A little of my story and book plug

This story won’t start at the beginning. Not in a way where this is what happened to me and now I have PTSD. It starts at my diagnosis. I was diagnosed with PTSD in 2015 after having a rock bottom experience. I was separated from my husband, I was killing every relationship I had, and my life was just chaos and out of control.

I decided the pain, the chaos and being out of control wasn’t how I wanted to live anymore. So I chose to go to intense therapy. Cognitive Behavioral Therapy to be exact. I also went through self driven EMDR trying to get the pathways in my brain to rewire around the trauma. 

After 2 years telling a therapist my story and many repressed memories being remembered, I felt like I would never be okay again. It was just too much. I remember asking what caused the therapy and he looked at me and said “take your pick, Amy.”  I knew then that this was going to be a long road. There have been times I let it get the best of me and allowed the storm of PTSD to overtake me. Even superheroes get tired sometimes. 

That was the day my diagnosis went from PTSD to Complex-PTSD. C-PTSD is related to prolonged trauma and abuse. The effects are low self worth, reckless behavior, overactive startle response, fight or flight, flashbacks, easily overwhelmed, no filter, night terrors, hyper vigilance and avoidance of social situations. 

So where do I go from there? What is my next step? How do I heal? I wanted and still want nothing more than to be the fearless, spunky, independent Amy at 21. So I bought a book. It has changed my perspective and in turn my life. The name of the book is Deal With It: Living Well With PTSD by Dr John A King. It is the book pictured above with me on my lunch break. It was a hard read at first. I was triggered because his description of the fallout of being sexually assaulted resonated to close to home. Once I sucked it up and decided I wasn’t a victim and I wanted to apply what I learned I read this book at every opportunity. It was cathartic, validating, raw, and very real. 

For the first time in a long time I saw hope for healing. Hope for building a new me that wasn’t in a million jagged pieces. A me that doesn’t have to blame every man for the abuse I went through. I’m not there yet, but I’m working on it everyday. I’m starting at the baggage claim and dumping that mess there. I’m moving forward and making positive things happen. I’ve decided I’m not going to worry about people leaving me to the point I smother them. With or without them I am still me and I will be ok regardless. I’m walking in new strength. I’m forgiving myself for screwing up relationships, words, work, whatever when I was in the midst of the chaos. It’s a new day and I’m going to live it to the fullest. I won’t quit. 

Victim vs Living Victimized

I had a discussion yesterday about being a victim. I do not see myself as a victim and would vehemently deny to anyone that I am a victim. I am a fighter. I am strong even though I get tired. But I struggle with the trauma of what happened to me.

I have had to learn there is a difference between being a victim and living victimized. Being a victim is laying down and giving up. It is a choice to do nothing. It is a choice to live in a place of you against the world. As victim you nothing will ever go right in your life. When something bad happens, a person living as a victim will say this is just my life.  Living victimized is not knowing what to do with the trauma and allowing it to hurt you over and over. Yeah I know I said allowing. It is a hard truth, but if nothing else I am a straight shooter. You are a fighter. You aren't laying down and taking it, but you aren't allowing yourself to process it either. It is also a choice. A choice to carry the burden instead of facing it head on. It is a cycle you are stuck in because of fear, anxiety, exhaustion....the list could go on.

I am stuck in the living victimized cycle. I live with the fear of facing the trauma. It is allowing myself to go there and feel it all over again. I am scared. Then the light bulb moment came when I realized I carry the trauma around like a sack of potatoes. Afraid of letting go and opening the Pandora's box of hurt. I am a fighter and I have worked hard to heal. Fear has no place in this last major step of kicking PTSD butt. I will not run anymore.

The choice is mine. I didn't choose to be raped. I didn't choose to be abused. Other people made those choices for me and it sucks. On the positive side, I can choose to not let it run my life. I can go to a park and walk all by myself and feel safe. I can empower myself with self defense tools. I can work out and get physically stronger. At the end of the day though, the best thing I can do is let go. It sounds so easy. Just let it go (thank you Frozen I will be singing that all day). Letting go and processing is the hardest things you or I  will ever do. People will not understand and it really isn't their place to understand. Just keep moving forward and facing it head on, (talking to myself here)

Know the signs

Do you know the signs of depression? Most people think it is just being sad. It isn't sitting in a corner crying with a blanket eating chocolate ice cream. Maybe some days look that way, but depression is deeper than just an intense sadness. If you want to help others you have to know the signs. In my crusade to raise awareness for mental health in the US, specifically PTSD related issues, I had to educate myself. Anyone who has a passion to change or help a situation first has learn. How does it work? Where are the weak spots? How can I make a difference? I answered those questions with my blog.

