But I Don’t Feel Sad

August 6, 2025 ~ Kai Raines ~ Leave a comment

Depression is a funny thing…well, not exactly funny…interesting. I had a friend years ago who lectured me about how people take “happy pills” to avoid dealing with life. Taking the easy way out, according to her. She made her comments before she knew I took an antidepressant. I felt offended and I let her know. She had no personal knowledge about antidepressants; she just had opinions. I explained that depression is generally caused by a chemical imbalance in your brain and that imbalance will not correct itself on its own. If you do not have an imbalance then an antidepressant will not do anything for you. That’s what my doctor told me. It’s not that simple and there can be other causes but explaining it all will take too long and way too many words…and I am not a doctor. Depression is complicated.

Taking an antidepressant is not an easy way to anything because people, like my friend, are very judgy about it. They think you are weak or crazy. Why can’t you just be happy, they ask, and then accuse you of trying to escape your life or reality. What they do not understand is what it feels like to be depressed, clinically depressed. It is awful.

Over 29% of adults have reported having a diagnosis of depression at some point in their lives. Over 21 million people are affected by depression each year. Depression affects women more often than men. During the pandemic there was an increase in depression. That makes sense. Four out of ten people reported being depressed or anxious during Covid 19. I’m surprised it’s not ten out of ten. That shit was scary and hard. The number of depressed individuals increased 60% between 2013 and 2023, according to the Center for Disease Control and Prevention. And you are more likely to be obese if you are depressed and more likely to be depressed if you are obese. That’s fucked up. The symptoms of depression include, severe and persistent low mood, a sense of despair, decrease in energy, changes in level of functioning, weight gain or loss, without dieting, difficulty getting out of bed, problems with concentration, sleeping, and energy. And a decrease in your sense of self-worth. Depression is the most common cause of disability in this country.

There is a genetic component to depression as well. In my family, my grandmother was depressed. My mom was depressed. My children have dealt with depression, as well as people in my extended family. And I understand that my great grandmother was most likely depressed. She would “take to her bed” for days at a time. I’m not sure about my grandma but my mom did the same thing. We were in trouble when she went to bed and shut the door.

Anger is not listed as a primary symptom of depression, so I was surprised…well, surprised in hindsight…that it was a symptom for me. As close as the DSM V, the Bible of mental illnesses, comes is irritability. Well, I was irritable too. I just didn’t realize it until I wasn’t anymore.

Medication is not a quick fix, and it does not just make you happy. I have done my share of therapy over the years…there are therapist happily retired with my financial help. And I worked through a ton of shit. I am still working through issues…on and on they go. What an antidepressant has done for me is help me return to a place of caring about my life and wanting to deal with shit…deal with life. They helped me feel like myself again. Allowed me to get out of bed and engage with the world. Take care of myself and whoever or whatever else I needed to.

My wife, Gayle, and I have been married almost 14 years and been together 17. One of the things I love most about her, about us, is how easy it is to be together. We get along great. I never get tired of her company. She is my best friend. I see her first thing every morning and last thing every night and I wouldn’t want it any other way. There is a comfortable and familiar flow to our relationship…it’s easy…usually.

I have written about the past couple of years and my wife traveling between Colorado, where we used to live, and Florida, our current home, for work. She traveled and I traveled. She flew and I drove. Then we drove. I made several road trips to Colorado to spend time with her, more than a week, because the separation was hard. Then Gayle retired in November, and she is in Florida permanently. We still drive to Colorado when we want to visit but we do it together.

After she was home, we noticed ourselves being irritable with each other. We have felt that before and recognized it as a settling back in with each other period…getting used to each other again. During our time apart we developed our own way of doing things…different from each other. For example, she ate dinner way later than I did. She ate different food, cooked differently than the way we did it before. She loaded the dishwasher differently…small, stupid things that did not feel small or stupid. We felt distant…I felt a distance between us.

I like to think of myself as laid back and easy going. I like to think it, but thinking does not make it true. Too bad. I tend to take things very personally, even when they are not personal. I do this even though, in the book The Four Agreements, by Don Miguel Ruiz, the second agreement is not to take anything personally. Followed by do not make assumptions. Check and check. I do both. I try so hard.

