They Call This PTSD.

 “It’s like you are tidying your house before a dinner party. But there’s this one item that’s just out of place. The doorbell rings. It’s your guests. You just shove that item into the closet and tell yourself you’ll deal with it later. You start to do this every time. Filling the closest more and more. Saying to yourself that you’ll deal with it later. The closet becomes so full that it starts to creak. That’s your bodies way of saying ‘Hey! You got a lot of stuff to deal with! It’s time!’ But you keep thinking it’s fine. Out of sight, out of mind. You ignore the closet. Until one day it’s too much. The closet bursts. And everything comes flying out in weird and wacky ways. Panic attacks. Dissociative episodes. Depression. Anxiety. Flashbacks. Intrusive thoughts. And then you’re left lying on the floor with all the items that were stuffed into the closet, splattered around you. Forced to finally accept what happened. And forced to finally deal with it. Forced to clean up the items around you and find appropriate places for each thing. And then over time, slowly, you learn what to do with each item, and how to deal with each thing, uniquely.” — Nargis D.

They call this PTSD.

Hi I’m Erin Elizabeth, I’m a 29 year old brain tumor survivor and I suffer from PTSD.

For the past 2 months I’ve been sitting with this post. I wasn’t sure I wanted to share this part of my journey. Felt almost too personal for the world to know. And would the world understand? But then I decided for two reasons, one for people to understand life in my shoes; why I turn down dinner plans, friendships have failed or become distant, concerts, outings even to the fanciest places. Why I avoid grabbing drinks, new art exhibits, you name it. Finally, two, for the chance one person might be able to relate, understand and realize they’re not alone. 

I’ve said this before but they somewhat prepare you for the physical trauma you undergo for brain surgery but they don’t always prepare you for the mental. In my case, I wasn’t prepared at all. I never cried, when I wanted to I was too fatigued from my surgery to create tears. I couldn’t figure out why after EVERYTHING I couldn’t cry. As the high from survival was becoming distant I sudden felt uncomfortable to leave my house; I felt safest at home with Milo and I was losing interest in things I once loved. Sure I was writing on my blog and sharing my story on social media, however after telling it so many times it was becoming desensitized. I could share my story behind the guarded walls of the internet, it wasn’t reality, it wasn’t my true struggles. It was strangers lifting me up and helping me get to through to the next day, it helped me hide from the truth; my battle of fear. The unknown.

I’ve been seeing my therapist for almost a year now- sure day one I told her my story basically read it from my book. I even shared my articles for her to read. But even in therapy I’ve hid. I’ve hid behind the stresses of work, relationships, friends, family and death.  But it’s taken me almost year to admit why I even needed help in the first place. Fear. I live my day, everyday in fear. It drives my every move, can I take the train today? No, I’m too scared, scared? But scared of what?! Your scan is clean and you know that.  

The thought of a grocery store makes my stomach turn. Restaurants make me woozy and bring heat to my face. Any changes in my vestibular; I panic…where can I sit how can I leave- I NEED TO ESCAPE NOW. Somedays I get to work I sit and think to myself ok you can make it 30 steps to the kitchen you’ve got this. Quickly returning back to my desk chair; I don’t take walks, I don’t run to grab coffee.

You know that feeling when you’re in a haunted house and something jumps out on you. Some days I feel that, all F***ing day. It’s exhausting, then finally Im home, safe with Milo by my side.
I crawl into bed completely drained, sleep, repeat.

At home I always feel well, the second I step outside...I am uncertain. Will I be able to make it to the dog park across the street? My heart races, I grip Milos leash so tight wishing he was 3 feet taller to stable myself on. It doesn’t make sense I know I’m well, but my mind isn’t convinced.  

Intrusive thoughts, when you close your eyes…close them, go ahead what do you see? When I close my eyes I have intrusive thoughts; my mind keeps bringing me back to the ICU it plays over and over again. The days when nobody believed me something was wrong and I almost collapsed at the grocery store. Takes me to the day I was pushed over the limit with my symptoms and rushed to the ER, the night they found my tumor. My mind brings me back to the words leaving my surgeons mouth saying I have a brain tumor- my mind brings me back to the painful silence.

The bottom line is that, if you feel your anxiety is still overwhelming even under the current set of tools you have to manage it, talk to your doctor, therapist, or psychiatrist. My doors Is always open, I’m not doctor but I’m a friend and an ear.