Time...

I really can't believe November is almost here. Only 6 days away? What happened to October?

I spent most of the month in the doctor's office trying to figure out what's wrong with me physically. So far IBS seems to be the culprit, mingled with an allergy to high fructose corn syrup--which is in just about everything. I've been working with a nutritionist to find foods I can eat and so far that is working out really well. I have my follow up with the specialist on Halloween to determine if there's anything else going on with my insides that I need to be aware of. We'll see.

Mostly, though, I'm tired. And perhaps a little grumpy (see tired). But Joe is hopeful we'll be able to figure this out and so I'm holding on to him holding on to hope. Maybe I should get some rope to tie me to him in case my arms give out. Le sigh.

In happier news, I finished the first act of my book! This is HUGE for me! It means I have completed 1/4 of my book!!! Wahoo!!! Right now that looks like 11 chapters and just over 25K words. If I keep a consistent rate, I'll end up with about 44 chapters and 100K. Most first novels publish around the 80K mark, so I might be a little high. But that's okay! I can always chop-chop during the revisions stage. I'm excited to have two VERY EXCELLENT beta readers lined up for revisions and, so far, have been super happy with the feedback I'm getting from my alpha readers.

One thing I've realized is that my book is not for everyone. Sometimes that makes me sad, but mostly I think that's just a part of the author-reader dynamic. I love Harry Potter, but that doesn't mean everyone does. Just as some love Lord of the Rings, which I can't stand. It's good to recognize early on that what I write--my content, style, approach--won't resonate with every person that picks it up. Some will even hate it. I don't know if I'm ready for that yet, but that doesn't change reality. So I'm trying to grow a thicker skin. Pretty hard considering I kill most everything I try to grow. But I'll keep working at it, changing the fertilizer or the ground I'm in. I guess being a slow writer is helpful in this way... I'll have plenty of time to work on my thick skin before I even query, let alone publish a novel.

For those that are interested, I've revamped the look/feel of the writer blog. New content will be added sooner than later. I've decided to focus for a time on the research that I'm doing rather than the writing journey itself. So, if you're into paranormal, expect to see posts about angels & demons, death personified, vampire lore, and other delectable bites.

If you want to more about the novel, I'm still working on the pitch line (so it's really rough). This is what I have so far: SOUL REAPER (working title): A traumatized Angel of Death shuns her Maker in hopes of finding release, but learns even good choices require payment--her submission or her soul, neither of which she is willing to relinquish. (Feel free to tell me in the comments whether or not you'd read it and why! TY!)

In other news, work seems to be going well for Joe. His company is gearing up for a huge project that is going to keep him busy-busy in the months to come. He seems to spend many of his days in meetings, but still enjoys the people he works with. I'm happy he's happy!

Josser and Journey are hilarious and annoying all at the same time. But I love my little monsters. As with most creatures, they are most adorable when they are sleeping! hehe

I hope October has been good to you! And I am excited to see all the costume pictures I know you're going to share with me via blogger and Facebook... right? Right?! Hehe.

Lots of love,
D

Living with PTSD

I've been living with PTSD for almost three years now, but I've only been open about it for the last one. At first it seemed like a diagnosis to be ashamed of. That I needed to hide it or make it go away. I felt that I should be able to function and be "normal." I think others expected it of me too.

But I'm not normal. I may never be normal again. And I most definitely will never be the "old" Debbie. Not because I don't want to, but because I can't. It's impossible. I'm different. Life is different. The world is different.

I realized recently that I don't talk much to my family about PTSD. I've never explained it to you or chatted it with you. I simply acted not-normal and expected you to catch on and then became angry when you didn't. That was unfair of me.

So here is my attempt at helping you understand what it's like living with PTSD.


PTSD Defined

According to Wiki, posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD) is "is a severe anxiety disorder that can develop after exposure to any event that results in psychological trauma. This event may involve the threat of death to oneself or to someone else, or to one's own or someone else's physical, sexual, or psychological integrity, overwhelming the individual's ability to cope. As an effect of psychological trauma, PTSD is less frequent and more enduring than the more commonly seen acute stress response. Diagnostic symptoms for PTSD include re-experiencing the original trauma(s) through flashbacks or nightmares, avoidance of stimuli associated with the trauma, and increased arousal – such as difficulty falling or staying asleep, anger, and hypervigilance. Formal diagnostic criteria require that the symptoms last more than one month and cause significant impairment in social, occupational, or other important areas of functioning."