So, these little conflicts became ginormous in my mind. Ginormous and personal. And I became irritable, disagreeable…angry. I was angry that things were not the same. Nothing felt particularly easy. And I became paranoid, convinced that she didn’t love me anymore. That she was tired of me. My mom used to tell me that people got tired of me. I thought it happened with my wife. And I didn’t think she even liked me anymore. I asked her and, even though she said she did, I didn’t believe her.

Now the real fucked up thing about this was that I didn’t realize I was angry. I thought she was mad at me all the time. Hence the conclusion she did not like me. For the first time I thought she might leave me…I mean how many more years are you going to spend with someone you don’t even like. That is a rhetorical question. I heard the words she’d say to me as accusations, condemnations, or criticisms. I felt like I was no longer good enough for her…like she wasn’t happy with me anymore. I was not bursting with happiness either. Now let me be clear, this was all happening internally…mostly. It seemed like she was snapping at me all the time. I felt like nothing I did was right. I’m certain she was not getting warm fuzzies from me either.

Several months earlier I had stopped taking my antidepressant. I talked to my doctor about it and told her I didn’t think I needed it anymore. I wasn’t depressed. With her cautious okay I weaned off it. And I was fine. I noticed a few times I felt sad but then I had some reasons for sadness. It seemed like a proper response to circumstances. Sometimes I would question myself about whether my feelings were a sign of depression…but I assured myself they were not. It’s possible I needed a second opinion.

Then I experienced a situation with a friend who was really depressed. They were sad about lost relationships, afraid of being alone, hopeless, and isolated. And I saw them struggle to feel normal…to be happy again. They were so depressed…the kind of depression that makes you want to stay in bed and be left alone, permanently. That scared me. It scared me enough to start taking my antidepressant again. Because of them I saw myself differently…through the lens of fear. Fear that I could end up at that same place…again.

Antidepressants take a couple of weeks to work. In the past when I had gone on medication I remember not really noticing whether the medication was working until some random day when I realized I was happy again. This time my realization was that I wasn’t angry anymore. I felt like myself again. And things with my wife were normal again…easy. The flow was back.

What changed? Did my wife finally realize that I was right about everything? That’s funny. So, what changed? I did. I had my random moment and realized I was happy again. When the happiness arrived, the anger departed. Or rather I let the anger go. I guess in my insecurity I was clinging to it before…I couldn’t see any other way to feel. I felt justified in my anger. It’s hard to let it go when you feel justified.

But now…now I saw a new, clearer perspective. One less centered in my ego. Ego’s kind of suck. I took a step out of my mind…not to be confused with being out of my mind. My mind had focused on all the ways nothing was my fault, or more accurately, my responsibility. Everything was someone else’s fault. Their responsibility. My ego was in overdrive. Placing blame away from myself. And I was not really looking to blame…maybe I was. I didn’t mean to be. I was hurt. I was hurting. I felt lost and alone. I told my daughter that I felt insignificant and invisible. She told me that was my past trauma speaking because no one who knows me feels that way about me.

Growing up I felt like I had to fight to be seen, to be heard…to matter. And so often I wanted to be invisible because it felt safer. But that’s not true anymore. As long I remain open, I am seen, heard, understood, and I am loved…liked even. The only time that’s not true is when I shut down. When I am no longer willing to receive, no longer willing to give.

Andrea Gibson, the poet, said that a music box is still a music box even if the lid remains closed. Of course, it can’t fulfill its purpose without opening. Aren’t I the same? Aren’t we all the same? I can’t fulfill my purpose or have the depth of relationships I’m meant to without opening. What stops me from opening…from being vulnerable? Oh, wait I know. Fear. Fear fucks everything up. Fear and my ego…stupid dumb ego.

How can I tune in to my heart and stop listening to my mind and my overactive ego. It’s easy to blame other people for our circumstances, for our feelings but it’s not their fault. It’s mine. I’m responsible for my actions. I’m responsible for my feelings. No one makes me feel anything. And guess what? All of that is true for you too. Surprise! We have all kinds of choices. No two people react the same in a situation because of all those choices. Freedom and all that crap.

