What’s next?

1. People keep asking.

2. I resigned from Canon City Schools.

3. I took a job as a 5th grade teacher in Pueblo.

4. I sold my house.

5. I am moving.

6. I don’t know if it’s my final destination.

7. I kinda think Albuquerque might be.

8. Or maybe Florida or New York.

9. I know in my heart that I just want to paint.

10. But my head isn’t quite there yet.

Anyone who follows my blog knows the last several years haven’t been easy. But I thought I was doing okay, considering. So when the panic attacks started in February it took me awhile to figure out was happening. At first I honestly thought I was having a heart attack. But I was also afraid of leaving my bed and the thought of spending the day in a noisy classroom would bring on sobs of agony. I felt like I was losing my shit.

One morning I made it to work and called my HR director and told her that I didn’t think I could finish out the day, the week, the year. Her response was to send over Jamie. Jamie has a title but we go way back, and she brought me a breakfast burrito and she listened to me for an hour. And she said, I think you have PTSD.

At first that didn’t make sense to me. I am not a soldier. I have never been on a battlefield. But the truth is I have a lot to trauma in my life and the last years have been on going trauma. I guess my brain finally had enough and said, “Hey, I can’t do this anymore!!!!! Are you listening?????

One of the things that I have trained my brain to do is look for the silver lining. My parents died in a horrible tragic accident, but at least it was quick. They didn’t have years of suffering or illness. I didn’t have to watch them lose their independence or memories. As the years have gone on, I am so glad that I haven’t had to watch the aging process with them.

Same story with my son’s illness, I always find a way to have hope. At least he doesn’t have kids. At least he hasn’t been in jail. At least he isn’t violent.

But the fact of the matter is that kind of positivity discounts the pain and confusion and pushes aside the trauma.

Last August when Shayne disappeared and I was working on the levee was the first time I actually lost hope. I realized that he could be dead, or he could die and one of these times things aren’t going to end well. I didn’t even know what to do with those thoughts I remember just sitting on the wall by the river just staring at the water, or watching the sun come up, or go down, not even knowing who I was or what I was doing.

I think about the night my parents died all the time. The phone call. The doctor telling me despite his best efforts he couldn’t keep my father alive. It was like you see on TV, except TV doesn’t even begin to capture the screaming that happens in your soul. And then seeing him. They had him all wrapped up in white sheets in a hospital bed like he was sleeping. But he slept with his arm stretched out. I know because when I was small, I’d climb into bed next to him put my head on his bicep. He’d curl his arm around me without even waking up. He’d always be warm. I touched his skin that night. Sometimes the memory of that chill comes to me when I am doing simple things like rinsing off a fork or unwrapping a stick of gum.

Flashes of things that happened that night bombard me at unexpected moments. My mother’s dusty pink fingernail as she spelled, die, into my palm. Shayne’s glittery eyes. His shrieking, “Kill me instead.”

Maybe if it was just that night, but the trauma never seems to be over. Each time Shayne has a psychotic break, I don’t think it will get worse. But then it does. So last fall when I thought he was dead. i didn’t know how to cope anymore.

Work had been my haven. I’d show up and kids would make me laugh and I saw my friends and for the time I was there, my trauma was at bay. Without going into specifics, work was pretty tough this year. Lots of change and toxicity and all of a sudden, work didn’t feel safe anymore. Hence, the panic attacks. My brain couldn’t cope with living in two uncertain worlds.

I really, really considered leaving education. And to be honest, I am not sure that I shouldn’t. I still love kids, but some of them are so damaged and I am sensitive to their pain. Dealing with my own trauma is a full time job, let alone being surrounded day after day with little kids who have seen more trauma than grown adults.

I know leaving Canon after spending most of my life here isn’t going to fix my trauma. And to be honest I have questioned my decision to leave every step of the way. But last week I found this little house over by Mineral Palace Park. It’s got a white picket fence and lined with roses. It reminds me of my dad and mom in the best way. The backyard is an oasis and from the front step there is a little sliver of the interstate. I like that though, it feeds my imagination. I will sit out there at night and watch the lights and wonder about all the destinations possible. Who knows? Maybe I will grow old there; maybe it is just a stopping place on my next journey. I am open to all the possibilities