I decided when I did the Teens of America radio show, that I would be an advocate. I would educate and raise awareness. So, do you know the signs someone is struggling with depression? Here are some common signs, we don't always think of, to tell if someone is struggling with depression:

1. Canceling Plans last minute. People with depression want to do normal, every day things. Sometimes the thought of leaving the house is too great to push through. They stay home and regret staying home.

2. Hiding on their phone. When someone has depression the easiest way to deal with it is to avoid it. Screen time and social media provide a great outlet to just not think. Hiding in social media has consequences. We are starting to see the more screen time a person gets the higher the chances of depression.

3. Keeping the house dark. Someone who is depressed feels invisible so being in a dark or darker room is comfortable. It feels more natural to be hidden when depressed. Home is a safe place for most depressed people. In a safe place it is easier to just not put on the show of being happy and outgoing.

4. Struggling to get out of bed. This one could describe most teenagers, but you would notice a difference. A lot of people who experience depression say they struggle with getting out of bed. I for one am a night owl and I hate mornings. So, therefore, getting up at 6:30am with my alarm isn't my favorite on any day.

5. Not talking much. When dealing with depression you live in your head. There isn't much to say after the over-analyzing and insecurity. When you have this dialogue raging in your brain, conversation doesn't come easy.

These are just a few of the signs to pay attention to. The best thing to tell someone going through depression is, "You are not alone". They may feel very lonely in a crowded room, but remind them you are there. Depression is a hard battle many face alone. Let's remove any judgment or pre-conceived notions and just support those that need it.



God, Religion, and Mental Health

I want to preface this post by saying a I am Christian. I was born into a Christian home. When I became an adult I came to a place where I chose to have a Christian home. I raise my kids to pray and "take it to Jesus". I believe in the power of prayer. I believe that God cares and listens.


Now that my disclaimer is out of the way....Let's get down to business.


I have heard many people say, "I had panic attacks as a teenager", "My depression started around 15", "The first time I had suicidal thoughts I was 12". Do you know what all these statements are followed by? "But I didn't get any help because my parents were religious and thought I could pray it away." "I couldn't take medication because the church was against it." "I could only see a pastor for counseling because the church thought therapy was wrong." "Mental illness was seen as demonic or satanic and I just needed to get right with God."


The Church is changing its views on mental illness, but still has a long way to go. I think Religion and religious people have hurt mental illness greatly in this country. We have to drop the religious stigma and just love others like we are called to do. We are great at waving our Bibles and pointing out the sins of everyone else, but when was the last time you comforted someone who was struggling? It's easy to say what is a sin and make a list of rules, but it is way different to love those who do not act or believe like you do.


The stigma has to go. We have to get our kids help! If they are suffering with anxiety or depression by all means take them to talk to someone who can help them. If they need medication, then get it for them. I am not a pill pusher by any means. I do most things with natural medicine. I DO take Lexipro. It has been a lifesaver for me. I went from major PTSD symptoms, 8-10 panic attacks a week, to 1 panic attack a month and being able to leave my house.


There really isn't a precedent for mental illness in the Bible. Therefore, many translate that to mean you just aren't right with God. It is so not true! God doesn't address cancer, heart attacks, or other diseases (except leprosy) either. Maybe just maybe God wants us to use the common sense He gave us to seek help for illness. Luke, one of the 12 disciples was a doctor. A man Jesus held in high esteem. God wants us to get help, and see freedom. Should we pray? Yes! But I am not going to pray and refuse treatment for diabetes and wont do it for PTSD either.


It breaks my heart knowing that life could have been so different for so many people had the Church just loved others and dropped the stigma. How many people could benefit from us putting an arm around them and saying I know you're hurting. It is ok to not be ok sometimes and others it is ok to talk to someone. Let's start supporting one another. Let's get off our high horses and see the hurt that others carry. The hurt they feel makes them invisible. Let's just help others, because that is what Jesus did.

