October PTSD

What do you do when you can’t convince your body that you are not in danger?!

The hot flashes, that feeling of falling, dizziness, the ground not being steady, waking up on high alert, hearing every sound. The dog must be picking up on it too. He has been barking at the window. At nothing.

October hits and I cannot convince my body to stand down. Bad stuff happens in October:

2013: Fred’s heart stopped three times…and I wasn’t there. He get’s kicked out of school. His placement in assisted living is in jeopardy. We enroll in welfare. Social Security stops all communication.
2012: Inquisition. Abandonment from dear friends and church.
2011: Neuro-surgery appointments out of state, fighting to get surgery for Fred, District attorney wanting to speak with kids, kids regressing, Fairbanks returns to the area contacting the bishop to ask us for money.
2010: Fred runs away with 100 rounds of ammo, later admitted to psychiatric hospital, Boe has surgery and is on medical leave recovering from train accident, family therapy with Fairbanks is discontinued as his residential facility becomes hostile, and Fairbanks becomes more dangerous bringing weapons to school.
2009: Fairbanks is becoming more and more secretive, hiding and lying, his cover is starting to shatter. He is claiming to be suicidal and there are signs he is burning and cutting himself. Evidence of stealing is growing. Fred starts running away as tension grows between him and Fairbanks. By mid December Fairbanks has a complete psychiatric break and needs hospitalization. I knew when I dropped him off he would never return to our home.
2008: Fairbanks has had two heart surgeries for Wolf Parkinson White syndrome as well as being medi-vacced for inhaling a pin. Life has been a constant trip to the ER. Bill, Skippy, Tori all having cutting “accidents”….

And this year? Fred has decided he wants to be free of his state guardianship that I worked soooo hard to provide. He was recently assaulted by the son of his caregiver and no longer feels safe in his assisted living home. I can’t take care of him. I’m so tired. My hands so full! He wants so badly to be normal. He wants so badly to be independent. To have meaning. Value.

I know how he feels.