I have several family and friends who have been diagnosed with it, and at times, I am able to witness first hand, if I'm paying attention, the effect it has on their lives.
But me? Hell no! Even though I have been through many of the same traumas and life experiences that led to their diagnosis, that's them... not ME!
I am a strong woman, with a strong personality! I am on overcomer! I am a "cry me a river, build a bridge, and get over it" kinda gal!
Or so I thought.
Until the day before Thanksgiving this year.
Until my husband and I, and my beloved Ford truck had a near fatal, chance encounter with a deer while heading to Vermont to spend the holiday with family and friends.
The deer has no PTSD. She was dead upon impact. Sorry deer. But not really. We almost died because of your ridiculous need to explore the other side of the road at that particular moment. I love deer, I love animals of all kinds, always have. But not this one... this one I loathe with an almost psychopathic intensity.
For the first week or so after the accident, my nights were filled with horrible dreams and nightmares, re-living in dreadful slow motion the events of those moments of time as the truck left the paved road, headed down an embankment, became airborne and traveled approximately 75-100 feet through the air before finally hitting a tree. That whole "slow motion" thing that happens during an actual event like that is bad enough, but re-living it night after night, complete with sounds, smells, and tastes; frame by agonizing frame is horrifying!
Because the accident totaled my truck, I have not had the opportunity to spend much time in a vehicle the past several weeks, and when I have, as a rule, I am a passenger. I was a passenger the morning of the accident.
Being in a car with me in the driver's seat is stressful. I am ever-watchful of the sides of the road, paying careful, immediate attention to anything that moves in my direct or peripheral vision... man, beast or vehicle.
I do okay. A bit white knuckled on the steering wheel, a few heart palpitations, and a heightened sense of awareness. All in all, nothing I can't handle with ease.
My being a passenger, however, does not even live in the same zip code as normal or okay. And its getting worse, not better. I am both perplexed and dismayed by what seems to me, a gross over reaction to this life event. I have come to expect better of myself, but this time I cannot seem to get a grip on my very physical and emotional responses.
The day before yesterday, we headed to Vermont again for a job interview for my husband, and because it is the most expedient way to get from Point A to Point B, we were traveling the same route that we used the day of the accident. Had I known the impact it would have on both of us, me especially, we would have chosen differently.
When we were within a few miles of "Ground Zero" my respiration became rapid and shallow. "Get a grip, Cheryl", I mentally commanded myself. I noticed John's eyes begin to dart from one side of the road to the other. Almost instinctively, we reached for each other's hands and held tightly. My heart began to pound, breathing was nearly impossible, and I broke out in a cold, clammy sweat from head to toe. When we actually passed the accident site itself, I burst into tears and started shaking all over. John was also a bit breathless and white-knuckled. He asked repeatedly, "Are you alright? Cheryl, baby, are you okay?" All I could do for several minutes was nod and mumble "Mmm hmmm."
It took several more minutes, and stopping for a cup of coffee at a nearby convenience store, before my breathing was a bit more normal and I stopped shaking like a leaf. I was tempted to say "before I was alright", but that would have been a lie. I "appeared" to have regained my composure, but in reality, it was just a facade. For the remainder of the 3 hour drive, I was quiet, restless, overly watchful and reactionary, and when I did speak, snappy. Without even being aware of it, I was so rigid in my posture during the drive, that when we did stop for nature calls, or gas, I realized most of my joints were aching.
The ride home the following day was even worse, hard to imagine, but true. I have become the world's WORST passenger. I would never want to drive with me as a passenger. My poor husband.
This needs to end. It is completely out of character for me, and therefore, in my own mind, completely unacceptable. Prior to this event, I loved traveling by car and having great adventures. Car trips are a big part of our lives in order to travel near, and sometimes far to rodeo events.
But I am lost without a solution. As yet, I've had no success whatsoever in attempting to just "will" myself to get over it. So what am I supposed to do to regain any sense of normalcy when being a passenger in a car? Does it heal over time? Do I need to buy a horse and buggy? Should I ask a doctor about a small dose of anti-anxiety medication to take before riding in a car? For pete's sake, how the hell do I know? I've never been here before! I don't like the location, and I don't want to stay!
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