I like to be straight up, because I just can’t grow without being so.
It is hard to do sometimes, because of the emotional pain.
This is one of those posts…apologies for errors upfront.
Understanding my triggers that set off my PTSD, has been a traumatic journey in itself. It is an added disorder I aquired formally, after the passing of my chronically ill son in 2008. I was not diagnosed formally until 2014; after checking myself into a mental- health crisis facility, because I wanted to kill myself, and my meds were not working.
I was not aware I had PTSD at all…even though I had almost every one of the symptoms. I just thought I was going crazy, and that people that went to war were the only ones that had it, or could get it.
I was wrong.
Although my son’s death in 2008 and the injustices surrounding it, are technically the propellers that pushed me into the PTSD symptoms presenting themselves in the extreme way they did; the spiral down took years, and my actual formal diagnosis didn’t come until 2014. I suspect I’ve had it way longer than that though; as far back as my later elementary years. That suspicion comes based on what I remember and went through as a child; regarding my family life back then; what I know about PTSD and how it forms; and how many other times I’ve spiraled down and had mental issues and lapses arise in my life before my son’s death; that I could not control or cope with, and had to be hospitalized for. Issues from my past. I’m Doctor-approved mental now, if that makes you feel better.
Seems like everyone in my family wants to put on blinders and forget that my childhood was dysfunctional as fuck too; but I remember. It’s not worth talking about , because I’m just trying to lay out the fact that the symptoms were already there before Karter left.
I remember when my son first passed, and I felt like I was literally going to die.
I often equate it to someone walking directly up to me, and putting a shotgun to my heart, and pulling the trigger.
Only it is not over afterwards….because you live through it over and over again.
You die again the next day, the same exact way… and so on and so forth, but with memories of trauma, and not a gun…Every day. You can’t much wake up, or make the thoughts stop when you want to.
It’s a bad problem.
It’s exactly like the movie Groundhog Day with Bill Murray, but way more messed up and traumatic; and way more anxiety. It hits usually without warning, out of the blue because of something that triggers a memory that triggers a cycle.
That’s what it is for me.
How do you begin to mend the pieces of yourself together, when you feel like there’s nothing remaining to stitch?
How do you go from doing absolutely everything 24/7 for your multiply disabled child one day, and every day for three-and-a-half years….to nothing, and gone forever, in 12 hours, with needless suffering and Dr. Neglect?
It’s going to cause some issues for some.
I don’t talk about it…because it makes other people uncomfortable.
No one knows, except the people who unfortunately have been there, and are there…and live through it every day. Some seem to manage trauma well…
This broke me.
I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. The loss of A child… OR the disorder
It’s a curse… An elite club that’s becoming more popular, that you don’t want to be in.
My son was pronounced dead right in front of me in the hospital, after the nurse came in and basically screamed out “I think he’s dead!”. I woke up to that, (as I was dozing because we were waiting, and I was 72- hour tired)..and to my horror, he WAS dead.
It was surreal.
I still to this day see his face the last time I saw him alive. He looked scared and I knew he would end up going. I was scared too, because I knew I was going to lose one of the only things that I had ever loved, and I couldn’t do anything at all, but wait. His meds weren’t even working… It haunts me.
How do you stop something that is happening as you sleep? How do you speed up paperwork and other hospital political bullshit when it is in the works, but not fast enough; so they will help your son, and he won’t leave your life forever?
It haunts me.
It was the most helpless feeling ever that I have had, in my entire life…
I think of my son, and what I know now.
My son’s internal organs were backing up, and he was micro-asperating on liquid fecal matter, because his bowel ruptured from a year-old surgery, and no one would listen or do anything when I told them directly that he was dying. They let him lay there for 12 hours, suffering. They gave him Tylenol and said it wasn’t a surgical matter.
They didn’t even do the proper tests.
I could not have stopped it, or sped up anything. I did everything I could think of to get someone to help and listen. It was as if everything was in a fog, and everything and everyone had it’s place in time….pre-determined.
No one even came to help us despite my pleads until he was already dead, and the nurse found him. As soon as I fell asleep after being up for three days straight, he passes; then everyone comes. They worked on him for 22 minutes, and he was already dead for 20 minutes already, and I still see his little legs and feet flipping around on the table from the people doing CPR on him, to this day. I still remember my brain on loop, This is not happening…. I’m on the phone with my ex, and I can’t think, and I’m going to pass out, and I’m in the park dancing and singing with Karter again for a moment, and then life stops.
He’s gone, and they call it… And my life stops too…
And I still live it in my head.
No one knows.
It comes to me in dreams and daily similarities, that I can’t get away from in life. Mentally it’s draining and it affects personal relationships and life for me in various ways…it used to be chunks of time in my life even that I could do nothing but self-medicate, gone…before I learned how to get a handle on it.