Disassociation Island

 

   Some days I am good. Some days I am not OK. PTSD is weird, in that I can be good at 8am, and bad at 8:15 am. I can go from OK to triggered and having flash backs in seconds. This time of year is a trigger for me. When I am triggered I isolate. My coping mechanism of choice has always be disassociation. Nothing is real, and I am far removed from anything remotely real.


   Have you ever had an extremely stressful day, and you just want to fly to a remote island? Well, disassociation is that flight to a remote island for me. It is a protective state of mind. It is a survival instinct until the trauma ceases. Except triggers keep the trauma replaying for a while. So you might see me with a vacant stare going through the motions. I might be mindlessly going through my phone never really seeing what is on the screen. You can call my name I won't hear you. I am far away on disassociation island .


    As a mom, disassociation is a downfall. As a human, disassociation is why I am still here. It can be a healthy coping mechanism, yet unhealthy. Such a conundrum, right? You do not want to be a millions miles away when your kids or husband need you. You also need to check out for a few minutes to get through a trigger. The trick is to use it for a few minutes. Like all vacations you can't live on the island. You have to come home eventually. You have to face reality when the perceived danger is over.


  Sometimes it is hard to see that you're OK through the fog of PTSD. It is a good reminder that you are OK. You have made it this far and you can keep going. Triggers do not last forever. Flash backs end. Wild memories eventually settle into the vault of your mind. When you have come so far, you can get through a rough season. This season is rough for me. I miscarried at 8 weeks on my birthday, December 23, 2012. It was my 26th birthday. This time of year the images of that day play out in my head over and over. This was my third miscarriage in 6 months. The Dr had said I probably would never carry a baby to term, and the circumstances were especially traumatic. I was not OK....at all. It is hard to relive that day, but I get through it every year. I will get through it this year too. In the mean time I will struggle, and that OK too. I won't stay in the struggle. I will work through it and come out the other side.


   If I even go out this time of year, don't be surprised if I am not all there. I am probably away on my island healing.

2 Years

Two years.  731 days. 17,544 hours. 2 years can seem like a lifetime or seconds depending on what your situation. 2 years ago today was a life changing day for me. It seems like a lifetime ago and yesterday all at the same time. I will never forget how I felt, the smells, the way the lights shone. It’s to significant.

2 years ago today I marched in a Christmas parade for work. This picture was taken right before the parade. I was smiling, waving, throwing candy the whole nine yards. No one would’ve known the storm brewing inside me. The battle raging in my head and heart. I went home and made decision to call my therapist first thing Monday morning. That therapist at the time wasn’t a good fit for me, but she was all I had. I didn’t feel free to talk to her in a crisis. But with my parents there at the lowest moment of my life I called her.

I admitted that two days prior, I came home from work at my worst. I felt worthless and like a burden to everyone in my circle. I felt nothing but darkness. I couldn’t see any hope. I was completely hopeless. In that moment rock bottom would’ve been a step up. I couldn’t see any way to relieve those around me of my horrible self. I hated myself. I hated how I made myself feel. I hated I couldn’t just be normal. I was too damaged. I was used and dirty. I was broken. Hopeless. Beyond repair. Past the point of healing. With no other recourse I locked myself in the bathroom. I grabbed a bottle of prescription muscle relaxers. I opened the bottle and felt the pills in my hand. I wondered if there was enough to do the job. I didn’t want to mess this up like I did everything else.

Then my saving grace. My ray of hope. My daughter who I call Grace knocked on the door and said “Mom I need you”. In reality she needed help with her homework. What I heard in that sentence was I need you to stay alive. I need you to be here. I need my mom. I couldn’t hurt my kids like that. I flushed the pills, wiped my tears and opened the bathroom door. My saving Grace has no idea she saved my life.

I could’ve kept it to myself. No one knew what I was going to do. Here’s the thing, I was tired of fighting this battle. My kids needed me. In a huge way, I needed them too. I didn’t want mental illness(depression) to win. So I told my husband, who I was separated from at the time, that I needed help. I had to swallow my pride in a big way. My parents came to Kentucky from St Louis. On Monday morning I called my therapist. I told her what happened. She called the hospital and told them I was coming. My parents and my husband drive me an hour away to a good hospital. The hardest thing I ever did was walk into that hospital knowing I would be put on a 72 hour hold.

