Tag Archives: Posttraumatic stress disorder

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.

Keep trying

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I am about to enter the 2nd anniversary of the start of the pandemic’s impact. For me, the impact started in early March 2020, and I have to say that I’ve perfected the art of isolation since then. On a positive note, I think it has made me a better employee as it is easier to conceal my DID and PTSD as a remote worker. It’s certainly easier to cope with a difficult day working remotely. I can get it together enough for a video meeting, but then exhale and just let myself be as soon as it is over, instead of having to contend with colleagues and managers seeing me look out of sorts. Ironically, I received my best performance rating ever during the pandemic. It has felt strange to achieve professional success during a global pandemic, especially with the knowledge that the pandemic may have helped me achieve that success.

However, I’ve never been good at keeping in touch with friends. It’s always been a struggle for me, and I don’t fully understand why. As I approach year two of this pandemic, I see that the impact for me personally has been less consistent connections with friends. I want to be better, yet I am aware that I become frozen with the thought of even starting to reach out to friends. I had a therapist once who theorized that this reluctance could come from the feeling of safety that comes from being alone. It’s lonely, but it’s safe. In the past, people were not safe, and it can be hard to undo that lesson because not all people are unsafe.

I thought I would start with posting on this blog for the first time in a very long time, over a year, in fact. I am going to keep trying to keep, or rather, pick up those connections with friends. Here’s to a new year!