Well, this week has turned out to be harder than I anticipated. I had been doing really well anxiety-wise, so I must say that I'm a bit blown by how raw I've been leading up to today... How horrible having the flashbacks and dreams is and how much I still blame myself for what happened... On the one hand, I guess this is good, that I'm not used to feeling this awful anymore. On the other hand, I can't believe the last three years were spent feeling this way. What happened to my life? What happened to me? How in the hell did I get out of that mess?
Four years ago today, my life changed forever. It's the day that became my before and after, my personal B.C. and A.D. time marker. Four years ago today, I flew home to Arkansas for my wedding, went and spent the day with my grandparents, like I always did, and then watched, helplessly, as my Grandma died suddenly in front of me.
At the time, I put on a grateful face for my family--"Oh, I'm so lucky I got to say goodbye. It was meant to be that I was there. I got to tell her that I loved her one last time." That was a total lie, told to make them feel better so they wouldn't worry about me. In fact, I felt like absolute shit--if I hadn't gone there that day, if I hadn't let her take me shopping, if I had been faster at calling 911, or done CPR correctly, or SOMETHING, it wouldn't have happened. She would have had her CAT-scan the next day, the doctors would have found what was wrong and, poof! an alive and healthy Grandma!
I've spent most of the last four years "living" because that's what I was supposed to do... I went ahead with my wedding even though I still have a hard time separating the happiness of that anniversary with the awfulness of the days before it. I went into work (sometimes, when I wasn't sleeping or crying or hungover or angry or just plain sick) and went to interviews for better jobs, including the one I have now and love. I called friends back and hung out, which was always fun, but I dreaded because it meant being out in the world. I told everyone that it hurt, but that I would be okay. That it would just make me stronger. Really, I didn't believe any of it and I did most of my "living" out of guilt or fear of failure or embarrassment. I really just wanted to lie in bed, watch the tv, and eat my sadness. Which I sorta did. And when I wasn't doing that, I was on autopilot or navigating a raging sea of anxiety and flashbacks and panic attacks and anger and guilt and sadness... I was exhausted from pretending to be a person... I would have given ANYTHING to trade that day with someone--if they thought it was so great to have been there, they could fucking have it--I was there and I didn't want it anymore, not one single second of it.
About a year and a half ago, after moving into a new apartment, finding a job that I really love doing, and continuing to fake living, something happened. I actually started really living. I found a new therapist. I started going to acupuncture. I began not only enjoying spending time with my friends but also seeking it out. I honestly don't know what I would have done without them, as they stuck by me until one day I dreaded being in the world a lot less than I had before... I began grieving my grandma and missing her, not just thinking about how she went away. I was able to separate the two--how she died is one thing, but the fact that I don't have her around anymore is another. I began being able to miss her for her, which was so freeing to me. To cry because I was at the store and saw some socks that she'd love (she was a big sock person) and not because I'd heard an ambulance and had a panic attack.
So what now? What happened? Did enough time go by that the wound just healed? No, I can honestly say that, clearly, it's still there. If I think about that day and what she looked like as she passed and how scared I was and how responsible I felt and still feel, it's clear to me that my soul is still in a lot of pain. But... I'm not as mad at myself about it anymore. Last year this time, my therapist said to me something along the lines of, "I know that it's hard and it's horrible that you went through that, but you need to learn how to deal with it. Because it could happen again. Right now, the next time you are with someone you love, it could happen all over again. And you need to be able to still live." I was so mad, for weeks, after she said that to me. And then it hit me... it's true. I have to learn how to deal with this because I couldn't control it then and I can't control it now. The boy could die on his way to work tomorrow and I have to deal with that. I absolutely cannot continue to define myself by that one hour of my life, that one moment of perceived failure... I have to define myself for the many moments that happened after, the strength that I didn't even know that I had and the fact that, for the first time in a long time, I honestly didn't remember how much it hurt to feel this way...
My acupuncturist asked me a couple of days ago, when I went in all squidgy and distraught, if I would trade places with any of my family. Privately, I've often told myself that I would, especially when one of them would say how jealous they were that I got to be there. But, my old, public answer was always "no", at least in regards to the other grandchildren, my twin and my cousin, because of a couple of reasons. One, I didn't want to seem like a shit. Two, I honestly think I was the best choice at the time. See, the thing is, I'm often horrible with my own problems, but with other people's, I get some sort of super cool, take-control power. For all the guilt that I feel, I know that I made sure that only one grandparent died that day when I forced my upset grandfather to take his heart medicine when I saw him have symptoms... I honestly don't think that my cousin, who has continued to struggle in his life with depression and addiction, would have had the clarity of mind to focus on the mission at hand--get Grandma to medical attention and make sure we keep Grandpa alive. My sister probably could have handled the 911 and all that, but she didn't realize that my Grandpa needed to take nitroglycerin for his heart and wouldn't have known to say anything. I happened to know, so I thought of it in the middle of another crisis. Am I a superhero or special? No. But did I do at least one thing right that day? Yes.
However, that's my old answer. On Friday, for the first time, I started to say what I always said and then paused... and eventually answered the same thing, but for a totally different reason. When she asked me, "would you trade," instead of saying no but meaning yes, I said, "Yes, if it would mean the same outcome and Grandpa didn't go too." And then, I thought for another second and said, "No. I wouldn't. I wouldn't trade because I wouldn't want anyone else to feel the way that I've felt for the last four years... I would never want my sister or cousin or mom or dad or aunt to feel this horrible, for any reason. So, no. It's something that happened to me because it did and that's just the way that it is."
So, it seems that my body (or soul) still has scars and somehow remembers when that awful day happened... It likes to remind me through dreams and crying and nausea and panic and anger. And that's okay. Because I'm sure I'll never forget what happened that day and I shouldn't. But, I can honestly say that I can live with it.
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