My experience at the hospital wasn’t great. It wasn’t some great turning point. I didn’t receive help. I got medicine that made me a zombie. I remember staring at the wall for an hour realizing I was doing but unable to stop. I got a five second diagnosis that wasn't even right. How can you diagnose properly after a short conversation? I went to group sessions where we did crossword puzzles and one where the chaplain told us we had wounds. Well duh! The hospital was actually not a good place for me to be so I just did everything they said so I could be released and get out of there. Maybe someday I will do a blog about the hospital. Right now I’m just going to say we have a long way to go in our care of mental health patients.

Two years ago I decided to save my life. 731 days ago I decided I need a diagnosis, I needed to know the battle I was fighting. 17,544 hours ago I decided my kids were worth surviving for. I decided to get help with a therapist that could and would help me. Two years ago I started the journey to healing. I’ve  faced some hard things and put in hard work. I’ve accepted I have PTSD. I’ve accepted I have been through trauma and I had wounds to heal. It’s amazing how far a person can come in two years.

I’ve found there is hope. There is a light at the end of the tunnel. If your hurting, you don’t have to stay there. Please do not be afraid to reach out. I was terrified I would be judged but admitting I was going to take my life is the best thing I did to start healing. It’s hard I know it is. Find someone you trust, talk to them. Call a therapist. Call crisis line. Just reach out. My goal is that no one else loses their life to suicide. If I can help in any way please contact me. Message me, I will do what I can to connect you to resources that will help. You are not alone.

It's Ok To Look Back

Looking back I see so much hardness I have went through. It is easy to compare our lives and think someone else seems to always walk through life unscathed. The thing is bad things happen to everyone. Not necessarily the same bad things, but none the less, bad things happen to everyone.


I remember when we moved to Kentucky from St Louis 13 years ago. I was about to go through some things I could've never foreseen. I had just lost three babies two years earlier, given birth to our oldest after a high risk pregnancy and a little bed rest and complications. I was now pregnant with our second and it was taking a major toll on my body.


When we moved I lost a well paying management job because there wasn't a transfer available. We were broke. Like didn't buy groceries for three months broke. You cant just not have food when you have a 12 month old and you are three months pregnant. I remember praying for our next meal. We never went hungry. God provided three meals a day for three months when our budget didn't. I cant even remember how it all worked I just know my baby had her bananas and Cheerios for breakfast without fail. God used generous people to help us, without them knowing what we were going through. I almost lost my life giving birth to our second daughter during this time. Even though we saw blessings it was just a horrible rough time.


We have had other rough times since. I know when going through the bad times you cant see the outcome. The bad is right in your face and you cant even see your next step. It is overwhelming. In this time my depression came back with a vengeance. I was in such a dark place. It really should've killed my marriage, but I have a man that believes in sticking it out. I look back on these times and I don't know how I made it. I have had depression since I was a young teenager. It really was nothing new. In fact, it was old and a burden I didn't know how to carry anymore. I just wanted to be done with it forever.


Looking back, I am proud of myself for making it through the best I could with the circumstances I had. Being honest, my circumstances were stacked against me for me to not make it with mental illness. I dealt with a lot of misinformation, judgment and stigma within my supposed support group. It was far from ideal, but I made it. I am stronger, wiser and maybe a little jaded. And that is okay.


Today with therapy, medication and a diagnosis, I am able to stand on my own two feet. I realize I didn't get here alone. Only by the grace of God am I here today, stable and somewhat thriving. Like I said, I have an amazing supportive husband, who has been right by me every step of the way. I also have a really great therapist who has learned I'm pretty stubborn and I will heal on my terms.  I am no longer just surviving another day. Bad things still happen to me, because well, that's life. I am more prepared to handle those times today than I was 13 years ago.


It is okay to look back as long as you are looking to see how far you have come. Don't look back at the mistakes, the could've beens, the missed opportunities. That isn't productive and will only bring you hurt. These things happen and we cannot change it.  Look back and see you have made it through wounded but wiser. Use what you have learned to get you through what life throws at you now. I still have depression, anxiety and PTSD. They still affect me daily, but I have learned what I am made of. I will not deal with everything perfectly. I will react in anxiety, or allow depression to take over. I know now I don't have to stay there. I am empowered to look back, take in the lesson and live my life fully.

It's NOT Just a Dog

 

ANXIETY.....those who deal with it on a regular basis realize it is irrational. Anxiety sometimes makes you react to things without thinking. It can come across as you being quiet and antisocial or angry and short tempered. It shows up in different ways for different people.
Once you have anxiety for a period of time you adopt coping mechanisms to deal with the onslaught of emotions and thoughts. Most times we develop these coping mechanisms without even realizing it. Most of these mechanisms are not healthy.


