Five years of life altering physical, geographical and emotional changes/wars/attacks on my psyche, financial blows, friendship violations, losses, mourning and shocks since 2007 is why the psychologist specializing in PTSD tells me I am so battle weary. Every time I just feel I may be getting out of the gate, gaining some ground, feeling sure-footed, there is yet another blow I could not have anticipated if my life depended on it.
Yesterday afternoon I found my friend on the floor of her home. It took me nearly two hours to find someone with keys to get inside because I could hear her voice but she couldn’t get to the door. After I checked her out for cuts, bleeding, breaks, etc, and had her bend her limbs for me, I leaned down to her to hug her and tell her everything will be alright and she reached her arms up to me, with tears streaming down her face, “I knew you’d come for me, Janny.”
I should have smashed a goddamn window.
Paramedics and hospital later, I arrive home late and very exhausted last night. Spend most of the day at the hospital today, she had a heart attack when we thought it was just a fall. Today, lying in her hospital bed she said to me, “If anybody can keep things running for me while I’m in here, it’s you.”
I feel so fragile, I hope her trust in me is not misplaced.
None of her relatives who live merely minutes away have shown up … yet. She is in far worse shape than I. So why am I feeling so exhausted and so alone?
When did it become fashionable to not answer your fucking phones, people?
And this, my friends, is exactly why long-term PTSD sufferers cannot break free.
Shit happens. Shit keeps on happening. What I’d like to know is when will it stop? When will I have a shoulder to lean on without always feeling like an imposition to people who have no problem leaning on mine? Why am I always there for others and yet in my deepest, darkest moments of need, I reach, I call, and there is no one.
Only silence echoing against my mental screams.
After a hostage taking when we were in lock down all day in a Corrections position I held years ago, we were debriefed. I remember feeling like I was in a movie and couldn’t turn it off no matter how hard I tried to exit the theatre. The past two days of my life have felt much the same. I feel like crying again right now but I have no tears left. Instead, I will rest my head now and hope for slumber to escape the realities I must cope with tomorrow, to encourage my friend’s healing as she fights for her life.
There, I’m all debriefed now. I think.
See? No human being interaction or support required whatsoever.
I am but a machine, just not an answering machine. But if you want to leave me a message feel free to do so by dialing seven digits of your choice and spouting off at whatever message greets you. It doesn’t matter if I never get it. I’m tired of being the crisis line with nowhere to go when I need to dial. I just don’t need to know.
In 2003, I told a friend, if one more person calls me with a crisis, I’m going to change my message to say: This is not the local crisis line. Here is the number ——–. He laughed at me but I look back on that time and how much and how often I’ve been there for others through-out my life and yet whenever I need… NOTHING… No shoulder, no gentle voice telling me it will be alright, no invitations, just hollow words of untrue intent… Thank God for psychologists.
I can hardly wait for my next appointment.
Without writing, I would surely be good and dead already.