It’s easy to get caught up in the emotion of a moment and lose sight of our choices. To surrender our reactions to just that, reacting. Allowing emotions to carry me away from my ability to choose…to choose to respond rather than react. I would like to think I was fighting for our love by arguing…fighting for us. I fear that I was arguing to lash out…not really that. Fighting as much with myself as with Gayle. Feeling unhappy with her because I was unhappy with me. I guess taking my fears out on her…without clueing her in. Without clueing myself in. I didn’t know.

Now I’m not just trying to blame myself for everything…I’ve done that many times. Burying my needs or feelings to end a conflict quickly. Conflict is uncomfortable. And I don’t like it. I was raised to blame myself. But this is how the situation looks to me now…in hindsight. I wish hindsight could come before I make a mess of something. I can see things differently than I did before. That’s with the help of my antidepressant. I can examine my behavior. I can look at not just what I’m doing it but why. And I can change it. I can voice my needs and my feelings. I can decide what I can do for myself and what I want to ask from someone else. Then they have their own choices to make. There is no choice where there is no understanding and no understanding unless I communicate. That scares me too. It’s me being vulnerable…again.

So where am I going with all of this? Excellent question. There is so much love available to us if we can keep the lid of our music box open. If we take the risk of being vulnerable. If we allow ourselves to be seen…to be known. And that is scary. Vulnerability is scary.

We miss out on life if we are unwilling to open to it. Sometimes we need medication to help us. I’m grateful for my medication. Sometimes we need therapy…or both. Always we need each other…always. Communication is the key to our relationships. It’s the best gift we can give each other. Because in the end all that matters is how we love people…show your love by communicating and connecting. Love will win…it always does. Even if you have to serpentine to get there.

It’s Not You…Oh Wait…Yes It Is

September 11, 2024 ~ Kai Raines ~ Leave a comment

So, I’ve been reading It’s Not You by Ramani Durvasula. It’s a book about healing from relationships with narcissistic people. It’s a very good book and I recommend it…if you, like me, are wanting to go down the rabbit hole of making sense of your life…processing shit and all that. As I’ve been reading, I keep thinking the name should be, “It’s not you…oh wait a minute, yes, it is.” The “you” being me. It makes me laugh, and cringe. The rabbit hole is not for the faint of heart.

One of the best things that I have learned from studying Buddhism is that I always need to look at myself first. Meaning that I cannot control anything but me, so I need to be aware of how I am interacting with myself, people around me, and the world…all the time. This completely changed my perspective, and it’s really fucking annoying. It’s so much easier and neater to blame someone else. I guess it’s the Buddhist equivalent of Jesus telling people not to worry about the speck in your neighbor’s eye when you have a log in your own. Get the log out and carry on. Leave your neighbor alone.

If you ever want to rid yourself of false beliefs about yourself, I can tell you a sure-fire way to crush all your illusions…move cross country to Florida with your parents and have them live with you. No more illusions about me. My wife and I were laughing last night about me telling her that I always thought that I was easy going, laid back, and that I just go with the flow. We were laughing because I am none of those things…not really at all…maybe if I tried hard…nope. My wife is all those things plus a slow Texas drawl…just to hammer it home. You have probably guessed by now that I tend to talk fast. I know it’s a shocker. We are speech opposites.

I always say that my English bulldog, Abby, is me as a dog. She can’t eat gluten either and she has joint problems like me. That’s just physical stuff. She has my attitude too. Abby wakes me up every morning between 7:15 and 7:45. She does this by coming to my side of the bed and talking to me. Her talking is a cross between a growl, a soft bark, whining, and any other sound she can come up with. And she does not stop until I do what she wants…scratch her ears. Then we get up and I take her out and then feed her. Now she does not eat when I feed her. She lays down for a while and then she comes and talks to me because she wants her medicine…meaning she wants the food I put the pills in. After her medicine she lays down and naps. About an hour later, the talking starts again. Now she wants some smoothie. I make them most days and she gets a little in her bowl. After her smoothie she sleeps. Around 3 she wants to go out again. Then she starts talking to me about her dinner. She eats at 5:00. She’s early and persistent. After dinner she wants her walk so she can go to bed. Abby cannot go for a walk until about 8 pm because it’s too hot for her. I spend 3 hours telling her it’s not time and that she must wait. Once her walk is complete Abby wants to go to bed. This is different than napping because she goes into the bedroom to sleep. The catch here is that she wants me to go to bed too. I actually say, out loud to her, “It’s too early and I’m not going to bed at 8 just because you want me to.” Eventually, she gives up and goes into bed…she’ll be back in an hour or so, to stare at me clearly annoyed and wondering if I’ll ever go to bed.