What it is

• An actual, honest-to-grandma disorder related to extreme anxiety and fear
• R-E-A-L (I'm not making it up)
• Long lasting and can take years (if ever) to treat
• Life altering

What it is NOT

• An excuse to be lazy
• A negative label indicating I'm broken
• A reason to judge me
• Proof that I'm crazy

What does this mean for my life?

It means that sometimes I can't function. Period. Joe and I call those couch days because about the only thing I can do is lay on the couch and watch happy shows like Monsters Inc or Cars. Couch days can be triggered by any number of things, but sleep/nightmares seems to be the biggest culprit. The good days have begun to outnumber the bad, though, so we are hopeful that maybe someday I'll be free. However (as my dad can attest... sorry Dad), one night of night terrors can still leave me a vegetable.

It means that most times I struggle to process information. I've lost words, meanings, phrases. I can be mid-sentence and completely forget what I was saying. I stumble through my thoughts. When others are talking I often can't understand what they're saying. Not because of the words, but because my brain isn't up to speed. I prefer to text than talk because I can see what you're trying to say and have time to formulate a response. I'm not so great "on the spot."

It means sometimes I have to take a break or cancel an activity. I used to be able to do many, many things at once and do them well. Trauma has changed that for me. Most of the time I feel raw... like I'm walking around without skin on and all the air and particles are grinding into my insides. It's like that, but emotionally. Chaos, loud noises, large groups, or too much time away from home can overwhelm me and send me into a panic attack (difficulty breathing, terror of surroundings, lots and lots of tears). I have to be careful how much stimulus I allow into my life. And if I get overstimulated, I have to take a break--leaving the party early (if I even go at all), taking a nap, lying down to watch a happy movie, or finding a quiet place to breathe and remind myself that I'm okay. It's nothing personal... it's not that I don't want to be with you... it's that I have to keep myself sane.

It means that most of the time I'm terrified of new people, places, and things. Strangers terrify me. I don't know what they're going to do or say. They're unpredictable and very, very scary. Just like places I don't know. Or experiences I haven't tried yet. My anxiety is high to extremely high most of the time. I have to have a plan for everything. And a backup plan. And a backup for the backup. It helps me manage the anxiety and fear. It helps me control what I can control because there is so much that I can do nothing about.

It means sometimes I'm less than dependable. I can't hold down a job, fulfill my callings as I would like, or be there always when you need me. I just don't know when the next attack is going to happen, how long I'll be down, or what the aftermath is going to look like. I don't mean to be a flake. I don't mean to be unhelpful. I'm just trying to do the best I can with what I have.

It means that most times I'm emotional and sensitive. I'm probably reading more into a situation than needs be and I'm highly likely to get my feel bads hurt. I also shut down really fast--like C3P0 in Old Ben Kenobi's hut on Tatooine. This doesn't mean you need to change anything, just understand when I need time to collect myself.

It means we aren't pursuing children. Not until I'm healthier... more stable.

It means I'll be in therapy for a very, very long time. Lots of hours and money will be invested before I make it out of this mess.

And it means that my whole life--how I grocery shop, who I hang with, how I interact with others, what movies I see, what TV I watch, what seasons I love, what topics I'll discuss, which places I'll go, what times I'll be out, how often I leave home, how I receive love, and how my brain works--has been altered forever.

I welcome any questions you might have. Feel free to email me. I'll share with you what I can. I'll give you any resources I have. I'll do everything in my power to help you understand and to be patient while you try.

I spent the first two years tyring to pretend things didn't happen and that PTSD didn't exist. Looks like I'll spend the rest of my life advocating for those with mental health issues and learning how to handle my own.

Lots of love,
Deb


Other Related Posts

• The Road Not Taken: An Interpretation
• Gun to your head, what would you do?

Heads Up to Family

To those of you who received this via email... this is my way of trying to keep in touch with all the members of family. I only have 10 slots, so I used one email to represent each family unit. (Pretty much all the girls, lol). If you'd rather not receive blog updates in your email or if you'd rather have me use a different email address, please let me know.

