When the idea to start this blog came to mind, I told myself I wouldn’t filter anything. I told myself I would write every single day because it would be good for me, and I enjoy writing. I told myself a lot of things when the idea to start a blog came to mind.
I haven’t written every day here, or in the other journals I’ve started to help in my healing. I haven’t posted everything I have written here either. I’ve filtered myself, only keeping what I think may not be accepted by others. There have been things I’ve wanted to share, and fear has kept me from writing and from sharing.
And now…what’s happening to our world? While there are major physical health concerns going on with Covid-19, my world has had other things happening where my focus isn’t on making sure my kids wash their hands every single time they go to the bathroom, or not touching anything in general. I’m not making light of what’s going on, and I am making sure they understand the seriousness of hygiene.
Our own little world has experienced physical trauma recently, and has also experienced a big trigger in our PTSD. And while I was told we have PTSD, it’s never been really spoken about during our counseling sessions.
March 10, 2020, I received a triggering text from the father of one of A’s friends. I had been out most of the day with work and taking my daughter to a couple of appointments. I had a slight worry earlier when I had called A to let him know what was going on, and he didn’t answer the phone three times. While about to turn to go home to check on him, he called saying he had been asleep when I called. I left it at that.
Three hours later, as I park in our driveway, I check my phone and I have a text and a FB message. The text read, “Hey. Are you busy?” and the other read, ” Hey trish this is …Can you call me ASAP xxx-xxx-xxxx. It’s an emergency regarding A…”
Everything went black, and I began screaming my son’s name as I rushed into the house, leaving my daughter in the truck. I scared my son as I burst into his room, screaming his name. I have never been so grateful to hear him yell back at me, “What!?!?!What!?!?”
Seeing him alive, I left his bedroom. I honestly have never been so grateful for having my son scream and yell back at me. He followed me, and began yelling at me. My daughter had been unloading the truck, and when she was done, I sent her to a friend’s house because I knew the yelling upset her, and even triggered her.
I told A why I came running into the house. He yelled at me that he was in pain, and I asked why he didn’t tell me. Granted, I was glad he was telling other people. He said in the moment, when talking with his friend (and this was shortly after we had spoken on the phone), he was in so much pain he wanted it to end. He told her he wanted to cut, and she got scared, which led to a string of people trying to get a hold of me. I was on the phone with counselors and friends most of the night either via text or voice.
Peanut spent the night at a friend’s house. I spent the rest of the week sleeping on the couch, afraid for his health and mental wellness. The week before, he had admitted to being depress, of which his counselor and I had figured out…only this incident just verified it.
His grief counselor had told me there is situational depression and chemical depression. While it’s understandable that the trauma of Ted’s suicide would have us fall into situational depression, it would seem A slid into chemical. It was time to think about medication.
I’m not a big advocate of pharmaceuticals, and I understand people need it. My counselor, his grief counselor, and his school counselor are also not big advocates of medications. Until it appears it is needed.
During the session after The Scare, I realized that I also need help. I really thought I could talk my way through my healing. Only there have been some very intense moments during the past almost 3 years since the suicide that have been overwhelming, and damn near unmanagable.
It’s been several days, possibly a week or more, since I first started this post. A lot seems to have happened. Two Sundays a