This is our schedule every day…every damn day. Abby likes a routine. She likes things the same day after day. She wants consistency in her schedule. She doesn’t like surprises or big changes…or little changes for that matter. Abby is not easy going and laid back…me either. She does not go with the flow, unless the flow involves extra food. I’m not so flowy either. Abby is stubborn. Me too. I think I get that from her. My mom told me once that I was stubborn, and I responded, “What did you expect? I was born to stubborn and stubborner.”

Moving my parents to Florida was an adventure for sure. I went to St. Louis two weeks before our actual move date to help them pack. Aside from packing, I was there to encourage my parents to downsize. They were going from a two-bedroom condo with just the two of them to a three-bedroom apartment where they only had the master bedroom. Aside from bedrooms, all the space was shared. Sharing was hard for them. Letting go was hard for them. After much arguing…well, they argued with me, I didn’t say much…they sold some of their furniture.

They had so much stuff and very unrealistic expectations of what it was worth…maybe not unrealistic so much as sentimental. Their furniture was beautiful but not what people were buying in 2022. They wanted hundreds of dollars for each piece and that is not what people pay when they buy used furniture. I understand this was difficult for them. I had just done the same thing to move from Colorado. It was a lot of change.

The day we moved in, after 3 days of travel, we were all tired and ready to be settled. I remember how this scene played out…. My dad was in his wheelchair in the middle of the family room and the movers were coming in with tons of boxes and furniture. The office was filled with boxes…stacked 3 or 4 high…and this was just their stuff. My stuff wouldn’t be here for a month. The family room was overflowing with furniture. There were two recliners, a full-size sofa, a huge coffee table, a hutch/desk with a chair, a buffet, two end tables, and a wooden chair. The movers could barely walk through to unload more boxes…everywhere. So many boxes.

I felt more and more overwhelmed as the stuff piled up. So, in my laid-back, go with the flow voice I announced, “We can’t keep all of this. It’s too much furniture. We have to get rid of some of it.” My father responded, angrily, “I’m not selling anymore of my god damned furniture! You gave enough of it away already. Nothing else is going!” To which I growled, “Then you’re gonna need a storage unit.” And with her own special flair for the dramatic, my mother said, “Go ahead and sell it! Sell it all! Tell the movers to put it back in the truck and take it to the dump.” Don’t you wish you had been there? I don’t…oh, but I was.

Eventually, we did laugh at this exchange, but it took a year for it to be funny. This story is important because it is the moment I began to realize that I had a distorted vision of myself. This idealized self was beginning to reveal itself to me, as false. To me it’s better to be easy going and laid back and because I value those qualities, I guess I decided I had them. No one wants to say, look at me, I’m a control freak and everything makes me nervous and anxious. Don’t you wanna be just like me?

If you want to deal with yourself honestly, come to Florida. It’s where all the false shit gets stripped away. Maybe it’s the humidity. It’s a hurricane for your self-image. The problem was, if my false self wasn’t me, who is me? I feel like I should have been asking this question about 40 years ago…I probably did, and I just don’t remember. I think the question of who we are comes up throughout our lives. Mainly in times of transition…like moving…or losing a job, the end of a relationship, getting married, having a baby, having another baby, kids leaving home, retirement, becoming a grandparent, death, our own, our parents, spouse, child…you get the idea.

Transitions are hard. Although, in my mind, if you are laid back and easy going, then transitions are a piece of cake. You don’t worry or fret because you take it all in stride. If you go with the flow, you have a fluid and flexible understanding of yourself. Things change and you’re fine because you knew things would change. Because they always do. You aren’t derailed because it was expected.

Change makes me anxious. I did not know I was an anxious person until recently. Until…you guessed it, Florida. Fucking Florida. My wife has asked me a couple times, when I may have seemed stressed or on edge, what I was anxious about. The first time I said I wasn’t anxious. I may have even said that I don’t have anxiety. Watch out for the lightening strike….

