The doors of PTSD

Work and a full school schedule has kept me too busy to blog over the last 6 months. I carry a fully time job, two part time jobs and (just barely over part time) school schedule. I've spent the last 10 years of my life in college. Some years had proven harder than others but I still came out with a 3.6 GPA. At one point towards the end of this semester I remember being really overwhelmed and struggling to keep my mind in check and worrying that I wouldn't get A's in my classes.

I wondered - for the first time ever - how much more successful I could be if I didn't have to do my school work and battle my brain on a day to day basis. Sometimes, at the end of the day when I sat down to do my homework and write papers, I had nothing left to give. Sometimes I could barely even stay in the present moment much less concentrate and succeed in what I was doing. I did it anyway and I rarely got a B on an assignment much less in a class as a whole.

In my early years of college I had often sought guidance from the school's support for those with disabilities. There were some grants I could get that would pay for some of my schooling. I decided early on to not pursue those grants, no matter how much easier it would be for me to actually finish school, because it was always on the terms of the person assigned to my case and that person would always cringe and say "No offense, but with your disability I really don't think you'll be able to be successful in that program."
They'd tell me I couldn't. Of course, they'd always pat me on the back and smile and make it sound as encouraging as possible, but they'd tell me I couldn't.

Well, someone told me once that I couldn't hold a job either and now I have three. Discouragement encourages me to prove them wrong tenfold.
I may be a few years late to the game, but I'm done with classes - just an 8 month internship and I'm done completely (before having to most likely go on for further education so that I can make a living off of my degree) and the day I graduate, I'll be saying "Hey, thanks for telling me I couldn't do it!"

That's not what I'm here to talk about though, I'm here to explain my day in doors.
There's still this quiet aspect of PTSD that I think people aren't able to fully grasp when they learn about it and that is how incredibly hard that someone with PTSD has to work at their every day. I know you've read those words written by me before. I know that you know what that sentence means. I personally tend to do better understanding something if someone paints me a picture.

So here it is, once more - my analogy of the endless doors of PTSD.
If someone were to say "paint PTSD" I would paint them this:
Imagine sitting in the very corner of a V - the bottom part - and along both sides of the V you can see nothing but doors, kind of like how hotels and apartments are set up.
Each door holds a handful of memories. Some are horrific. Some are not. Some may hold the memories of the days and moments I was with someone who is no longer here anymore. Some rooms have adjoining doors where memories are connected to one another. Each door should be, and should remain, locked.

So, here's a sample day of doors:
As I've said before, when I sleep, I lose all control. My safe spot at the bottom of the V where I can see and attempt to control the doors is not there. Instead I'm running blindfolded through the halls like my life depends on it - praying that someone doesn't grab me and pull me inside one of those rooms. For this reason, I don't sleep well. The moment I feel myself being sucked in to a room I wake up. I look at my clock, it's never time to wake. I tell myself that I'm fine, I'm safe even though even I don't believe myself, and then I fall back asleep and repeat that action over and over and over until one time I'm not strong enough to wake up and I get sucked into a room.
When my day starts, I'm waking up in one of those rooms.
The door is locked from the inside. I am trapped with my monsters.
I grab my phone, flip through some social media, check the messages that I usually don't have, check my email which is usually all spam. With each successful distraction on my phone I'm able to take steps towards that door to get out. With time as an issue, I usually need to give up on my phone and start getting ready. The first thing that I grab for is my alarm clock radio that sits on my bathroom counter. The morning shows on the radio is my morning savior. I hate the weekends for the very fact that I am not able to use it as a distraction so I don't wake anyone else in the house. The mornings that I can use the radio I'm able to take a few more steps towards the door. The chatter and stories as told by the morning show slowly let me regain my brain power.
Distraction is the Achille's heel of the PTSD monster. It's my only weapon of defense.
On some days, the time that it takes me to get my coffee and gather a lunch may be enough time to knock me back a few steps. As soon as the radio is off in the basement I'm at risk again, no longer distracted. My brain is in a weakened state when I'm trapped inside a room. Some days I continue the radio with my iHeartRadio app. Some days I'm already too far in my head to remember to even do that or maybe too many commercials are being played and I haven't had enough to concentrate on.

I'm upstairs now but the time that I've had the radio off has allowed me enough time to worry if I've unplugged my flat iron or turned off my lights. I run up and down the stairs a few times before I can successfully remember if I've done so.
I'm still locked in the room, but I'm also now in my car. If by some miracle I managed to make it out of the room by the time I get to my car, then I can play on the radio whatever I'm in the mood for. Those are the good days. Most days aren't that kind. Most days I need to find a talk show or a book or a playlist of songs that I have to concentrate to remember the words to.

