Just the Beginning

Let's start with the basics. Three years ago, I was diagnosed with PTSD. For those who don't know what this means, PTSD is the abbreviation for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. It's what occurs to a person after a traumatic event happens. It's pretty much the aftermath. My PTSD stems from childhood molestation and rape. Yes, it is hard to talk about all the time. Even writing that in this article somehow makes me feel extremely anxious. It's not something I've talked about with too many people. Most people find it too hard to hear about. So, for now, I would like to leave my childhood experiences at that.

I decided a very long time ago that I did not want children. The world was a cruel place. I learned that early on and that was reason enough. My experiences of molestation and rape only heightened my not wanting children. It seems that there were other plans for my life though. I met my now husband, we started a life together, and got married. I found out I was pregnant two months after being married. Needless to say, I cried the entire first two months of my pregnancy. It took me time to even accept that I was pregnant. My pregnancy was not a normal pregnancy, but that is a story for another time.

I will admit that there were so many people in my life that were supportive and positive. Through all of the reasons to be upset at that time, they helped me to feel solace in my situation. For that, I will always and forever be grateful to each and everyone of them. There will never be enough time to show gratitude.

Fast forward; my daughter turns four years old. For the past four years of her life, she was always surrounded by family. When I say always, I quite literally mean always. She didn't go to daycare by herself because of my fears for her to be with strangers. I want to say thank you to all of those who shared their daycare horror stories with me over the years. Those stories stayed with me for many, many years after hearing them.

She spent all of her time with limited people, all family, and 85 percent of that time included me being there. Where I live, there are daycares that are open at night and on weekends. They provide daycare for a few hours at a time—thank you for that by the way. I would take her to these daycare's on Friday nights and Saturdays to give her the time to socialize with other children. Given that, I was sitting in the next room watching. I was not in denial and I'll be honest, it couldn't have changed my mind to hear what other people thought anyways. I needed to know she was safe at all times. I even signed her up for taekwondo at this time because four was the age limit to start. For my condition and the type of trauma I went through, this was how I managed my anxiety and fear. This was how I coped. We all know that would not last forever. I didn't expect that after fifteen years of a healthy mental state, it would come crashing down so hard.

I received notification that it was time to sign my child up for kindergarten. That was my trigger. That was the moment that every vision, every dream that I had been keeping at bay for so long was released. In my mind, it was the hardest thing I've gone through to date. My memories came back in my dreams but this time it wasn't me going through it, it was my daughter in the exact same situations. I wish there was a way to put into words the amount of devastation and horror I felt in that moment, but there isn't. Night one, I was afraid to sleep. I stared at that application the entire night with dread, with fear. Night two, still no sleep. Night three, night four, night five... by night six, the dreams were coming even in the daytime.

I functioned like a normal person to everyone. My husband didn't see it, my family didn't see it, and none of my friends could see it. It's not their fault. I'm an introvert. Everything I feel, pain or fear, it's all internalized. They would've noticed I didn't smile as much or talk as much, but ultimately they would never be able to tell. On the sixth day, I woke my husband up. I looked him in the face and told him that I knew I was not okay. I told him to stay with our daughter, because I needed to see a doctor. He said okay and I was on my way.

I feel lucky to have recognized the signs but that didn't make it any easier to walk into the doctor's office. To tell them that my OCD started back on day three. To tell them about not sleeping for five days. To tell them about my past and present situations. This all meant having to relive each and every moment, again. I was admitted into the psych ward at the hospital immediately. All I can remember thinking is "I refuse to let this affect my child." She didn't see anything up to this point and, best believe, she never would. Other than mommy sleeping more than usual and having more doctor appointments, she didn't need to see anything else.

Yes, I was sick. Yes, it was hard. I promised myself sitting in the psych ward that no matter what happens next, I will get healthy for her and for my husband. This was not my fault, this was not her fault, and this was not his fault. They deserved better and I was willing to do everything to be better.

It took me three years, lots of therapy sessions, a psychiatrist, and hard work to get myself into a normal state. I had to learn new coping mechanisms. I can never be the person I was before the trigger. I am changed, different. My road is still going, but I am a fighter, so I will keep fighting everyday for the rest of my life. In the time it took for me to heal to this point, I pissed people off because I had to take this time for me. I lost the trust of people because I had to take this time for me. I lost a lot of really great people in my life because I had to take this time for me. I wish that it didn't take so much. I wish that it never happened at all, but we all know I can't change that. Some people will understand and some won't. It comes with the territory.

I wanted to write this story because I know so many people go through the same things I went through. If you are going down a road of healing, it will be longer for some than others. It will be some of the hardest work and decisions you will ever have to make, but I urge you to take this time for yourself. Not everyone will understand why you can't be there when they want you there or go out when they want you to go out, but some things are necessary. Take the time to heal. To learn how to cope. Use the resources offered to find yourself again.

For those who are dealing with this, I want you to know that it does get better. The road is long and hard, but it does get better. You will have to make changes and learn to do things differently, but it does get better. You will struggle and fight, but it does get better. If you ever need someone to talk to, I am here for you. I know your pain, I know your suffering, and my heart is always open.