My Fight: Living With Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder
By
The Angry Coach
Introduction:
If you’re in the military, or you’re a police officer or fireman, or you
work some other job where you’re under considerable amounts of stress on a
regular basis, you’re going to want to read this article.
I’ve been debating sharing this with people for a number of weeks now. To
be perfectly honest, I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to write it or not, because
what I’m about to cover is a highly personal subject that’s affected every area
of my life – from work to training to family, nothing’s been untouched by what
I’m about to tell you.
I’m also writing this contrary to the advice of a number of people who’ve
told me not to. I decided to go ahead and do it because I think what I have to
say can help people. I’ve been affiliated with this site for quite a while, and
I know what kinds of people read these articles – and I know for a fact that
what I’m about to say will hit home for some of you. A lot of you. And if
it helps any of you, then I’ve accomplished my goal.
The Issue:
I’ve been suffering from a clinically diagnosed case of Post-Traumatic Stress
Disorder (PTSD) for several years now. I’m not writing this article because I’m
looking for sympathy or because I’m trying to work anything out on paper. I’ve
got all the sympathy I need, and I’m coming closer every day to working out what
needs to be worked out. It is what it is, as they say.
Two months ago, I finally decided to do something about it. Some serious
issues came to a major head back at the end of March (2009), and I realized I
couldn’t go on living my life the way I was living it. I’ve since gone after
this thing head-on, and I’ve made some serious progress in “getting my life
back,” and since so many military personnel, cops, firemen, etc, read this site,
I wanted to share my experiences to help grow awareness of something some of you
probably have and don’t even know it.
If you’re reading this and you know I’m talking to you, you also know what
you’ve been doing. You’ve been denying it, avoiding it, and trying to work
around it. In the process, you’ve been fucking up your own life, the lives of
people around you, and the lives of people who love you. That’s what I did, and
the best thing I’ve ever done in my life has been putting a stop to it.
I don’t really want to get into the specifics of how I contracted PTSD. I’m
going to be intentionally vague on that, because there are things I simply don’t
want to talk or write about anymore. My PTSD developed because of a string of
events, as opposed to a single-shot trauma. Since 1991, I’ve had a series of bad
things happen around me every few years or so. In 18 years, I’ve experienced
five major, life-changing events that could conceivably have led to PTSD
scenarios. That’s one every 3.6 years. Three of these events involved the deaths
of immediate family members in particularly unpleasant circumstances (cancer in
two cases, and a car accident at which I was present in the other...these are
the so-called “minor” events that made it easier for the major ones to knock me
out). Individually, I’ve dealt with all of these events in one form or another.
The cumulative effect, however, is the problem at this point.
Following one of these events – not one of the family issues – my PTSD
started to noticeably manifest itself in various ways that ran counter to my
core personality and the things that are important to me.
I’ve always been an extremely social person. I’m naturally outgoing, very
talkative, optimistic and love to meet new people and learn new things.
Throughout my entire life, I’ve had, and still have, dozens of close friends.
When the PTSD kicked in, I withdrew almost completely from that part of my life.
I stopped socializing, only leaving my house to go to work, to train and to go
grocery shopping. People would call me on the phone, and I’d want off within
five minutes. And NOBODY was permitted to visit me at home, or hang out at my
apartment(s). Since this happened, I’ve lived in three different apartments that
even my best friends never set foot in.
I’ve also always been an athlete, and I’ve always been obsessed with working
out, running, and trying to look, feel and perform at my best. When the PTSD
kicked in, I stopped working out, drank about a twelve pack a day for over a
year, and occasionally ordered a pizza, for myself, twice a day. In thirteen
months, I went from 215 pounds to a high of 335. This happened in the early part
of this decade.
It took a “tough love” intervention by my best friend to put this to a stop.
I eventually went back to the gym, took the weight off, and rediscovered that
part of my life, but it took a while.
The social aspect of my life came back slowly around this time, but it came
back. For a few years, I was fine. I was out every weekend, doing fun things
with friends and girlfriends and taking vacations, and the PTSD went into a
state of what I’m assuming was dormancy.
Until, of course, something else happened in early 2006. That’s when things
got serious.
