A whole new month

Today is one month since that horrible day.  The event that knocked me on my ass, and I’m still standing.  One month makes the PTSD official, and I’ve been so anxious all day long.  It doesn’t help that tomorrow is my first appointment with my new counselor.  Well it will help, but for now it just makes me anxious.

This entry is gonna be a rough one to read, so you’ve all been warned.  When I decided to start documenting my journey through my New Normal, I went back and forth about how “real” to be.  How truly honest should I be with the thoughts that constantly go through my mind, and I realized that the only way to do this, the only way for it really to help me, is to be completely transparent with my trauma.  So here are my thoughts and fears that undoubtedly will come up in tomorrows session;

• Ryan died, suddenly and unexpectedly.  The night before was a normal night, we hung out and watched tv, shopped online for Halloween decorations and pieces to the girls Fan-X costumes coming up.  He was snoring, and I couldn’t sleep.  I’d wake him up checking on him, mostly to get him to stop snoring for a minute.  I popped my AirPods in my ears and tried to get some sleep.  When I woke up, he was cold and gone.  I slept through him dying right next to me, and I 100% blame myself for it happening.  
• There still hasn’t been a cause of death determined, so the unknown is excruciating.
• I’m terrified of what will happen if I sleep with the lights off, or in the quiet.  A month later and I still leave the lights on and the tv playing while I sleep.  If I move just right, and a shadow falls on my face while the lights are out, I’ll have a panic attack because it’s dark.
• I constantly check the house to make sure everyone is still breathing.  I will walk the house when there are more than just me and my Father In Law in the house.  Recently the girls stayed the night, and they begged to sleep with me in our bed.  I couldn’t do it.  I just know if they were in bed with me, I’d never fall asleep.  I’d end up watching their little chests rise and fall.  This is what I did last time they stayed and we all slept in the living room.
• I worry that if the girls knew these things about me, that their mom would keep them from me. For the most part, I am a responsible functioning trauma survivor, but their mother doesn’t think the way most people do, and she’s already made it clear that I have no rights to the kids and that she “may” let me see them once in awhile.
• I have to come up with multiple plans of escape anytime I’m anywhere where it’s possible I’ll run into someone I know or have someone ask me questions about what happened.
• So far I’ve identified 2 major triggers of my trauma that will set off panic attacks where I have trouble breathing, my heart races, and I want to curl up on the ground until it passes.  They are counting out loud, and rhythmic noises.  The counting gives me flashbacks of the 911 call and the operator walking me through chest compressions.  Telling me to count 1-2-3-4.  Her voice trying to calm me down, and me just sobbing that nothing was working and he wasn’t breathing.  The repeated noises are the same flashback.  The noise that my husbands body made as I tried with everything I had to will him back to me with chest compressions.  His body would “burp.”  That’s the only way I can describe it.  I hear this noise anytime it is quiet around me, or if I hear something else around me that’s similar.  One time right after, I was getting a pedicure, and the person next to me turned on the massage chair, and the noise sounded so similar and almost sent me into panic mode.

These are just some of the topics I’m expecting to talk about tomorrow.  Maybe I’m right, maybe I’m wrong.  It is just so odd to me that a person can go through what I went through, and NOT be able to see a counselor for so long.  How horrible that must be for those in worse trauma?  I mean if I had broken my leg, or split my head open, or any physical injury, that gets tended to so quickly.  Mental health is equally important but you don’t see the level of trauma from the outside.  You can’t access the need as easily as you can see a bleeding wound.  My wounds are raw and they are deep.  I have no idea how to even begin to heal.

So tomorrow starts month number 2 without my best friend.  The newest New Normal will be counseling, and I’m really hopeful that that new relationship will help me cope with my deep loss and  learning new ways to be me.