I saw my doctor right before Thanksgiving. It was supposed to be a weight-loss checkup (I lost 2 lbs which probably means I just wore lighter shoes – I’ll weigh barefoot and sleeveless next!) and general how-are-you-feeling visit but it quickly turned into a bigger deal than I expected.
I finally showed her a list of symptoms I’ve been having for a long time and after glancing over my list and asking me a ton of questions, she asked me to put the weight-loss on hold until the holidays are over (as in not STRESS about losing). My doctor thinks not only do I need to go back on anti-depressants but that I’m possibly suffering with Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome. The possible PTSD seems to be stemming from leaving Fundamentalism and Christianity in general.
It’s been a few years since I’ve been able to drive without having panic attacks, I have a list of phobias that keeps getting longer, and I keep having horrible, horrible nightmares. As a friend recently said, PTSD is that your mind hasn’t put the event into long-term memory. So it lingers in the present and short-term memory. And without warning, BAM – it’s in front of you. And then you find yourself in the bathtub with a knife carefully balanced on the edge. Just having the choice to do something drastic seems powerful enough to calm the trauma inside. It can get dangerous quickly. With no warning.
This past month has been particularly emotional with the petition to remove Chuck Phelps from the Bob Jones University Board and the Do Right BJU campaign. After reading through the growing number of stories and signatures, my stomach aches for hours. I emailed with one friend who was reliving her sexual abuse trauma at the school (that wasn’t reported!) and my dreams that night were so vivid that I was scared someone was in the apartment with me and woke up begging Daniel to check on Drew.
I have a list of therapists that I’m supposed to call and hopefully I’ll meet with one this month and see what their professional opinion is on all of this. I’ve been avoiding therapy for a long time and I guess I can’t stop running from it any longer. It’s just really hard to stop hearing that person tell me “all the people in mental hospitals are people who stopped believing in God!” It’s hard to admit I may have mental health problems when I feel like most people are just going to say “IT IS A SPIRITUAL PROBLEM. GOD HAS JUST HARDENED YOUR HEART. I PITY YOU.”
I just can’t escape the nouthetic counseling that damaged my brain and heart.
One encouraging bit was that my doctor was just so genuinely sweet about all of it. She listened to everything I had to say, asked really, really interesting questions, and hugged me so tightly.
I’m going to just slowly breathe and enjoy December. And see if some of this mental anguish eases. And then January will bring a new beginning and a Fifty-Two Weeks project of weight loss. Fifty-two weeks. Yikes.
Jennifer,
My dear transplanted Northern friend, I wish I could wrap you up in a hug. I started therapy almost eighteen months ago and had I not, I believe there’s a good possibility I might not be here now, writing this note to you. When I was finally good and tired of being consumed with doubt and hurt, I made a few calls and made an appointment with a therapist. It was hard to admit that I needed help, but I knew if I didn’t, I wasn’t going to make it much longer.
I’ve never been through the religious warfare you’ve endured and I can’t begin to imagine how difficult that must have been–to be completely alienated from something that defined you for most of your life and to try to pick up the pieces and figure out what to do next. I’d imagine we’ve both felt the same kind of loss, anger, grief, doubt and hopelessness, though for different reasons. I eventually came to a place where I didn’t necessarily want to die, but I didn’t care if I lived. I was constantly exhausted, reliving in my head all the trauma that had happened, wanting nothing more than to WAKE UP. It felt like being trapped in a bad movie stuck on repeat.
Therapy absolutely wasn’t what I thought it was going to be. My biggest fear was being labeled. I was scared she was going to put some psychological term on me and then I’d be branded for life; like I’d have to wear a tag that said, “Damaged goods” or something. So much healing happened when she gave me permission to be sad or angsty or furious or even nothing at all. I was going to feel all of those things anyway, but being given permission… changed everything. Just as I was given permission to be broken, she helped me get my voice back and the feisty woman I thought had died, returned, defiant as ever, determined to piece myself back together.
I’ve got a long way to go, but I’m thankful that it’s not over… the struggles, though fewer and farther between, remind me not to give up. There’s beauty on the other side of this darkness and all I have to do is reach for it. I encourage you to try therapy. There are so many wonderful insights to be gained and breakthroughs to be had. Sometimes we just need a little push from someone who has no stake in our outcome and nothing to lose should we flail about in a messy heap. 🙂 <– This was me… a flailing mess for the first 5 sessions. Heh. My friends and family loved me and in their love, they tried to counsel me, but I couldn't HEAR it. In therapy, even though I know she's telling me things others have told me sometimes, for the first time, I HEAR it with my soul.
I love you to pieces. If you ever want to gab or cry or holler, I'm not so far away. 🙂
Shannon,
Your comment was a hug!! Thank you so much.
I’m just still struggling against the idea that I need help. It’s ingrained in me that when you have problems – it’s your own doing and you need to pull yourself up by your bootstraps and fix it yourself.
But I am pursuing therapy. It might wait until the holidays are over but I will get there.
I love you too. And I’m so incredibly proud of you for making leaps and bounds even with so much heartache.