles of spinning over the what if's and missed opportunities that were denied me by the ignorance and stereotypes that existed surrounding PTSD. I didn't fit the image people had of the grizzled wartorn veteran who is barely functional. Also, I have since learned that part of how the disease presents in me is a complete inability to trust basically anyone except for small children and animals. (Seriously, I was so isolated. I didn't trust my parents. Teachers were not safe either. Basically, all adults were betrayers and didn't have my best interest at heart. The reality was far from that, but past experience had so damaged my ability to trust people that I had to assume the worst in order to protect myself.)

As an adult just learning of my diagnosis, I wanted to find a "cure" for my crazy brain. I proactively looked for a therapist that had a practice focusing on PTSD, trauma, depression, and anxiety disorders. I had read that EMDR was a very effective treatment, and I just wanted the problems to go away. It's a funny thing, though. I began seeing this therapist, but every time things started to become uncomfortable for me I would change the subject. It took 4 months of weekly appointments for me to broach the topic of starting in on the hard stuff, meaning EMDR treatment. And an additional 5 months to actually have a session. (I had my first EMDR treatment session today.) It didn't take me so long to begin treatment because I thought it was ineffective. It took so long because I was afraid. And I had grown accustomed to feeling daily panic. Starting to work on integrating traumatic memories was a scary concept. It meant really digging deep and actually trying to put into words experiences that bring me to tears even thinking about them. But the work is worth it. I can do hard things. And this is one of the hardest I've ever attempted to tackle.

One of the ways I am dealing with PTSD is getting a service dog. When I first got the diagnosis, I thought it would be a good idea to get a service dog to accent the treatment I get from a therapist. It was a daunting task. One that I will write about in my next post. But suffice it to say, Hippo is a life saver. She's so integral to my everyday life that when I go for ear surgery tomorrow, she will accompany me and be there when I wake up from anesthesia. I hope that I will reach a place in my recovery that I can cross-train Hippo so that she will no longer need to be my service dog but can be a therapy dog instead. It would be a great way to retire-going from performing many specific tasks to just sitting and accepting rubs, scratches, and love.

I'm not sure how often I'll be writing this. But I really want to share my experiences with PTSD. I want to share my experiences with getting/training/handling my service dog. I really want this to be a resource for others who like me struggle but want to be functional and happy.