Sometimes by the time I get to work I'm out of the room. Sometimes I'm not.
If I've made it out of the room I'll greet you with a smile or a sarcastic remark.
If I haven't then I'll most likely look a bit disheveled, quiet or cranky. You'll probably pass it off as a crabby morning person.

By the time I make it out of the room, I'm exhausted but I manage to lock the door behind me and make my way to the corner of my V.
I'm tired, so I may be quiet. I'm tired, so I may not respond to you when you say hi or wave at me. I'm tired because it took a lot of work just to get to the starting point of my day. To undo everything that I can't control at night. I'm tired because I don't sleep at night. I'm tired because I force myself to stay awake to avoid the time that I can't be in control. No matter how many times I've had to go through it - I dread the helplessness of the night.

I spend my day guarding my doors. Making sure that they stay locked, monsters inside. Every single hour of every day I need to be busy with distraction so that my mind can't take over, so doors don't start opening and letting all the monsters loose to reek havoc on me.

Someone at work climbs on to the metal step ladder and since they're not careful it makes a loud crashing noise - metal against metal. This startle sends a door in a hallway crashing open with the same force. I run to close it. Meanwhile - my actual mind is begging me to run.
run run run run run get the hell out of there!
But I can't. I have to stay where I am even though my muscles are tense and twitching at the same time, itching to help me flee. In my mind I'm rushing to close the now open door and while I'm doing so, other door knobs start to rattle. Everyone wants out.
Distraction distraction distraction - I need distraction. I need to run. A monster has escaped the room and is running through the halls. Now I have to chase him around attempting to contain him. He brings memories with him... throwing them in my path. Reminding me of things that I'd rather not remember. Not only giving me images but literally making me feel like I'm back in the moments that the memories were created.

Even if I just simply asked you to recall a memory of a time that you were sad, you wouldn't relive it. You'd simply see glimpses of it and maybe remember the emotion that happened at the time, but you won't see it like I see it. You won't actually re-experience it like I do.

Doorknobs are rattling and threatening to open, a monster is running a muck throwing memories at me and I have to try my hardest to stop the memories from leading into other bad memories and contain the monster and make sure the other doors stay closed.
And I have to talk to you.
I have to have a conversation, a normal conversation with whoever is around me. They probably think I'm stuck up, ignoring them, being antisocial... but I'm in the middle of what could result in a war in my brain. I'm simply busy just trying to be normal.

My constant need for distraction is why I have my "tools" with me at all time. I have a book in my purse, I have my favorite book on audio on my iPod  I have my favorite episodes of Wait Wait, Don't Tell Me and Stuff You Should Know podcasts, I have my favorite episode of Glee downloaded to my phone... all things that calm me, help my brain to focus on something that I know and love. I distract myself out of the bad memories and then in the moments after I've stepped back into functioning I feel a worried rush of panic.

Reading or watching something on the TV or computer allows me to live inside someone else's world for a bit. Afterwards I'm a bit dazed but then I'm remembering that I was distracting myself from the evil that lives inside my mind and that feels like the panicked moment that you remember that something awful has happened. The way you feel when you wake up the morning after something horrible has happened and for that small second before coming back to consciousness you have forgotten that the horrible thing had happened at all.
And then... it all crashes down on you, heavy and filled with a sadness that you're certain might make your heart stop beating.

Contain the monster, lock the door, sit at the bottom of the V and wait for the next storm to roll through.
Unfortunately anything can cause the doors to fly wide open and not every day is the same. My triggers are many and they are sometimes not triggers at all, it all depends upon what door is already open and what monster is running a muck.

Yes, there are times during the day when I have no monsters to battle. There are even the rare moments during the week when I forget all together that the hallways of doors even exist. Those are beautiful, beautiful times and they mean more to me than people can even imagine. They're rare, but they happen.
Unfortunately, the battles are far more than the calm time sitting and guarding the doors.
Unfortunately I can't make anyone who doesn't have PTSD understand how long and grueling my days are. I'm constantly busy because if I'm not busy, then there's too much time for the monsters to start the war in my head.
Some days I can't compete any more. Some days I just have to sit with my back to the wall and my arms cupped over my head. On those days I can't even pray for sleep to come because it'll be just that much worse.

Sometimes... my mind whispers Imagine what you could be without this.