Anxiety feels bad to me. Not the actual anxiety, the label. In my mind, and speaking for me only, it means I’m weak. It is not okay for me to be weak. I can’t look or act weak. That would be bad. I must be strong…all the time. I don’t get taken care of; I take care of everyone else. I don’t need help; I do things on my own. I’m good in a crisis. I can handle an amazing amount of shit. People can count on me, and they know that.

Now that my anxiety has been labeled, I’m noticing it often…probably not as often as it happens but more than never, so there you go. I had been trying to put more words to this feeling. Explaining words, but I couldn’t find them. Until I reached a part in Stephanie Foo’s book, What My Bones Know, where she says that she’s always on edge…all the time. That’s what I feel. On edge. I’m on edge all the time. Because of that feeling, because I don’t like that feeling, I am always trying to anticipate any problem and solve it before it can rear its ugly head…before it’s a problem. For example, when I am checking out at a store, I have my wallet out and my debit card in my hand. I am ready and waiting. Why? Because I don’t want to make anyone wait for me or slow anyone down. I don’t want anyone mad at me. I’m on edge because of fear. Fear of anger, even from a stranger. I don’t want to be in anyone’s way. Maybe I’m afraid of taking up space in the world. Maybe I feel guilty that I take up space at all. I’m not sure. But that type of situation makes me anxious…puts me on edge.

I have been thinking that I should have named my blog, On the Edge, because that’s where I live. Or since I am trying to move, Off the Edge. I like to think that I’m packing to move off the edge. Permanently. But where does one go when they move off the edge? That’s the only home I’ve known. What do I bring besides my laid back, easy going self?

Now you may be expecting me to wrap this up, all happy…at least semi-happy…with a neat little bow of acceptance and understanding. But I don’t have anything like that in my back pocket. In fact, I don’t even have back pockets. If you were raised in a home with a narcissistic parent or guardian, you are familiar with the feeling of being on edge. You might have lived in a state of chronic tension and anxiety. Waiting for the next explosion of anger or rage from the narcissistic parent…or both parents as they feed off each other’s explosive emotions. On the edge was where I heard threats of abandonment and verbally, and sometimes physically, violent fights. I spent much of my life walking on eggshells. I was trying my best not to piss anyone off…and always scared I would.

My circumstances have changed. I am an adult now…mostly. I can care for and protect myself. I don’t need to be on edge now. But those fears still impact my reactions and my behavior. I still have anxiety…just ask Florida. I feel afraid of conflict. I hate fighting. I hate yelling. I hate screaming. I almost feel panicked. I am afraid for my physical safety and emotional safety in those situations…even if there is no actual threat to me.

Living with my parents opened my eyes to a lot of things. I was not aware that I’m always on edge. It helped me tremendously to read someone else’s description of their life and to realize she was describing me. I am learning to be aware of my body and what I am feeling. I can ask myself whether there is an actual threat to me in this moment. I can pay attention to my body, because my body feels the truth of the situation, regardless of what my mind is trying to sell me. I can ask myself, what is happening right now? What is triggering me? Is my anxiety reasonable or out of proportion to the situation?

The singer, Harry Chapin, famous in the 70’s, until his death, at 38, in 1981. He had a song called Circle, and in it he talked about our lives being a circle and that the seasons keep coming around again and time passes. I think he was onto something there. I think our lives are circles in another way too. The issues we struggle with come around over and over too. I have worked through difficult and painful situations, only to have them come around again, and again. The thing is each time the pain comes around it’s different…because I’m different. I have a different perspective than the first or second or three hundredth time I’ve looked at a difficult or hurtful pattern. The problem is changed because I am changed.

There’s the hope I see. Life is circular so I have numerous opportunities to change patterns. To strengthen relationships or let them go if they are harmful to me physically, emotionally, or mentally. I can control me. I cannot control anyone else…and God knows I’ve tried. So, what does that mean for me? It means I need to focus on me…how am I acting or reacting to what is happening around me? How am I interacting with myself, with other people, with the world in general? What is my body telling me? What is my mind saying to make sense of the current circumstances? What is the story I’m telling myself and is it true? Is the story based on facts or on fears?