Things like nail biting, pulling out strands of hair, drinking, promiscuity, hyper focusing on others faults, self harm, destroying relationships, drug use are all unhealthy coping mechanisms. I tend to disassociate or bounce my knee. I drive people nuts with these behaviors, but they are not destructive.
My biggest coping place is my dog. He isn't a certified therapy dog, he isn't a service dog, but he is therapeutic for me. He and I have bonded to the point he recognizes when my anxiety is high. He will climb up me and lick my face. Sometimes he lays on my chest and lays his head on my face. He will lay across my shoulders and lick my face. Anything he can do to distract me and get me to pet him. Once I start petting him I calm down.


I have to admit some of my coping skills in the past have not been healthy. Sometimes the anxiety is like a coke bottle that has been shaken and I blow up in anger. I bite my nails. I have pulled out strands of hair one at a time not even realizing it. I am really working on a healthy way to deal with anxiety. I have made huge changes and steps towards to being healthier.


When someone sees my attachment to my dog and says "he's just a dog" I have to remember they do not get it. He is not just a dog, he has helped me go from surviving to thriving. I lived in survival mode for way too long. I am going to thrive with Ziggy by my side. He is my healthy way to cope. He is not a crutch but he does help me recognize my triggers and prepare for them. He is far from 'just a dog'.


Whatever your healthy coping looks like, be proud of that. If you run, run your heart out. If you sing, sing at the top of your lungs. Others will not understand how important it is to you and that's ok. It is not their journey. People might say things joking about how you cope. It hurts I know. They aren't trying to be hurtful just rest in the fact that you are doing something healthy for you. Hold your head high and cope whatever healthy way works for you. Anxiety doesn't get the last word.

The Elephant in the Room

I guess I should address why I haven't written. Writing had become very cathartic for me. It was a form of therapy that soothed my soul. Unfortunately, it also leaves me exposed and vulnerable. Not everyone intends to hurt you but sometimes it happens. I got hurt.
Part of PTSD is when you try to express yourself in words they can become jumbled. One word out of order and it takes on a whole different meaning than what you were trying to express. I admit I should proof read better. I posted something that was taken differently than what I meant it to say. It came across as me trying to cash in on someone else's pain. That is something I would never want to do. I would never want to minimize the struggle, journey or pain of another person. I triggered someone else. In a way I hurt them too. It wasn't my intention. I have had a hard time processing this whole ordeal. this is why I haven't written in 3 months.
I needed to protect my heart. I needed some time where I wasn't so vulnerable. I needed to fly under the radar. I hate that sometimes my anxiety silences my voice. I so want to advocate and educate on behalf of those surviving in silence. My heart is too big and open to sit and do nothing while people are hurting.
Here I am, back at the writing thing. My writing is sloppy and I forget commas, but my heart is in the words. I am sometimes messy, disorganized, broken and beautifully altered.

Wet Blanket

A wet blanket puts out a fire.  It's stops the burn in its tracks. All that's left is an ugly, charred, gnarled piece of wood.  That's depression.
I have depression and anxiety with my PTSD.  The trigger for the wet blanket is usually when I feel I'm not good enough.  If I have to prove I'm moral, ethical, honest or good I usually get triggered.  Boom wet blanket.
It's uncomfortable, I don't like it and yet I allow it to put out my fire. I wrap myself up in it and become the charred remains of my I've flaming passion for life. I let the cold, dampness seep through me and permeate my heart.  Before i even know whats hit me, Just like that stopped dead in my tracks.
The other side of this is, hopelessness doesn't last forever.  I find beauty in life.  I laugh when I just want to be angry and sulk. I get distracted by my Pollyana attitude (I know it makes me sick too) and I can re-ignite the flame.
I don't like depression. It sneaks up on you and steals your moments.  I want to feel, to love, to angry, to be happy, to be sad, to share and to cry. I want all of it because that's living.  So I respect the power of the depression, but look forward to when the tears stop.
Those moments when I'm alone and I think too much, it will creep back in.  I overthink everything.  I analyze, dissect, insert meaning and diagram every situation.  Did I say the wrong thing, well of course I Did! I am not capable of communicating effectively.  Did I have a bad time, what did they mean by that, that doesn't seem innocent to me.  Everything is suspect.
Tonight I'm throwing lighter fluid on the wet blanket and burning it to ashes.  I am enough, I am honest, I am ethical, I am moral, I am good.  Not tonight depression, not tonight.

