Tag: PTSD

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The Gander Attack Part II. The Dog and His PTSD

So the story of Blu and the gander attacks continues.  Took a short break to enjoy winter that’s dragging on, plus a visit from my granddaughter. Oh, and how could I forget, another week in bed fighting one more case of nausea. 

Such highs and lows in a very short time, but I have to say the week with the youngster was the highlight of my life for the past 9 months. The best distraction from this pain, laughing and smiling for a bit.

But finally, back to the big gander attack.  (my editor hates starting a sentence with “but”, so I do it just to irritate her.)  I have been struggling with getting this written for some odd reason, and it frustrates me to no end.  I need to continue with my life on paper, so it’s there when I don’t remember it,  if god forbid that day comes.

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The Gander Attack: A Tale of Trauma (Part 1)

(Author’s note:  My apologies for doing this in 2 parts, but there was a bit of background that I thought was relevant. Although this isn’t directly related to my personal situation in dealing with PTSD, depression, and the like, it’s something very similar. Okay, to be truthful, just another brain fart from yours truly.)

This is a tale of a traumatic event, and the resulting consequences suffered by my best friend. It starts from when the two of us bonded, the traumatic event itself, and how it affected both our lives. Since we are inter-connected, we share the same goal of trying to make things better.

My best friend, Blu, was diagnosed with epilepsy when he was a 1 year old puppy.  Still in the “cute” stage of puppyhood, but nearly full grown. In my humble layman’s thinking, I now feel the diagnosis of epilepsy to be inaccurate. You will have to bear with me as I let the whole story unfold.

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Ain’t Nothing Like a Sad Song and a Bottle

I tend to gravitate toward sad songs, which is unfortunate since I  suffer from chronic depression.  A few tear-jerking ballads to start the day,  great therapy.  People tell me I bring this on myself, and perhaps it’s true.  Do I wallow in self-induced misery?  Maybe so.  Since it’s what I know more than anything,  this sadness,  perhaps I seek it like a comforting blanket.  

When I’m low and feeling blue I put on songs that only reinforce my loneliness.  Not too bright really.    Odd how the color blue is associated with sadness, like having the blues.  Singing the blues.  Doesn’t work with another color, try it yourself.

“My woman done me wrong, and I got a bad case of the greens.”   See, it just doesn’t fit does it?

I’m rambling today,  my mind fretting about yesterday,  where a case of the blues led me to thinking about the bottle.  That’s a bad train of thought for a reformed drunk.  The idea of speeding up the day crept in from nowhere.  I thought by numbing myself with a stiff drink, or two, the day would be easier.  It was 11:00 am.

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This Round’s on Me

It’s difficult to write about being a drunkard for the majority of your life. To be honest I’ve delayed this blog because it is extremely hard to take a look backwards and see what decisions I made in error. The one decision to keep drinking instead of addressing issues head on.  

This tale will eventually lead up to the day that I stopped getting drunk. Being able to just stop drinking is one of my crowning moments. Ruling out the birth and love of my two children, putting down the bottle is my biggest achievement in life. Isn’t that a sorry thing to say? As I type this I find myself starting to sink down just because of how bad that sounds.  

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Am I running out of Time?

I feel a heightened need to get this website up and running.  As we approach these final steps, placements, images, edit and re-edit, I am beginning to believe it might be a one off.   Compiling everything I’ve written to date.

Will this be like one of my paintings, songs or finished piece of wood?  Done, put on a shelf, buried away, replaced by the next work?

This project needs different treatment, this journal detailing my past and my hopes for a better future.  As long as I have time left to try to reach it, the better future.  The journal goes on as long as I go on, stopped only if my strength or mental health won’t allow me to carry on.

Each of these posts are almost like a small piece of art in and of themselves.  The website is my gallery of works.

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The Nightmare

I refer to “The Nightmare” throughout my discussions on PTSD. The whole insomnia, pain and depression triangle of evil are fueled by each other, a synergistic effect where 1+1+1 = 5, not 3.  The symptoms of one being the result or cause of the other. Like nightmares, or night sweats, or flashbacks.

Insomnia has plagued me for a long time, but in the last 5 years has taken on a whole life of its own. My physical pain has joined forces with the mental anguish. The old cure for lack of sleep is a simple night of drinking heavily. But everyone knows a good night’s sleep from being drunk isn’t a good night’s sleep at all.  

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Just one more…the beginning

It’s hard to admit that one spent the majority of their life fighting with alcohol, but that was me.  The doctors say self-medicating,  others call it courage in a bottle.  I liked the effect of passing out stoned cold blind…and not having the nightmare.  

One of the major symptoms of PTSD is the reliance on alcohol or drugs, but this becomes an ill-fated means of coping.  Like most of my other coping skills, the alcohol was a way for me to escape the reality of being raped. The event itself was very short in relation to the after effects, like drinking from the age of 14. 

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Two Memories of the Colonel

If you’ve been following along you know that my father was a Colonel in the US Army. 27 years to be exact.

He had a very interesting career, as one of the original bomb disposal leaders in his field.  You know, the guys that go in after the war and do something with the thousands and thousands of bombs and shell and mines and mortars that didn’t work. They simply didn’t explode, but still very well could blow at any moment. 

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EMDR PART 2:  The bad part

I’ve written previously about EMDR and the type of treatment I personally went through in my EMDR Part 1: Positive…or pure hell.

As a refresher I considered it an attempt at hypnosis, a re-wiring of the trauma event through remembering what exactly happened, at least your perception at the time. Those deep seeded memories that haunt you. Then the therapist helps you by re-visiting those events and minimizing the psychological impact and the prevalence of PTSD symptoms.

That’s my thinking anyway, if I try to capture it in a nutshell.

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