I have the answers to all those questions inside of me…well, I’m 90% sure I do. I need focus on my own eye log and leave other people’s splinters alone. I need to be kind and compassionate with myself. To give myself the same grace that I am willing to offer to others. Love myself, even the parts of me that feel crazy sometimes. I deserve, for myself, the same love I would extend to another person. That love will lead me to greater understanding myself and others. I cannot love you, not really love you, unless I really love me first. Love is the answer. We can choose to allow love to guide us to our authentic and vulnerable true selves. We can risk opening and allowing. I can change. We can change. We have everything we need already.

Love is the answer to all the questions. Love moves me off the edge…if I allow it. I can see everyone and everything through the lens of love if I choose to. I knew love was the answer…because in the end all that matters is how we love people, including ourselves…starting with ourselves.

Elbow Shemelbow

June 3, 2024 ~ Kai Raines ~ Leave a comment

Now this blog has a huge WTF!? factor…just so you know. I went to fetch my wife…sound southern, don’t I? I fetched her from yonder Colorado. (Of course, people in Florida don’t have southern accents.) Anyway, I drove out to Colorado for two weeks to visit my kids and grandkids and to bring my wife home. When we left Colorado, we drove to Texas to see my wife’s family. Fortunately, we did not get hit by a tornado, but it was close.

The evening we arrived, I noticed my arm was red. Specifically my left, elbow replacement arm, was red around my elbow. I didn’t think too much of it until the redness spread on Sunday. That’s when I showed my wife and became terrified that I might have an infection in my elbow. Apparently, I was told, you can get an infection in a joint replacement up to a year after the surgery. From reading I’ve done it can be many years after surgery. That’s scary.

So, on Memorial Day I called to talk to the on-call doctor back in Florida. He prescribed me some antibiotics and said I needed to be seen when I got home, and I needed to call if anything got worse. Cellulitis is what he called it. It’s a bacterial infection that is usually caused by a cut or some other opening in your skin…well, I don’t have any cuts, so I thought it didn’t sound so bad. Then I started reading about it in connection to joint replacements. Thank you very much google. According to the Mayo Clinic, Cleveland Clinic, and John’s Hopkins this type of infection almost always requires surgery to get the infection out and remove the infected joint. WTF!?

Now I’ve had a lot of surgeries in my life…approximately 45 on various joints. 13 on my elbow. I’m not so afraid of surgery. I’m afraid of what it would mean if I did need surgery. If my elbow replacement needs to be removed, besides the months of IV antibiotics, I won’t have an arm anymore. Nothing will replace the replacement. I’ll have an arm with no elbow so my arm will just be decorative…because it won’t work. I’ll wear a brace and have minimal use of my hand.

When I had the surgery for my broken arm and dislocated elbow replacement last November, I was told that if this replacement failed, as others have, the only option left would be to remove it and not replace it anymore. At that time, I appreciated knowing that if that happened, at least I wouldn’t be in pain anymore. That sounded good. Until now. Now it sounds horrible. If this infection is in my joint, I’m going to lose my arm. Its not going to be amputated but it will only be for show…a useless appendage hanging from my shoulder. I feel overwhelmed and terrified. It’s one thing to hear about a possible thing that might happen in the far away future and being punched in the stomach by an inevitability staring you in the face.

Maybe it’s not inevitable. The redness is mostly gone…it’s still swollen, hot, and stiff. I see the doctor Friday. So, WTF!? I don’t know what the fuck. My work this week is sitting with not knowing…and not freaking out. I’m not inappropriately freaked out…only about a 5. That seems reasonable…given the circumstances. I did stop googling. My mind is very distracted this week on its own…I don’t need to encourage it by being sucked down the google black hole.

I need extra awareness this week. Awareness of my interactions with myself and with others. Awareness of my anxiety. Awareness of my capacity and willingness to love. Awareness of kindness I can offer to myself and others. I didn’t do anything to make this happen so being angry at myself seems unhelpful. Because in the end all that matters is how we love people…and that includes me.

Thoughts on PTSD

February 28, 2024 ~ Kai Raines ~ 1 Comment

I think most people are familiar with the term PTSD. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. We’re familiar with the words but maybe not the meaning or a full understanding of what’s involved with that diagnosis. I have diagnosed myself, (because it saves time) with PTSD as a result of the traumatic fall I had November 10th.