Hope this helps with keeping in touch! I'm working on being more consistent. :)

Thanks and love ya,
Deb

Equality Begins with Me

I talk a lot about how we’re told women are equal to men and yet so many actions of the Church make me feel different. The lack of women leaders in the church… our 9 to the men’s hundreds. The idea that married women with children shouldn’t work. Even, in some (not all) wards, how the men seem to always be given the bulk of sacrament meeting for speaking while the women are asked to introduce the family and speak for a few minutes on the assigned topic. It’s that little things that add up to big things that make me wonder, does God really love his daughters as much as he loves his sons?

Some days I just don’t know.

But today, as I prayed to Heavenly Father I laid it all out on the line. I finally spoke my mind. No beating around the bush. No tip toeing around the subject or wavering. Nope. I asked, “If men and women are equal, then why do you continue to shield us from the world? Why hide my Heavenly Mother? Why ask me to do the same? I don’t feel that we’re equal at all.”

And then some interesting things happened. In my mind I saw women getting in line first to eat meals. I saw men holding the door open for us at the mall. I saw myself in a restaurant ordering before my husband. That’s what girls do, right? That’s how men show us respect… chivalry. But those scenes showed me that I wasn’t asking for respect, I was asking for a pedestal. Do I really want equality? Or do I want to rule the world so I can force all those horrible men who have treated me despicably over the years to suffer as I have suffered. Unfortunately, I want the latter. I want God’s sons to know what it feels like to feel inferior. I want them to hear the words, “listen to your wife as she listens to God.” I want them to wonder what all their other talents mean when they’re told their most important purpose in this life is to give their sperm to a woman.

Is it really that harsh when told to women? Perhaps not. Is that how I feel it? Yes it is.

And there’s my problem. That’s the other thing the Lord showed me—or maybe asked is the better term—as I knelt in prayer. I felt him pose the question, “What makes you feel inferior?” And the answer in my heart came down to decision making. I felt like the scriptures, the doctrine and especially the Church culture tell me that I have to listen to the men.

So how does that translate over to my need for equality? Essentially I am waiting for a man to tell me—AND SHOW ME—that women are truly equal. Then the thought hit me, “If I really believe women are equal to men, then why am I waiting for them to give me permission to speak my mind.” I thought about the Sunday Schools in which I’ve held my tongue, the councils in which I’ve waited for someone else to call on me, the meetings in which I’ve looked to Joe to answer. The problem, I discovered today, is me.

A free woman of equality doesn’t wait for someone else to declare she is a free woman of equality. She knows she is. She believes it with every fiber of her being and she acts accordingly—using her voice, joining the discussion, participating in the activity, etc. She doesn’t have to do everything the men do. She acts based upon the desires of her heart and the will of the Lord, just as his sons do. She listens to others and serves them; she doesn’t conquer them.

I say we’re equal, but my actions speak otherwise. And I need to change. I can’t wait for someone else to give me the right to be equal. Those laws have been passed. Those statements have been made. It is up to me now to show myself and the world that I am equal. I need to believe it. I need to be it.

So back to the scenes I saw flit through my mind. The food and the doors and the ordering. What would true equality look like? For me, it’s mutual respect. It’s everyone heading to the buffet line together, not women first. It’s the first person in line holding the door for those who might follow. It’s taking turns ordering and allowing others to speak for themselves. It’s being courteous and loving and kind without regard to gender (or any other factor of diversity).

Neither gender needs a pedestal or a body guard. Neither needs shackles or gilded cages.

And perhaps the deepest truth is that neither side needs someone else deciding how they should live their lives. So if a woman likes her man to hold the door and that makes her feel equal and valued. Who am I to judge? If a man decides to stay home because he is the stronger nurturer of the two, who am I to tell him he is confused or not a “real” man?

Again it comes back to me. Only I can decide what I want from this life and what equality means to me. Only I can be responsible for voicing my needs and wants to others. How can they know if I never share? And only I can keep me from reaching the true measure of my creation… to be the best damn daughter of God that I can be.

Equality today doesn’t start with others. True equality begins with me.

The question now? Can I stand up for myself, voicing my needs and desires, without castrating the other half of the world? Only time will tell. And thankfully I have the best husband ever to help me navigate the waters.