Author Archives: A Year in the Life of PTSD

There’s a dog in my life

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There’s a dog in my life who came by way of his own trauma. Thurman is a Maltese who spent the first 7 years of his life in a cage breeding. His hair fell out from neglect, and when the owners took him to the vet the vet took Thurman from them and placed him in rescue. When I heard that story I remember thinking I wish I had a vet who would have told my parents you’re unfit I’m taking this child from you because that’s essentially what happened to Thurman. 

Thurman languished in foster care because his hair took some time to grow back, and he was extremely aloof. He’s not the kind of dog that cuddles or licks people. We took one look at him, and we told his foster mom, “Oh we understand his situation, we’re happy to have him.” And true to form, he ignored us for months. He would just eat, potty, and sleep and give us sideways suspicious glances. It was cool to see him discover blankets and sheets and comfort. Though he didn’t like us seeing him bask in comfort. If Thurman saw us glancing at him while he rubbbed his face in the blanket he would stop and I swear he would look a little embarrassed. 

If you pet him too long, or heaven forbid, if Letty hugs him too long, he takes off. And forget having him cuddle with you or even nestle into you. That was just not something in the cards for him, until it was. We got him December 2019, right before COVID. For all those years he never came to me or snuggled with me until that Saturday last month when the first memories fell out of my brain. 

That Saturday night I was on the couch crying when Thurman got up from his corner of the couch, climbed on top of me, and then just settled into me like it was something he did every night. I was so in my own hellspace that I hardly noticed it. In fact, my wife brought my attention to it by her own reaction, “The dog, baby! He knows you need comfort. Look at that!” In my own fuzzy universe I finally truly felt Thurman on me. And you would think my reaction would be something like, “Oh Thurman, I love you, too.” Instead, I remember thinking to myself, “Really, Thurman, now I’m going to remember this moment together with one of the worst moments of my life.” 

And sure enough this morning I found him cuddled up next to me on the bed, and I had a moment of joy followed by sadness that just sticks and doesn’t let go, and I think it’s going to be that way for a long time.

Maybe sometimes it’s better not to know

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I now know what I didn’t know last Saturday before noon. I know so much more, and yet I know I probably know only a small window, but that small window is plenty to hurt the heart. I came to this dissociation journey with parts first, and just hazy memories that really didn’t compute for me how they led to the parts I have. When the question would come up if I am a survivor, I would say, “I guess?” in that not so sure, questiony, wishy washy answer that would annoy me because it’s not like me to be wishy washy with answers.

And the memories keep coming like a flood, a freight train. So much crying and so much pretending. Pretending because I have to work. Thank god for remote work. Thank god for parts. I’ll cry, and then my part that loves to work will emerge like magic for a meeting. Then, when it’s done, we’ll cry for a spell. I’m thankful that I’m not called upon all too often for a sudden or unplanned need for an on-camera meeting. Usually, if something comes up, I just get a Teams message. I can read a Team message through tears. Sure, I welcome work distractions while my brain is flooded with images. For a spot of time, I can pretend I don’t have images in my head, and I can work on something someone needs from me.

On a good day, my work part will completely take over, and I’ll feel like I can do anything because this part is, quite frankly, awesomely confident and unflappable. I have a new therapist, and he called me this week on one of those good days. He caught on right away that a different part was talking to him on the phone. He said, “Hmmm, who am I speaking with?” The next day he said to me, “She’s so articulate!” I said, “Yes, I wish she was here all the time.”

I’ll get a respite from the memories, and I’ll mistakenly think it’s over. And I’ll feel almost like myself again. But, it’s a trick. They come back. I asked my wife, “Do you think it’s over? That’s it?” She just looked at me with so much love, and I don’t remember what she said, but I know it was an answer I didn’t want to hear. And, yes, later that same day the memories were back, like they never left.

I thought, wrongly, that I knew all there was to know about that place and time. After all, I knew what I knew, and nothing more.

A New Day. A New Home

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I originally stopped blogging regularly because someone came across my blog who knew me, and that was not necessarily a bad thing, until it was. They were quick to figure out it was me blogging. Unfortunately, my mental health challenges were used against me. It was a time of immense struggle, and I worked through it without turning to this blog, which had been a source of connection for me. I say all this for explanation without getting into the details.

This was all years ago, but it’s still hard to come back to this page. Much has happened since then. I got married. Moved out of state. Lived there for a bit over 5 years, and then my wife and I just moved out of that state. The first thing I did before we moved was to get a new therapist. Can’t take your therapist with you unless they are licensed in your new state. The DID therapist I found in my area has a waiting list. So, I went back to reading bio after bio of therapists in my area. You can spend hours doing this, and I did. I had a plane delayed for multiple hours in the airport, and I just kept looking up therapists and reading about them. I used the Sensorimotor Psychotherapy Institute directory, and I also used the International Society for the Study of Trauma and Dissociation’s directory. I didn’t find anyone using those sources, though I still recommend using those sites as a starting point. Surprisingly, I found my therapist on the inclusive therapists online directory. Part of my wish list was that they have experience treating someone with DID and that they are local, so that I can have in person sessions. The therapist I chose is in my state, but about 400 miles away. So far, only virtual sessions until I decide to take a trip to see them in person. And they have not ever had a client with DID. But, I feel comfortable with them, and, ultimately, that is the most important thing with a therapist. They can be the most qualified and experienced, but if you’re not comfortable with them, well, the therapeutic relationship is not going to work.

Having a new therapist is like a blank canvas, an unwritten journal. They have no backstory. I am so accustomed to sharing something in therapy without having to provide background. Sometimes it feel exhausting with all the context I have to give to even start to explain why something is a challenge for me. But that’s the process. My new therapist says to trust the process. I am working on that.

The other concern is cost. This is the most I’ve ever paid for a therapist. I recognize that my previous therapist was very generous with the rate she gave me. I knew and know that most therapists will need to charge more. Unfortunately, many therapists these days are not participating providers on health insurance plans. My understanding is that this is because of how therapists are often treated by health care providers, so I understand why so few are participating providers. In all my research, anyone I was considering was not a participating provider on any health plan. That means you have to pay out of pocket, which can be a hardship for many. I can afford it for now. Have no idea if I will be able to afford it long term, but I am taking it one day at a time. For now, I am happy I found a therapist I can work with.

Here’s a to a new day and a new home.