How Are You Still Holding On?

Yesterday I was told I have PTSD. Since then, I have thought about that a lot. I often wonder when I look at other people if they can see how weak I am inside. If they see right through me. If pity goes through their minds. And I think I'm so afraid of people pitying me and seeing me as a weak person that I cut them off and distance myself from them. So most of my relationships with people are superficial. And it's super ironic, because really I just want somebody to know me. 

And I think a lot of that has to do with betrayal, and trust issues, and on and on and on. And I have spent the last 5 months inside my head, screaming. I have watched my strong arms and legs atrophy. I have watched as my intelligent brain was lost in a fog. I have watched as I lost control of everything I once had control over. I have had no just but to watch as the one person I could rely on betrayed me: myself. 

I've felt helpless. And then found my faith again. And have gained mental strength. But have hated the physical lethargy. Each time something crops up concerning this concussion, or the insurance, or anything regarding my job, the feelings of death clutch over my heart and lungs like an iron fist. And they squeeze like if I even dare take one breath or utter one word, I will just die right there. And it is easy for others to tell me to just calm down. But it's not as simple as calming down. 

Ever since I can remember my biggest fear in life (besides the dark) has been dying, and I'm not sure why. I am most specifically terrified of burning to death, drowning, and needles. I hate doctors, hospitals, and anything like that because I associate it all with death. I can't help it. Even when I was there visiting my sister's new baby, I couldn't wait to leave. And it isn't what comes after death that scares me. Heaven doesn't scare me, especially now. But the physical pain of dying is such an intense fear that it is crippling at times. I know people don't understand that, but especially after watching Amy die, I cannot imagine anything more terrifying. Writing this has me shaking, so I just need to get to the point. 

Yesterday I was tired of feeling helpless, like death was clutching my heart and lungs. And so I put on my sneakers and headphones and went on the treadmill and started to walk slowly, breathing in deeply. I have despised running for most of my life. And my doctor advised me that I should not be doing heavy cardio. But I liked the feeling of my lungs filling up with air and exhaling. I liked my heart pumping. I liked feeling my body work. I walked for 2 miles. To have been where I was and to go from there to walking to 2 miles is a big deal for me. Anytime thoughts of this whole mess started creeping in, I focused on my breathing: in through the nose, out through the mouth. 

This morning my boss called. I spoke with her for the first time since the incident. The iron first returned and grasped my heart for the entire 12 minutes of our conversation. I had a splitting headache. Despite that, I put on my sneakers and went downstairs and walked another mile. I listened to the same song on repeat. I focused on my breathing. Earl laid in his bed next to the treadmill. And with each lap around the track, I felt the grip of anxiety loosen its hold. I felt good enough to try running a few steps. It was too much for me, but I will get there. I plan on running in memory of Amy. Maybe not in the near future, but I will.

I guess what I'm discovering is that recovery is a process. And I am exhausted. But I don't have to sit and let fear rule my life. I can do something about it. I've chosen faith. And I can also choose to take back control of my life and my body. I like walking now because I like the feeling of breath in my lungs and blood in my heart. It reminds me I am alive.