My last long-term relationship started out like a dream, containing attraction, fun, great conversation, and a deep connection. In my mind, it had been destiny — we were soul mates.
Through a series of various issues that I won’t mention here, that relationship dissolved into a mess after about a half a year. But, because of that deep connection and the amazing experience the relationship had been at the beginning, we both fought through the messy-ness for the next year and a half, hoping that the issues would resolve.
We were wrong.
In truth, I don’t believe my partner meant to cause me as much harm as he did. He was sorting through his own issues and I got brought down in that fight. That doesn’t change the fact that what happened, happened. Or that I’m at where I’m at now.
In short, I spent the last year or so of that relationship, as well as a good portion of a year after it was over, being lied to, gaslit, and intensely stressed. It was a period that included some intense experiences that I never imagined would be a part of my life.
After the relationship ended, I had to change not only my living situation, but my job as well (we were coworkers as well as cohabitors). From what used to be a pretty vibrant, intelligent, outgoing woman, I devolved into a shell of my former self. I didn’t know where to turn, what to do, or how to live.
After many sleepless nights and crying sessions in the shower, I decided to move back across the country to live with my family, which felt like a huge step backwards in the life of an adult, but was, in truth, the first large step forward in my healing process.
I spent a year with my folks, and especially at the beginning of that time, I could tell that something was different. I couldn’t look people in the eye anymore — an intensely sad occurance for someone who prided herself on being a very empathetic and avid listener. I was having an extremely hard time relating to others. Everyday felt like a fog. My memory had turned into a sieve with giant holes, barely able to hold any information. I would “sleep” for ten plus hours a night, but would often have intense dreams/nightmares and/or feel fatigued all the time. I was having trouble learning new things, which is one of my favorite hobbies. I’d experience periods of zoning out or inability to concentrate, as well as long periods of numbness followed by intense flashes of emotions. Most often, I felt like I should be wearing a nametag that said “Hello, my name is Blank”.
Looking back now, I realize that these are all symptoms of PTSD. With all the experiences I went through, the amount of stress they pushed on me mentally, physically, emotionally, spiritually, and financially, and the length of time that those experiences persisted, it makes sense that I would develop these symptoms.
The first step for me in dealing with the symptoms was to come to the realization that they existed. The next was to simply start fighting them. The longer I sat in the fog, the thicker it got. I persisted at working my brain, and I’m slowly getting back to my old self. When I forget something that I used to be able to remember, I make sure to take note to look it up and re-train my brain. When I feel myself falling into zone out mode, I start working on a hobby or new project. In certain ways, I’ve started over, moving back across the country to be back out on my own again (while, literally, driving out of a fog). I am getting out, speaking to new people, and getting back in the habit of looking into their eyes. I’m slowly but surely getting to the point where I can feel connected again, and I’m getting ready to take that next step.
Sometimes the only way out of the fog is to decide to take a step. It’s scary and unknown, but it’s the only way to see again. It’s not a perfect system, and often, while I’m looking in someones eyes while they talk, I’m finding myself slipping back into that distracted fog. The important part is staying aware and fighting for what you want. When I feel the slip happen, I make a conscious decision to listen as intently as possible instead of falling prey to the distraction. Because, in the long run, that’s what I want for myself. That’s who I want to be: the avid listener, the empathetic friend, the fun person to be with that I was before this all began.
For me, living with PTSD is not an option. I will never forget what I have been through, because with trauma and stress also comes a lot of learning and growth. It’s not about getting rid of that part of my life, but about becoming a better, stronger, more resilient person as a result. I will not be blank.
Hello, my name is Stevie.