According to the National Institute of Mental Health, PTSD requires exposure to an event that involved the actual, or threat of death, violence, or serious injury. The disorder develops in some people who experience a shocking, scary, or dangerous event. Either you experienced the traumatic event, you witnessed it, someone close to you experienced the event, or you are repeatedly exposed to graphic details of traumatic events, for example, first responders. The National Center for PTSD estimates that out of 100 people, 6 will experience PTSD at some point.

As I was reading this week, I was reminded that my PTSD started before last November. When I was in my 30’s I started working for the Denver Department of Human Services as a child protection caseworker. I had a caseload of families with children who had been removed from their homes because of child abuse and/or neglect. One winter morning I had gone to a school staffing at 7:00 am about 45 minutes from where I worked. When I left the school, it was snowing…more like sleeting. I was driving very slowly because the highway was icy. All of a sudden, I saw a pickup truck lose control on the other side of the highway. The truck spun into the grass median and then flipped over and over toward me. I thought I was going to die. I thought the truck would end up on top of my car…and me. I tried to stop but my car slid on the ice. I hit the pickup truck when it stopped flipping and the car behind me hit me. As the truck was landing the driver was ejected from the front seat and went sliding down the highway. He looked like he was just sleeping as he slid by. I tried to steer away from him but couldn’t because of the ice. I thought I ran him over.

When everything stopped moving, I was really shaken up. I understand now why an “excited utterance” is an exception to the hearsay rule in court. There’s no time or ability to lie about anything. I understand this because pretty much as soon as a state patrol officer said “hi” I blurted out everything that had happened, including thinking that I ran the driver over as he slid down the highway. The officer told me I did not run him over. The “him” was a 17-year-old, who stole his grandfather’s truck. He didn’t even have a drivers license. It was so sad because he died at the scene. The officer was gentle with me and told me several times that that young man’s death was not my fault. I think because the truck was flipping down the highway at me, I knew it wasn’t my fault.

That accident gave me PTSD and I still have it. I cannot drive in the snow or ice…well, I physically can but emotionally it’s a bad idea. I am terrified of snowy or icy roads. And you may think, “well I don’t like them either, no one does.” True…but I’m afraid I’m going to be killed at any moment. I’m terrified that a car is going to flip over and smush me…and I’ll be dead. I literally cannot be in a car, riding or driving, in those conditions. That was almost 30 years ago, and I remember it like it was yesterday. I still feel the fear of dying and I still see that young man sliding down the highway. None of those images have faded in all these years.

It is natural to feel afraid during and after a traumatic event. A diagnosis of PTSD requires symptoms that last longer than a month and that significantly interfere with aspects of daily living, like work, or relationships. Symptoms must be unrelated to medication, substance abuse, or other illness. PTSD also requires: at least 1 re-experiencing symptom, such as flashbacks, distressing thoughts, recurring memories or dreams; at least 1 avoidance symptom, like avoiding thoughts or feelings, staying away from certain people, places, or events; at least 2 arousal and reactivity symptoms, such as hyper-vigilance, being easily startled or frightened, difficulty with sleep and concentration, feeling irritable or angry, self-destructive behavior; and at least 2 cognition or mood symptoms for example, difficulty remembering key parts of the traumatic event, ongoing feelings of fear, anger, shame, or guilt, loss of interest in activities you used to enjoy, feeling isolated, difficulty feeling positive emotions, and ongoing negative emotions.

There are so many reasons for PTSD personally, as communities, as a country, as a world…9/11, school shootings, as well as shootings in churches, synagogues, movie theaters, and LGBTQ+ nightclubs. There are murders, car accidents, bad falls, assaults, and fucking Covid. And I’m just stopping there but the list of trauma inducing events goes on and on…wildfires, tornadoes, hurricanes, floods…you see my point. I wonder if there’s anyone out there who doesn’t have PTSD. After 9/11 I walked around watching the sky and waiting for the next plane to crash and the next building to fall. After Pulse Nightclub I felt, and still feel, hunted, as a member of the LGBTQ+ community. After the Columbine shooting, I questioned the wisdom of sending my kids to school. The pandemic made me want to put everyone I care about into plastic bubbles so they couldn’t get Covid…and couldn’t die.

