PTSD. This morning these are the most important 4 letters in the alphabet, for me.  They are not important individually, and they are not important for the words the initialism represents, at least, not right now. Right now they are only important because they name my experience and give me shared language to attempt to communicate with the world.

“Broken” 2012, detail

For now, I am calm, again. Things seem quiet. An eternity ago the morning started easily and beautifully. Something went very wrong. The brain injury complicates my experience. I’m so fatigued now, and my memory of what went wrong, exactly, and what set me off, and what exactly transpired between then, and some short time later (an hour almost exactly) is all pretty fuzzy and jumbled. Confused. A moment of irritability became ‘an episode’. I don’t actually know what that must be like from the outside…I can’t see me from that perspective. From the inside it is…frightening, actually terrifying, and the loss of control is…hard to describe. Lost in panic and terror, uninhibited aggression is a very real and imminent threat, and the awareness of that adds to my terror and panic. I do remember reaching again and again for mindfulness practices I am learning – this was their first real ‘test drive’ in my emotional ‘badlands’. I kept trying to breathe, to focus on that, to allow that moment of new breath to give me just a bit more control over my actions…no throwing things…breathe…no slamming things…breathe…no head slamming…breathe…no self harm… I achieved a personal best this morning. It wasn’t everything…I’m not strong enough yet, or skilled enough, or… perhaps just too broken. It was finally too much to manage and I was overcome, overwhelmed by chaos and damage. I remember feeling as if I were under attack, as if my life, my will, my liberty were threatened, as if my actual being were at risk of…not being. The world seemed to fall away and I remember crying out…pleading, I think, for help…or mercy.

I am fortunate, so very fortunate. I sit quietly here, soft jazz playing, tears still sliding down my face on and off as my emotions come and go, and my poor tired broken brain does its best to regulate things appropriately. My partner was with me, and he is more prepared than most people to support a partner with the issues I’ve got. “There for me” doesn’t even begin to describe it. He is the voice of reason calmly observing I’ve been triggered; before I realize myself that I’m going off the edge, he’s giving me something to grab onto for emotional leverage, for perspective. He’s the warm embrace comforting me, in spite of my behavior, and emotional state. He’s the thoughtful touches: the ready kleenex, the sympathy, the jazz playlist, the good listener, the wise storyteller. He gives me closeness, then space, as he watches me move through the badlands; helpless to share my experience, ever willing to share ours, and always doing his best to nurture me and helping heal my heart. I can’t ask for more – I doubt there is more to ask for.

My other partner woke later, the worst of it past. Less experienced, but all the love the world to build on, her first question was ‘what can I do to support you?’ with the firm commitment of a soldier on the battlefield, her will and her resolve available on request, without hesitation. I am fortunate to be so well-loved.

I know more about taking care of me, now. I’m taking that very seriously these days. So, today will be that – taking care of me. Recovering. Healing.

“Emotion and Reason” 2012 detail