“You will wake up in a new ZIP code, have to wander your way home…you buy throw pillows, you put up twinkle lights…but trauma leans into the bar cart. Spills a drink on the new rug. Breaks off the door handle on his way out.
Trauma sends you letters without warning for the rest of your life just so you remember Trauma knows exactly where you live. Who did you think built the house?”
From “What I’ve Learned About Trauma” by Brenna Twohy
Let’s sit down and talk about trauma. This is simply what has happened to me and how I hold onto hope. It’s important to note that everyone’s experiences are different, and I am not claiming to be an expert at all. We all have our demons and memories. My goal is to share in the hopes of making someone feel a little less alone. Let’s get to it…
When I was 15 I spent a night in the ER as a teen suicide patient. Without even realizing it, I had my first brush with trauma. For a really long time I didn’t know how to put a name to the number that an experience like that did on my brain. I went back to that very same ER a year and a half after that terrible night for unbelievable pain in my back, and I remember what it felt like standing in that room. I immediately started crying. I wasn’t able to get a full breath as I collapsed against the hospital bed, my kneecaps buckled under the weight of the images seared into the back of my mind. Whenever I close my eyes I can still see it, a bare, dark room with no windows. I didn’t even know what trauma was, let alone that I would be scarred by that experience for the rest of my life.
There is one more night that I can remember that caused me memories that I wish I could forget. I came home to an empty house on Christmas Eve after dinner with Hannah’s family, and my anxiety took over my mind. I was unable to make it stop. I cried, screamed, kicked, and coughed my way to a sore throat and bloodshot eyes. When I get anxious I get nauseous. What’s worse than that is the fact that I have a severe fear of getting sick to my stomach. For me, this makes calming myself down incredibly hard, my body is on edge constantly and is unable to relax even when my mind finds a few calm seconds.
I wrote a poem about that night because it is the one single way that I know how to express that much emotion. The poem I wrote about that night is called “The Traumatic Panic Attack” and I’d like to share it in hopes of communicating in a way that only art can…
I have a journal that I started on January first, and it’s already filled half-way. That journal holds so much pain, anxiety, sadness, panic, and rage. The binding is falling apart and the front cover is bent in half; I have too many emotions to fit inside the pages.
These emotions manifest themselves as anxiety. This anxiety makes it hard to ignore all of the things that I wish I could forget: the search for a new psychiatrist is thrown off by the triggers of the first one I ever had, the cries and screams from panic attacks echoing in my head whenever I try to sleep, my body exhausted by this constant fight, and the flood of memories I wish would leave me alone. I’ll be at work when all of a sudden my anxiety takes me hostage, knots up my stomach, places a weight on my chest, and tears in my suddenly shifting eyes.
My panic is unblinking, it will not leave me alone when it comes to visit. It bursts through the door and does not leave for months. It sits on my couch and reminds me of all the reasons to be scared, tired, and alone. It shows me images, fragments of memories, it reminds me of the screaming coming from my own mouth during my worst panic attacks. It triggers my fight or flight response and reminds me that it will always be here, just waiting for me to let my guard down.
I say all of this because of two reasons. 1) Sharing my story is one of the only ways that I know how to process it myself, and 2) I wish to let whoever is reading this know that it’s okay to not be okay. It is okay to have gone through shit, and still be going through it. Whatever it is, it will pass. Finding a way to deal with what we’ve gone through is hard beyond belief, but it is possible.
For me, writing about it is how I process it. In the past week alone I have learned that even spending quality time with yourself every day helps tons. Learning to live with what you’ve gone through might be one of the hardest things we have to do in this life, but in the end it reminds us that we’re human.
“It’s not that I don’t feel the pain
It’s just I’m not afraid of hurting anymoreAnd the blood in these veins
“Last hope” by PAramore
Isn’t pumping any less than it ever has
And that’s the hope I have
The only thing I know that’s keeping me alive”
I think that when we stop being afraid of the things we’ve experienced we remember what it’s like to be alive. We can remember that our bodies know how to take care of themselves, even when our minds go wreaking havoc. All we have to do is be here.
Life is beautiful, we just have to open our eyes enough to see beyond our nightmares -to see our dreams and where they can take us.
Until we meet again,
Stan
Long Drives in the Dark 
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