I think we are a nation of collective PTSD, but we don’t know it. We don’t know because, instead of feeling all the pain and loss of those events, we shut down or we just get angry. It might be righteous anger but it’s still just one feeling, one reaction. It’s easier to feel anger than to feel afraid or confused, or loss, or sadness. There’s been tremendous loss and we should all feel sad, we should be heartbroken, but instead we just get angrier. We are a nation full of angry people…angry traumatized people. When we attempt to solve problems while we are angry our solutions can easily turn to violence…guns, tanks, bombs. We hurt and so we want them to hurt too…whoever “them” may be. They did this to us, so we’ll do this to them…upping the ante with every reaction.

And we are just reacting. When we’re traumatized, when we’re scared, when we feel threatened, our reaction is fight or flight. I am either gonna beat the shit out of you or I am gonna run the fuck away and hide. Those are the physical reactions our bodies automatically produce. We have a physical reaction but what is our response? Are we able to stop a moment, take a breath, and make a decision of how we will respond? Make a conscious choice. When a traumatic event occurs, our reactions are immediate, and they need to be so that we protect ourselves. When recurring fears and feelings are stirred up because of PTSD we need to find a way to respond. We need to be able to choose an appropriate response when we aren’t in danger, but we’re triggered. When I was walking my dog and I tripped, I was not in danger. Nothing happened to me. I was safe. But for example, if my reaction was to decide to never leave my house again, that might be a bit extreme. When triggered my reactions are not to actual danger but rather a perceived danger. I see danger everywhere because the world hurt me. The beach broke me, a car flipped in front of me, a dead body slid past me on the road…I was minding my own business, and the world got me. How did it get me? It reminded me that I am not in control. I’m not in control of the world or of people or even myself sometimes. Shit happens because I can’t stop it. I can’t stop it because I can’t control it…”it” being literally everything. Well fuck. People fall, cars crash, people die…life happens. Sometimes life feels a bit relentless.

So, let’s be real…I have physically been put back together from the fall but mentally and emotionally, I feel guarded…maybe tentative is a better word. I feel tentative in my interactions with the world around me. So, what is a lover of the beach to do, especially since I’m scared now. I’m not exactly sure but I know one thing, sitting and being still with myself can only help. Sitting as in meditation or prayer or whatever reason causes you to sit alone and in silence. So, I’m gonna sit. Then, I’ll sit…and finally, I’ll sit some more. Because in a world that feels out of control, I can control that. I can control sitting myself down and meditating…or just closing my eyes and being still. Quiet, still, and by myself.

So that’s my plan. To sit. Yep, that’s the whole plan. Call it meditation, call it relaxing, or call it laziness. It doesn’t matter what you call it, it matters that you do it. So, I’ll sit 20 minutes a day…maybe only 10 to start. I’m not sure what to do with all these feelings. So, I’m gonna sit. I’m going to allow my much-feared feelings to arise as they want to and I’m going to sit with them. I’m going to stay with them. I am not going to interact with them, at least not now. I’m going to notice them in my mind, recognize them, notice them in my body, and then let them go. I’m going to notice, touch, and let go. And they will go…if I let go. I’m going to allow these feelings to come to me instead of trying to orchestrate how I’ll fix them without feeling them. Nothing needs to be fixed. All I need is to be aware.

Before I end here, I want to say that I am not writing this as a mental health expert or an expert in PTSD. I am writing as a fellow traveler on this journey with trauma. I’m reading and learning and sharing. This is not intended to take the place of any therapy. Only you know if you need therapy. If you think you might then you should. Therapy can be very helpful.

If you are going to hurt yourself, call 911. If you have suicidal thoughts, get help right away. Reach out to a friend, a spiritual advisor, or someone you trust. Make an appointment with your doctor or therapist. You can contact the Suicide Crisis Lifeline 24 hours a day. Text 988 with any message you want and have a conversation with a counselor through text or chat. You can also call 1-800-suicide 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Please reach out and get the help you need.

As a person who has experienced trauma, in relationships with people who have experienced trauma, in a nation that has experienced trauma, and as part of a massively traumatized world, be kind. Be kind to yourself. Be kind to other people. Lead with love in all your interactions. Because we need love to win. We need love to win everywhere. In the end, all that matters is how we love people. So, lead with love. Love is always the place to begin.