Side effects of PTSD

I am thankful to not longer feel the heightened alert sense that I did on a regular basis for a long time after my father and my brother died of suicide.

Through biofield tuning and EMDR, I have worked to try to heal my body, as best as I can.

Still—there are some noticeable differences that I can recognize in my bodily responses to certain things that arise from day to day.

The first one is that I am extremely jumpy. My partner often joke with me:

“I’m coming downstairs!” or “I’m here!” so that I wouldn’t startle….

We’d laugh, but it is true that I jump very easily.

Even now, I still do, though I feel much more relaxed and less intense, not as anxious and worrying, even though I exist less in this naturally high state of alert…it seems to dwell, dormant, within me. And it does come out

So I jump, physically. My bodily flinches when startled.

I never used to do that. Occasionally, yes, like an average person, perhaps.

But I do it a lot more now and I do it much more intensely. I really jump.

The other thing is—and I know that I am better about this, so much better than I used to be, but—

When I am scared or have a tense moment, a disagreement or misunderstanding with someone that I care about, my body and mind can get very tense, very quickly. I am turning over every communication and worst case scenario in my mind, anticipating, playing it out, bracing for the worst, trying to pre-empt the horrible thing from happening, and to cajole myself that if and when it does, I will be okay.

I cry or feel obsessive in thoughts about solving it, reconnecting, fixing something, being understood. And often cannot rest until I make amends.

I know that even before these experiences of death, I have always been sensitive, a worrier, an over-analyzer and an over-thinker. However much of it is who I just am and however much of it is the environment in which I was raised, I am not sure. I know PTSD symptoms have exacerbated the situation.

(This isn’t all bad. I am a thinker, critical, thoughtful. I care about others and can and am willing to see many sides of a situation. I think it makes me humble and relationship-oriented. Gone unchecked, I can also spiral downward, and quite literally drive myself mad, my mind races and I cannot shut it down or off.)

Therefore, working within my body and my bodily limitations to calm myself is something I do, and am always learning better ways to learn, how to do more, how to do better.

When these moments happen, I try to slow myself down. To avoid panic, I focus on breathing. I meditate. I pray. I do yoga and exercise, relying on endorphins. I listen to biofork tuning now. I take supplements and homeopathic medicine and anti-anxiety meds.

I stay away from excessive alcohol, especially when sad, hurting, and anxious; I avoid using it as medication or to cope, recognizing that I saw it modeled for me by my father. I also recognize that I too have self medicated with alcohol to cope, to deal. And with my family history, PTSD, anxiety, depression and on anti-depressants, this is not a wise decision, as it simply makes matters worse.

All of these bodily changes, the alterations to my brain chemistry, I note them. I feel them. And though they are much better than they were two years ago, they still rear their head from time to time. And I notice them.

These experiences are partly why I do so much reading about and learning about trauma and PTSD. And why I deeply appreciate the efforts of people like Peter Levine and Dr. Bessel van de Kolk. Kolk— a psychiatrist, who has dedicated his entire career to working with war vets and Holocaust survivors and their families with trauma experiences, to be able to categorize PTSD as a condition. He has studied the affects on brain mapping/imaging, to be able to show that indeed these matters are not simply, proverbially, figuratively, within someone’s head or a matter of weak resolve or character, but rather—

People who experience trauma, as with PTSD, have altered brains and physiological differences.

Naming that for myself has been as much a part of owning my story as has admitting that I am a suicide survivor. I am quick to dismiss my own experiences as “not as bad as” those who have survived war, active combat, ethnic cleanings, the Holocaust, etc.

But what good does that do? It denies that I know in my brain and body to be the truth, I was changed after my family members’ deaths. Viewing the physical remains left behind impacted me, forever seared into my memories. Now made easier from EMDR treatment, but still—

Acknowledging this is not a weakness nor is it meant to serve as an excuse.

My motive is to understand how to better cope and journey through it and heal. But denying that these are my experiences is also part of accepting my story and how it has formed me, in the path to moving forward in coping and healing.

Extending support and solidarity to those who are also journeying through physiological differences after traumatic experiences that have altered your chemical/hormonal makeup and brain function. In whatever stage you’re at—

<3