I began avoiding everything. I didn’t sleep (and still wasn’t sleeping much
until a few weeks ago). I didn’t eat properly, I lost my temper at the drop of a
hat, and I suddenly turned into the world’s worst procrastinator – which, for a
proactive Type A personality, may have been the strangest turn of events of all.
As for the social withdrawal, well, it came back about fifty times worse than it
had ever been before.
Now, instead of simply avoiding social events, they actually scared me. I
would walk into a room of people – any room, including family functions – with a
hideous feeling in the pit of my stomach. Like butterflies, but on a double dose
of whatever A-Rod and Manny Ramirez have been taking. My voice would shake from
sheer nerves. My posture would make me look like I was cowering. I’ve seen
pictures of myself doing this, and it’s awful – this big, jacked up dude looking
like a human question mark. I developed strange tics. I stopped making eye
contact with people. I blushed easily. I’ve had to pace the floor for several
minutes to work up the nerve to make simple phone calls. I’d repeat the same
turns of phrase over and over again during conversations.
Oddly enough – and people who know me will recognize this – one of these
turns of phrase involves percentages. When I’m nervous, I’ll start quoting
percentages in conversation. I’ll say, “You know, something like 80% of people
think the sky is about 95% blue.” I’ll also badly overuse the word “literally.”
When I start adverb-ing everything with “literally,” that’s when you know the
PTSD is up to say hello.
I’m not a psychiatrist, psychologist or PTSD expert. I can only tell you
what’s happened to me and some other people I’ve spoken to about it recently. I
can tell you how it takes. And takes. And takes. And takes. And doesn’t
give shit back unless you’re talking about the people who love you. It gives
them plenty. Too bad they don’t want it.
What it Will Take From You
This is what happens when you have PTSD and you don’t do anything about it.
1. It will take your money. If you’re in college, you probably won’t
be able to finish. You’ll lose jobs. You’ll interview for jobs and you won’t get
them because you’ll come off like a neurotic moron who can’t speak properly.
You’ll do stupid things that will cost you money. You won’t manage your money
very well, and you’ll spend stupidly. None of this will matter to you until the
damage is already done.
2. It will take your health. You won’t sleep. You won’t eat properly.
You’ll stop exercising. Your blood pressure will go through the roof. You’ll
self-medicate with drugs (not me) and booze (definitely me). You will look and
feel like shit, and when something happens to you, you’ll be afraid to see a
doctor because nothing good has ever happened to you where doctors and hospitals
are concerned.
3. It will take your friends. You’ll start fucking them over. You
won’t be reliable, because you’ll be too busy worrying that something’s going to
happen to do what you’ve told them you’re going to do. You’ll be invited to do
things, and you won’t go. Eventually, you won’t be invited anymore. And when you
don’t tell them there’s a problem, they’ll simply think you’re an asshole and
move on. You’ll be asked to be in your friend’s wedding party (one of your
oldest football friends), and you’ll accept and pay for a tux, and then, on the
day of the wedding, you’ll go to another guy’s house and drink all day because
you were afraid to go to the wedding. Then you’ll spend five years trying to be
the guy’s friend again.
4. It will occupy your thoughts of the things and places around you and
take your memories. Everything in your life will remind you of why this is
happening to you, and it will trigger memories and thoughts of the event or
events that caused it at the most inopportune possible times. You’ll wake up in
the morning and be fine for about 30 seconds, and then it will hit you like a
ton of bricks. That will be the worst part of your day. You’ll develop something
similar to ADHD, where things that initially seem like a good idea lose their
appeal very quickly.
5. It will destroy your relationships. You will be an unreliable
prick. You will be incapable of properly displaying affection because you’re
always worrying and you’re always nervous. You will be completely incapable of
making anyone else happy, and you will end up alone. This, I have to say, is a
complete disaster. I can’t stress this enough:
Whether you’re married, engaged or just dating, if you have PTSD, you will
not be able to sustain a healthy relationship with your partner, and that person
will eventually run away from you and not look back.
The most brutal, painful part of all of this is that you will see it all
unfolding in front of your eyes. You’ll know exactly what’s happening and you’ll
know why it’s happening, but you won’t be able to do anything about it by
yourself. You’ll go into some situations with suspicion. You’ll enter others
with childlike naiveté. You’ll do this in the reverse of how it should be done.
