flatlined

I’ve told most of my story in repeated formats, even disclosing parts of that journey that hadn’t been shared before, earlier this summer. But there is yet another piece of the puzzle that I feel compelled to speak truth to today.

Through the last 25 years of my life, where in trauma after trauma has been laid at my doorstep, and I have worked overtime to ensure healing on my children’s part, and while I have spent HOURS in all forms of therapy and counseling, I have never been on any kind of psychiatric medicine as a regular RX. I have taken, literally, 6 pills of various psych drugs over the last two decades. 6 individual pills. Period. And I have been damn proud of that. That accomplishment had been my shining moment in my mind.

But for someone who valiantly defended and advocated for mental health for everyone else, that wasn’t a rational mindset. At all. It wasn’t logical or progressive in nature.

But I fought for that pedestal with everything in me. Why? Because I lived with someone for 12 years, and have had to continue to deal with him for 17 years more, who made me feel crazy every chance he got. When I divorced him, he claimed that I was the mentally unstable one, that I’d had a nervous breakdown, I was the drug addict, I was the unfit parent. He worked so tirelessly to destroy me in this area, that he was held in contempt of court FIVE different times for character assassinating me. FIVE different times.

And so I was gonna be damned if I was going to give him any ammunition to prove his point in any possible way, because if I had to be on any meds, he had told me he would use everything he could find against me to say I was unstable and unhealthy, and project his issues on to me. So instead I mustered all of my own mental clarity, emotional energy, and spiritual effigy, put myself through two “therapeutic” degrees, and held my shit together for all these years.

Until this summer when everything else about my health was falling apart. And I flatlined. Or rather I realized that I had been flatlined for years.

I had been a very purposeful parent. A very focused educator. A very over-achieving doctoral student. But an unusually uninspired, overly introverted, no libidoed, unpassionate, sad person. A person who had once wanted to change the world and was thrilled with simply living, I simply wanted to sleep and watch Netflix.

Then one day recently my old soul 17-year-old son approached me one day, after going to HIS psychiatrist for a check-up, saying, “mom, you won’t be weak or crazy for going to a psychiatrist. You’ve been strong for us for so long. You got us the help we needed, now you need to love yourself too. You deserve to love and enjoy your life, not just survive through it.”

So I went to a psychiatrist today. We talked for almost two hours. When I thought she would tell me I was dramatic or prone to being emotionless, or needed to just get over my past, and reduce current stress, you know what she did? She gave me an official medical diagnosis of PTSD, something that was so deeply validating and vindicating that I cried. I had been diagnosed with that by different therapists repeatedly, but never by a medical doctor on my official record.

And she gave me two different medicines that are supposed to help supplement my nonexistent serotonin production, and help me to calm my hyper-vigilant mind enough to sleep at night. She said that the medical world tends to misdiagnose the effects of PTSD in multifaceted, overlapping ways, often missing the key dysfunction trigger, the trauma; and that it takes time to heal many aspects of the PTSD brain because in order to prescribe enough dosage to truly heal the most dramatically injured areas, a person would have to become a medicated zombie.

I went into this appointment today expecting to be made to feel like I really WAS crazy, and I was trying to be ok with that. But instead, I walked out with the knowledge that what I believed to be true for everybody else, was true for me too. The ways I was violated and betrayed, and the ways I didn’t let them break and destroy me, are a testimony to how sane I really am, and that the ways I was injured CAN be helped to be healed through medicine, because my mind and emotions are showing a healthy response to pain, not in spite of their response because I just feel high maintenance.

The Woman and the Wolf…on Interpreting Dreams…..

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I rarely dream. And when I do, I rarely remember them. And when I remember them, they are nightmares of the past, often repressed memories that seep their way into my sleep-tossed thoughts. These dreams seem to dangle their legs on both side of the consciousness fence…just enough trigger me awake in a fervent night sweat, but elusive enough for me to not be able to own and disarm them. It is a rare and significant event when I dream, and I remember it’s contents when I awake, and it isn’t some mocking joke of the pain of my past, but instead a mysterious puzzle that I WANT to piece together.

This was the type of dream I had last night; and I have mulled over it’s contents since I awoke, wondering what message it’s sending me.

Ask me twenty years ago if I believed then that dreams meant anything other than an oddly fragmented amalgamation of the sum of all of our various parts and passions, pleas and plotlines, pieced together in some helter skelter chaos, and I would have kindly, but firmly disavowed any other perspective. But now, I’ve lived too much of life, seen the evidence too often of thin spaces where spiritual and physical meet, where supernatural and gravity dance, where what isn’t said or even coherently thought into existence plays just as much a part of ordering our daily steps as what we view with the naked eye.

So this is what I dreamt.

I was above a bustling, busy, belligerent, boisterous populated scenario. It wasn’t a geographical place, it was just filled with people, lots of them. Shades of gray and grime and grit were what painted the neverending seemingly dark night of a collective soul, almost languishing in a rave like unified movement.

But I was above it all, in a gondola of sorts, flying over the rushing commute hour frenzy below. And while there were a few people there with me in the gondola cab, it was like we were existing side by side, but weren’t cognizant that each other was even there.

Except there was a police officer with us. And he and I were interacting in such a way that we shared a somewhat intimate, beautiful embrace…just a hug… but it was genuine warmth at its’ most beautiful.

But then it wasn’t.

I pulled away, my guard going back up . Nothing he said or did led me to react in such a way, it was simply my lack of believing he was genuine.

And then I saw a pair of earrings, shining in the otherwise darkened gondola space, hanging from a sellers arm. They caught my eye, and with their encompassing shine, my whole being felt refuge, safety from everything going on below, and from the few people in the gondola, including my cop. But what drew me in and imprinted itself on my mind, searing a space in my heart until this very moment, was the design on  saw on the earrings.

In an etched silver metal design, there were mountains. And below the mountains was a gray wolf. And below the gray wolf, or rather wrapped in his furry embrace, was me, securely lodged in a place of warmth and light. I felt confident. I felt safe. I felt free. Oddly.

And I woke up, for once, with a steady heartbeat. And steady hands. And dry sheets, cool to the touch.

It was a dream, rather than a nightmare. A mosaic of hope, rather than a ritual reminder of terror and pain. And I smiled. And it was good.

And then I looked up what a wolf in your dream DOES represent:

To see a wolf in your dream symbolizes survival, beauty, solitude, mystery, self-confidence and pride. You are able to keep your composure in a variety of social circumstances and blend into any situation with ease and grace. You are also a loner by choice. To see a white wolf in your dream signifies valor and victory. You have the ability to see the light even in your darkest hours.

Wolves are seen as majestic, beautiful and as a source of sacred wisdom,” she explains. In general, though, Richmond says dreaming about wolves entails facing a fear. She suggests asking yourself what you are frightened of and how you can control the situation. “Certainly the North American Indian cultures and tribes find the wolf a very important dream symbol,” notes Richmond. “It is considered a strong warrior symbol and is associated with wisdom and healing.”

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