Some other facts.
I haven’t had one direct conversation about any of those final moments with karter, with a family member, ever. Including my ex-husband. People wonder why I self-medicated and couldn’t cope.
No one understood. My family was good for about a month on and off, before they stopped calling.
I never once got any support for the issue, other than prescribed pills and people paid to listen to me, but not actually hearing anything I said. In the end I started saying crazy things, because I didn’t care anymore and I wanted to die. I held SO much anger and resentment towards certain people for Karter’s passing, and God, and my lack of relief from it all; and I wasn’t going anywhere good with that. I. Felt resentment towards people, because they couldn’t understand my anger with the situation, and acted like I should just get over it after two weeks, a month, a year… Life goes on.
But it didn’t for ME.
They let my son just lay there and suffer and die, and I had to watch it.
Fix that for me please.
Night terrors…the night terrors too
I stopped eating for four months afterwards. I was on pills and drinking and hiding it at the end, because I.Could.Not.Cope.
My ex- husband even tried to lock me away in a home for six months, instead of actually helping me…
Yes, I had anger.
I left life as I knew it after that, because I needed to survive and I knew I was going down; my marriage was over and I did not want to mess up my other kids more than the BS they’d already been through because of it all.
I still messed them up anyways; I messed everything up.
It’s been the absolutely worse thing in my life that I’ve ever had to go through and deal with….ever.
I can’t even put into words how it’s changed me mentally.
You can tell.
I don’t know why I can’t get over it.
A long, hard, painful, lonely road of recovery is what I’ve actually been doing since 2008; On And off. When I think about all the personal sacrifices I’ve made to get well again, I have to give myself the credit I deserve even if no one else will, because despite everything, I was able to get better to the level of being stable again, without synthetic anything…and controlling my symptoms and anxiety from it, with a plant that grows out of the ground and is natural.
Judge me all you want.
Every day I continue to get just a little bit more ok with the fact that those bad memories are just memories now…that that was a life I knew long ago, and will never be again. I don’t have to live in it anymore.
I will most likely never have actual relations with my remaining children or family members, to the level of it actually being genuine or mattering. It’s quite a bitter pill to swallow, because I did not and could not control the things I couldn’t have, and I did not control the things I should have, to recoup. that privledge.
I was sick, and I needed help. Everyone gave up on me, and I gave up on me too. I tortured myself mentally in ways that you will never know or feel.
I am still sick, but I manage it responsibly now, because it’s all I can do. I’m WAY better than I’ve ever been.
I have spent many, many years coming to terms with the fact that I lost my son because he had issues that I could not fix.
I felt guilt because I think I would have done things a lot differently, had I known what was actually going on in full- spectrum. I was completely naive to medication interactions, related side-effects, and the fact that sometimes doctors aren’t always right. His death was slow, but sudden and traumatic…all major factors. I felt guilt because I listened to doctors tell me what to do; and I did it; and in the end it completely backfired and my son died anyways, because they didn’t do anything that THEY were supposed to do. I felt guilt because I couldn’t control anything that was going on around me, and after he passed…I lost my mind and couldn’t recover the losses. I’ve hurt my remaining children forever because of it, and it will never be the same.
You never see it until afterwards; but you feel it where it counts, every day after you realize.
To let go of the fact that I could not get the time back and I had to let my 3 1/2 year old son go for good, was unbearable. But I knew I had to do it somehow, because re-living the bad times wasn’t making anything good for me, and it was killing me slowly, right along in sync with my vices.
It is what it is, and the memories remain.
I sought the support of anything positive and literally clawed my way through this PTSD shit completely alone through reading about it, synthetic medication, keeping myself alive, journaling, and crying a whole lot.
I’m at the level now, where I do not allow myself to dwell too long in his passing, and I keep myself away from the triggers I know will rev up my symptoms; such as alcohol, any form of synthetic, and shitty people who do shitty things, and don’t understand.
I don’t know it’s just something I live with, and I know that It’s always gonna’ be there, and it’s real.
I’m not too sure about this blog exactly, except that I feel better for getting it out there.
Maybe people can understand that it’s changed me, and who I am.
I don’t know how to talk about it, because I wish I didn’t have it, but I can’t stop myself from remembering.
It’s just one of those blogs.
I know that even though I struggle with this now, I was still chosen to be Karter’s mother and that never changes. I can live in the good memories now, if I just do. Some days are better than others for sure. I miss him… I remember him and his light. I know he’s better, and with me always.
I guess we all carry things that leave scars…and this is just the biggest one of mine. I’m glad to be officially diagnosed too, because it gave me a place to start understanding that I could get better and manage it.
Thanks for reading.
J.Rounds ©2017 ~Peaces of ME