So you’ll lash out and make things worse. This will happen to you over and
over and over and over again until your friends and significant others
eventually jump ship because they don’t trust you as far as they can throw you.
And I can assure you, getting them back is a royal bitch.
Therapy
I used to sincerely believe that only “weak-minded people” went to see
therapists, and that there was nothing that couldn’t be solved with good, old
fashioned motivation and self-discipline. If you’d stabbed me a few months ago,
I would’ve sincerely believed I could stop the bleeding with discipline. After
being “officially” diagnosed, however, and after doing a shitload of research on
the subject, I’ve since come to understand that PTSD is a legitimate medical
condition that involves alterations to the biochemistry and morphology of the
brain.
The goal, then, is to change it back to the way it was – or, at the very
least, to evoke changes that allow you to be functional.
Cognitive Therapy didn’t work for me. I didn’t listen to the therapist, I
didn’t do my “homework,” and I wasn’t even there for myself. I went for the
benefit of a group of people who encouraged me to go, and I went so I could be
present when attendance was taken. I didn’t believe in the treatment, I didn’t
want to change anything, and I wasn’t ready to listen.
As I said in the introduction, things came to a particularly nasty head
recently, and I realized I had to go ahead and do something about this for
myself – and not to put on some kind of show for everyone else. That’s what I
did the first time around. I put on a show. Everything I did in life was a show
for a long, long time. Everything was “fine.” Sure, I was a little eccentric and
reclusive, and cranky every once in a while, but that was okay because, for the
most part, I was capable of pulling enough enthusiasm out of my ass from time to
time to make people think I wasn’t riding the crazy train just yet.
One thing my PTSD treatment has made me realize over the past couple of
months is that there were things the condition couldn’t touch. Sports and
training, for example. When the PTSD really kicked in permanently back in ’06, I
did everything I could to train my ass off and maintain my involvement with
football and other sports. I needed that lifeline. That connection to the time
before all this shit happened. Again, people who know me can vouch for the fact
that, aside from that year and a half where I let things go, my obsession with
sports and training has never, ever been stronger.
My therapist – yeah, I’m using the word, and yeah, I’m seeing one – likened
it to falling into a swimming pool with something in your hand that you don’t
want to get wet. I held it over my head and kept it dry. This is a good thing,
because it shows that I’m fully capable of getting the fuck out of the pool. It
also shows that it’s possible to pull out the other things that have fallen into
the pool and dry them off – my goals, my ambition, my talent, my work ethic and
my emotional stability. All things that have been in question over the past few
years.
Course of Treatment
I started a course of treatment called Eye Movement Desensitization and
Reprocessing (EMDR) about eight weeks ago. I’ve had seven full sessions thus
far, and this stuff has been a revelation.
EMDR reorganizes how you cognitively “process” the event or events that
precipitated the onset of PTSD. You’re essentially being “programmed,” through a
series of images, sounds, eye movements and cognitive therapy, to come up with
different responses to these events. I’ve read a lot about EMDR over the past
two months, and there are several different explanations for why experts think
it works.
I don’t give a shit what these explanations are. All I know is that I feel
better. I’ve fallen back into old (good) habits. I started running again – which
is kind of weird for the people on this site, but that’s what’s gone on. I
didn’t even think about this, either. It just sort of happened. I woke up one
morning and decided to start running. I’m waking up at 5:30 in the morning
again. Naturally. I’m in bed by 10. Naturally. This has been my circadian rhythm
for my entire life, but I wasn’t doing anything close to these things for
several years.
I’m sleeping now. I fall asleep instantly, and I wake up on my own, early,
without the use of an alarm clock. I’m not waking up in the middle of the night
for two-hour-long periods of floor pacing anymore. My workout intensity –
stagnant as shit for a couple of months – has come back hardcore. I’m more
focused and able to concentrate on things for hours, rather than jumping back
and forth from task to task every 15 minutes.
I’m adapting. When people ask me for favors, or things don’t go exactly as
I’ve planned them, I haven’t been feeling irritable and lashing out. I’ve been
accepting these things and changing on the fly. I haven’t been able to do that
in years. My road rage is gone. I no longer give a flying fuck what anyone else
is doing.
I’ve been social. I’m seeking out my friends. I’m asking them what they’re
doing, proactively making plans, then following through with those plans and
hanging out with my friends without leaving early. People are suspicious.
