7.06.2014

Day 129 - just what happened


 So I was leary when they told me I had PTSD. I think of PTSD as something
soldiers struggle with, after being in war. I wasn't in a war. But over the
weekend I got a glimpse of just how a milder case of PTSD might work. I went to
the fireworks for the Fourth of July, with my friend autumn and her family. As
we were leaving the park, we passed the backyards of a lot of houses, most of
them having parties and buzzing with life. One house, though, with a pool in the
yard, was quiet. The pool was above ground but the lights were on in the water.
I could see the shadow of something in the water. I was sure it was a a body. My
anxiety grew and I fought my body's urge to run over and check to make sure I
was wrong. This, apparently, will be one of the ways my PTSD shows itself. Like
when autumn and I took her boys to the park, and they were out of sight and I
knew there was a creek. I couldn't settle down. I needed to see the boys to know
they weren't in the creek. This is how my PTSD shows itself. When someone is
swimming and puts their face in the water to snorkel, I panic. This is how my
PTSD shows itself.

My husband had a massive heart attack, but he was in the hot tub, alone, when it
happened. I found him, they estimate 2 hours later, floating face down. I screamed
 and screamed for help. I tried to get him out of the hot tub, but couldn't physically
 do it. You know that superhero like strength people supposedly have when their
 adrenaline spikes? I didn't have that I couldn't do it with help.

 So while my mom called 911, I held  him, begging him to come back to me, for the
 several minutes it took for the first responder to show up. I knew he was gone.
 His body wasn't soft and limber. He had foam coming from his nose. I knew he was gone,
 so I just begged him to come back. I held him on my lap, face next to his, crying
 and begging him. It seems an eternity before I finally heard the siren coming in
 the distance. Now when I hear a siren in the distance, my anxiety shoots up. This is
 another way my ptsd shows itself. Last night I showed an adorable picture of him to my
 friend Autumn.

 "It doesn't seem like he could really just not exist anymore, does it?"
 because, really, it still doesn't feel real.

it could all be a nightmare made up by my head.

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