Something’s wrong. Since March of 2017. That was when my son got attacked by gang members in a convenient store parking lot and had to literally fight them off with his bare hands for his life. Then his car window got smashed by, presumably, some kids. A few nights ago, he was approached by some menacing people again, bringing his PTSD from the March attack to the fore, again. In the mean time I have whacked my head against a cast iron pipe so hard that I have a concussion. Also broke my little toe. Also accidentally got sliced on my arm by a very sharp knife. And yesterday was the kicker! My son’s apartment building’s roof got struck by lightening, a fire broke out in the attic. He was asleep. He smelled the smoke, NONE of the fire alarms worked! He awoke because his nose is so sensitive. It was late morning. Being on the top floor, his apartment was filling up with smoke. He searched for his cat, so very fortunately found him, threw him in his carrier and legged it out of there. His carbon monoxide level was 4 parts per million. With thoughts of his own mortality, and again, extreme danger, on his mind. But everyone made it safe it and sound. The firefighters put out the fire. The Red Cross was there, ambulances, fire trucks.
What? What is going on? This many disasters in one family? How do you tolerate the stress of one after another, yet another, yet another disaster? The what if’s are always what kill me. I know there is no such thing as what if this had happened, because very simply, it DIDN’T happen. Of course when you survive disasters, you feel fortunate and grateful. But what if he hadn’t found his cat, what if he hadn’t woken up, what if a million times over! And not just what if, but also Now What? What’s going to happen a second from now, an hour from now, a day from now? I don’t want to, but I am living in fear and anxiety and so is my son. He doesn’t sleep at night and yesterday he was saying he wishes this spate of bad luck would end. He was seeing a therapist after the March attack but stopped and doesn’t want to see her anymore. I know she was helping him, so I don’t understand why he won’t talk to her. PTSD is a bitch, she attacks you when you least expect it, anxiety levels soar, fear punches you in your solar plexus, and the rumination doesn’t leave you alone, and being on guard, hyper vigilant all the time. Too much stress, too much anxiety and with my family history, I am afraid, very afraid.
Time for Ativan? Sure, I can dull my feelings of anxiety with an Ativan, but how will that make us safer, how will it stop these bad things from happening to us?
And this brings us to one more scary thing, how much control do you really have over anything in your life? At this moment, I would say very little.
And yes I know, what happens is not the important thing, Our Reaction To What Happens Is!
Yes I am grateful that, although things could have been far worse, we survived them. I mean I could have been lying face down in a stairwell in New York City, dead from a brain bleed when I hit my head against the pipe. But I survived. My son is unharmed. Fine and good, I know that. Looking at things positively doesn’t mean you have no fear, or anxiety, you do have those when bad things happen to you. And when a string of them happen, and seemingly keep happening, then what?
My fervent wish, my solemn prayer is that these strange, negative things stop happening to me and my family, and we live our lives in safety, peace, harmony and love. Amen.