They’re noticing how differently I’ve been acting, and they think I want
something.
The therapist asked me what I wanted a few weeks ago, and I’ll tell you
exactly what I told him. I said I want to be what I would have been had none of
this shit ever happened to me. I said, okay, fine, I couldn’t handle things that
maybe other people could have. But I couldn’t handle them because I caught a bug
somewhere along the line. It wasn’t because I was “weak,” or a “pussy,” or
“fragile.” And I know I can’t go back to the way I was before, because I’m older
now and I’ve seen and learned too much. Hell, I wouldn’t want to go back to the
way I was before.
But I want to be what I would’ve been, because I feel like I’ve been cheated.
Taking Stock
Once the healing mechanism is in motion, which it is for me right now, it
seems a natural course of events to undertake a frank, brutally honest
assessment of where PTSD and all its magic has left you. You take stock. It’s
like bunkering down for a hurricane, then going outside when the storm’s over to
see what’s salvageable and what you’ll need to file insurance claims for. That’s
what I’ve been doing lately – figuring out where I am.
Professionally: I’d lost my ambition for a few years, and this has
hurt my career. I’m behind. I’ve spent the past few years not caring what I was
doing, not caring where I was working, and being happy just “getting by.” I’ve
also been afraid to put myself out there professionally. I don’t know if I was
afraid of failure or afraid of success, and it doesn’t matter. I simply didn’t
move. Not to sound full of myself, but I have too much ability to be where I am
now, in a professional sense, and that’s in the process of changing as we speak.
Financially: This goes hand in hand with the professional end of
things. My lack of ambition has hurt me financially. I know we’re in a recession
right now, and everyone’s feeling it – at least most people are – but I’m living
far, far below my capacity to earn, and have been for some time now. Right now,
I’m in the process of teaching myself to compete again. I fully intend to right
the ship in this area sooner rather than later.
Socially: My friends no longer trust me in a social sense. They’ll
trust me to show up and move furniture, or watch their kids, but they don’t
trust me to show up for social occasions, so they simply don’t call – or if they
do, they do so with a grain of salt, figuring I’m probably not going to show up
anyway.
Relationships: As I said earlier, this has been brutal. PTSD, or,
rather, my unwillingness or inability to seek treatment for it, essentially
ended an amazing relationship that, had I done something about this earlier in
the game, wouldn’t have ended. I wouldn’t wish this on anyone, and it’s my
primary motivation for writing this article – so maybe someone can read this,
process what I’m saying, and not fuck up his life and relationship the way I
did.
Training: If you’ve read Stress of Life by Hans Selye – or
you’ve been listening to some of the coaches on this site – you know that the
body doesn’t, and can’t, differentiate between stressors. When you have PTSD,
your entire life is a stressor, and your body eventually stops adapting to
whatever training you’re doing.
The important thing to remember when you have PTSD is that you’re fighting
two separate battles. You’re battling the condition itself, but you’re also
engaged in a fight against the damage the symptoms are causing. If you’re
screwing something up, and you say to yourself, “Okay, I’m going to apologize to
my girlfriend and everything’s going to be fine,” you’re treating a runny nose
and thinking you’re curing the common cold. It doesn’t help. Unless you get to
the root of the problem, your training – and the rest of your life – will remain
in the toilet because the stresses are simply going to keep on coming.
My Advice:
You can’t fight PTSD on your own. Trust me, I tried. You’re reading an
article by the most anti-therapy guy walking the earth, but I went. It took a
while, but I realized that this is a legitimate, treatable, curable medical
condition, and against all my preconceived notions of what kinds of people see
therapists, I went and did something about it.
If you’re in the military – or in another job that provides help – and any of
what I’ve written applies to you, go see someone. I know some of your counselors
suck, but you need to keep going back until you find someone you can trust,
because you’re never going to be able to live up to your potential if you try to
work this out on your own. Trust me on that one.
Go see someone. More importantly, tell your family and friends what you’re
doing. If you have PTSD, you’ve likely done and seen things people can’t
possibly understand, so they have no business judging you – and if they do,
they’re not worth your time or effort. What you’ll find – what I found – is that
the people who really care about you will be more understanding and supportive
than you think.
Don’t just do nothing.