The Change: From Victim to Warrior

I've noticed something in myself and others who have been through trauma.  There are steps to how it all plays out.  First you are a victim.  You are traumatized but your too busy hiding your secret to realize it.
The amount of time you hide your secret depends on the person. You find that you stopped being a victim in the obsession to hide your secret.   There is a lot of fear, shame and guilt involved in being abused.  You aren't really trying to protect an abuser as much as yourself from enduring any other type of trauma.  You are convinced telling will be catastrophic.
Eventually the cat is out of the bag.  You tell someone.  For some they may only tell one person their entire life.  For others, (and in my observation, it is the ones that face other forms of oppression or abuse) they tell one person and a small never strikes to life. Then they tell another.  They go public, sometimes naming their abuser.  They fire grows to a small roar.
As the victimhood and shame are shed this leads to an all out forest fire that compels the traumatized person to go on a campaign.  They become fixated on abusive institutions, abusers, victims in an attempt to make the situation have something good come from it.
I focused on child sex trafficking.  I had never been trafficked but I wanted to save the kids.  Still do. In a way sometimes I think I will save myself.
Sometimes people see the fire all around them and try to contain it.  Others see it as coming from their abuser.  The thing about the fire is you can be consumed in a fire of your own making. It can take you over and run your life and all you leave is charred remains in your path.  You become the walking wounded assessing everything in your path as a threat. The fire is a tool.  Use it to get better.  Use it to fight for right.  Use it help others. Let the fire make you into a warrior.
If you allow the fire to rage out of control you attack institutions and abusers with all your venom, bitterness and hate.  Let me say now abusers are evil and have to be stopped.  We cannot allow abuse to continue.  We also can't fight hate with hate.  If we do, we stay a victim to our own fire.  Be brave, be bold and take the step from victim to Warrior.  It's scary but the freedom from hate is priceless.
I can honestly say I do not hate my abuser.  I hate what they did to me.  I hate that I have PTSD and anxiety because they made a choice and took my choices away.  I do not hate the person.  The person was a broken, abused person themselves. I hate abuse.  I am warrior against abuse not against people.  While evil people commit atrocities we have to remember why we fight.  We want to stop abuse not turn perpetrators into victims.
So my warriors, use your fire to fuel your voice.  Someone somewhere is counting on you to bring a voice to the voiceless.

Memory Lane

Most days I am walking along in life trying to live in the present.  It's my biggest battle with PTSD.  I tend to flip flop between the past and future.  I work very hard to stay present and engaged.  The more engaged I am the less I disassociate.

The struggle starts at memory lane.  Memories are either my best friend or my worst nightmare. One smell, the way the sunlight falls, the weight of a blanket on my skin, certain sounds take me straight back to 5 years old.  Once again, I am powerless, tiny, insignificant, used, useless, traumatized.
It is amazing me to me how quickly the mind shifts from one place to another.  Memory Lane has its moments when it rules my evening or afternoon.
Once your mind has been taken to a place of brokenness it can't process memory lane is not a street you stroll down.  It's more like the rat infested alley in an inner city that you avoid at all cost.
It doesn't mean I shut down all memories.  I want to live fully. So I allow myself to remember. I have to take the good with the bad.  As I learn to process the bad in therapy I will enjoy the good times on memory lane.

Nightmares

My PTSD stems from a breech of trust multiple times by different people.  I don't trust easily and I don't trust but a few people completely.
Lately, I have been having nightmares. Usually I'm younger and going somewhere.  I keep trying to get to the airport and I forget everything.  I usually never make it on the plane.  Other dreams I'm driving and the highway just takes me in circles.  I never make it anywhere.  Always just spinning my wheels. 
I've recently started having nightmares that people I trust are abusing me, taking advantage of me and hurting me.  As a result my anxiety is high.  The worst part is people who would never hurt me have become suspect in part of my mind. 
I would rather be spinning my wheels.  I would rather miss my plane because I can't get past the obstacles. I would rather be on a highway that makes no sense than to have my ability to trust compromised. 
My brain just can't understand that it is safe right now.  My sub-conscious can't process that there isn't a threat.  I'm ok and not ok at the same time.