7 Years Ago

Sometimes when I read my past Facebook memories, I laugh. Other times I wonder if I was smoking crack and have amnesia now. I can see how I used humor to fake my way through pain and trauma. Every once in awhile I read a memory that is so raw that it kind of takes my breath away.

Seven years ago, I wrote that my son was hospitalized for a psychotic break. I didn’t write about the events that lead up to it. I never really do because those breaks are so terrifying that I chose not to relive them. That particular break happened on an airplane. We were coming back from Maryland where he’d been turned down from a study at the National Mental Health Institute. I had been hoping that the study would be the answer and bring my sweet, funny boy back. He had marijuana in his system, so he was rejected. I was so upset. I couldn’t believe he had sabotaged the opportunity. I didn’t think I could live with the voices anymore. I wanted help.

We sat next to each other on the flight home and I could feel the tension in his body. He was whispering to the voices to go away, that he was sorry, that he would kill himself to make them happy. He would kill himself to make me happy. His eyes were glittery and dark. He gritted his teeth and bit his fist and punched his head. He didn’t scream until we were off the plane. He kept opening the car door on the highway and screaming that I should just kill him and put us both out of our misery. I took him straight to a hospital. I thought that was as bad as it would get. I didn’t know that was just part of the ride.

The fear of the psychotic periods is always there. I’m always watching for the voices to take over. I can’t hear them, but I know them. And I’m afraid of them. I don’t know how to fight them, but I’ve never been willing to flee them. So instead I became their friend, doing anything I could to keep them at bay. That didn’t work either. Instead it gave them power that I can’t even write about it. I guess that this is an actual trauma response called fawning. Great. I’m freaking Bambi.

Seven years ago, I thought I HAD to do it all–be positive, make everyone laugh, be a mom, be a partner, be a teacher, take care of everything, and everyone. I posted seven years ago that I didn’t have anymore to give. Yet, I can see that I’m still doing that–giving more than I have. I’ve been working on my health, but being a classroom teacher in a classroom full of other trauma survivors has been a set back. It’s brought out the damn fawn again.

The snow days and long weekend have been a reset for me. I have to go back and finish my contract, but at least I have enough tools to change my response. And I am awakening to the idea that I am not trapped. I have choices. Maybe my students will learn that. Maybe they won’t. I just hope that when this post pops up in seven years, I will read it and think–“Yeah, that was then, but look where I am now.”