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Apr. 29th, 2009 09:31 pmI've been living a relatively interior life lately, family, work, self, hobbies. Very little "fighting the good fight". I suspect that the extended election season last year wore me out on that front. That, and for the first time in a very long time, I trust those who are in power if not to do everything right, at least to look at issues thoroughly and not solely through a political lens.
As for me? I made the decision this week to undergo EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization Reprocessing) treatment for my PTSD and panic attacks. I haven't done anything yet but give a history to the therapist (and you all have that, anyhow) but frankly I'm terrified. I know this therapy, not as a practitioner, because it is a very specialized therapy and I have not (yet) been trained in it, but as someone who did extensive research in college on PTSD treatments. Even though it is a well researched and reportedly very effective technique, the idea of purposefully reliving my traumas is terrifying to me. The only thing more terrifying is allowing my anxiety to close me in inch by gradual inch until I wake up one day housebound and unable to control my life any longer. As the agoraphobia and sleep disorders are beginning to get noticeably worse, I decided it was time.
Husband pointed out why I'm so functional at work and why I struggle so much at home. At work, like any good soldier, I shoulder my gear, grab up my weapon, and enter the fray. I know my role and I know how to survive. At home, when it's time to relax, I can't set down that role, I can't put my weapon away, I can't relax. There is no "mellow" for me internally, though my armor is made of mellow and my clients, and to a lesser extent, my staff, see me as an easygoing person. Even my sleep is exhausting, as I enter one battle after another in my sleep. I'm in danger of burnout, and I'm constantly at the edge of physical collapse, even though I am very conscientious about taking care of myself.
I'm really good about being open when things are going well, when I feel strong and able and angry. when I'm feeling vulnerable, I hide behind my intellect and retreat into quiet, reflective pastimes where I don't have to admit my imperfections to others. I'm not angry right now. I've been able to relax the "save the world" load I was carrying, and when I let it down, I realized I was tired, and sore, and damaged. Caring for others, fighting the political fights, has allowed me to keep functioning while I was falling deeper and deeper into phobias and panic attacks that were getting increasingly difficult to "work around". I miss family gatherings that I really wanted to go to, because I didn't feel up to driving to Nearby City, less than an hour away. I find myself refusing to go anywhere on the weekends, and hiding away from activities I enjoy because leaving the house and getting there are a barrier.
So, yeah. I'm pretty messed up. Still working full time, still raising my kids and loving my husband, but finally admitting I need help, and getting it. And the one thing that most terrifies me? What if I open up, and let it out, and seek help, and it doesn't work. I watched my mother's world shrink smaller and smaller from the time I was a little girl, until at the end of her life she left her twenty foot long motor home only to go to the grocery store, and only with help. I inherited this, and then I experienced multiple traumas that still, twenty years later, haunt my sleep and intrude on my daily life far too often. I'm terrified.
As for me? I made the decision this week to undergo EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization Reprocessing) treatment for my PTSD and panic attacks. I haven't done anything yet but give a history to the therapist (and you all have that, anyhow) but frankly I'm terrified. I know this therapy, not as a practitioner, because it is a very specialized therapy and I have not (yet) been trained in it, but as someone who did extensive research in college on PTSD treatments. Even though it is a well researched and reportedly very effective technique, the idea of purposefully reliving my traumas is terrifying to me. The only thing more terrifying is allowing my anxiety to close me in inch by gradual inch until I wake up one day housebound and unable to control my life any longer. As the agoraphobia and sleep disorders are beginning to get noticeably worse, I decided it was time.
Husband pointed out why I'm so functional at work and why I struggle so much at home. At work, like any good soldier, I shoulder my gear, grab up my weapon, and enter the fray. I know my role and I know how to survive. At home, when it's time to relax, I can't set down that role, I can't put my weapon away, I can't relax. There is no "mellow" for me internally, though my armor is made of mellow and my clients, and to a lesser extent, my staff, see me as an easygoing person. Even my sleep is exhausting, as I enter one battle after another in my sleep. I'm in danger of burnout, and I'm constantly at the edge of physical collapse, even though I am very conscientious about taking care of myself.
I'm really good about being open when things are going well, when I feel strong and able and angry. when I'm feeling vulnerable, I hide behind my intellect and retreat into quiet, reflective pastimes where I don't have to admit my imperfections to others. I'm not angry right now. I've been able to relax the "save the world" load I was carrying, and when I let it down, I realized I was tired, and sore, and damaged. Caring for others, fighting the political fights, has allowed me to keep functioning while I was falling deeper and deeper into phobias and panic attacks that were getting increasingly difficult to "work around". I miss family gatherings that I really wanted to go to, because I didn't feel up to driving to Nearby City, less than an hour away. I find myself refusing to go anywhere on the weekends, and hiding away from activities I enjoy because leaving the house and getting there are a barrier.
So, yeah. I'm pretty messed up. Still working full time, still raising my kids and loving my husband, but finally admitting I need help, and getting it. And the one thing that most terrifies me? What if I open up, and let it out, and seek help, and it doesn't work. I watched my mother's world shrink smaller and smaller from the time I was a little girl, until at the end of her life she left her twenty foot long motor home only to go to the grocery store, and only with help. I inherited this, and then I experienced multiple traumas that still, twenty years later, haunt my sleep and intrude on my daily life far too often. I'm terrified.
