Shaken

It’s common to struggle with anxiety after a child dies. Melanie DeSimone does a great job of talking about it in Why Anxiety Is A Part Of Child Loss. It makes sense if you think about it. The unimaginable, the “it won’t happen to me” happens to you. Many, many pieces of life have to be reevaluated with this new awareness. The world feels unpredictable, maybe even cruel. The result is anxiety.

I am fighting a monumental battle against fears right now. I am fighting, I am not winning. I have the normal (don’t misunderstand that to mean easy) child-loss anxiety, plus worsening PTSD. They feed off each other and intensify. I’m trying to hang on for the next few weeks until I can get help (it’s been impossible to find a PTSD-experienced therapist who has any current openings).  

My fears are focused on two things. The first is a fear about the general safety of my children. Terrible thoughts come to me with the tiniest trigger. The second is much stronger, and that is a fear of accidents while driving. I am hyper focused in the car, aware of dangers that don’t even exist, and not able to turn it off. I practice breathing, grounding myself, trying to distract myself with music or my children. These things help, but the problem has gotten out-of-control. I’m actually doing a decent job of not dwelling on these fears throughout the day. This is not a lingering storm of anxiety. It’s lightning flashes. The thoughts flash through my mind like lightning bolts, leaving me stressed, shaken, or worse. 

Every time a truck approaches me on a two lane road, I wonder if it’s the truck that’s going to kill us. 

I think the same thing when I make a turn and notice whatever vehicle is now behind me. Is that the car that is going to kill the rest of my children?

Last month I left Jana at the pool with a friend. As I drove away, I couldn’t stop imagining her body being found in the pool, floating face down. I reminded myself that she is a good swimmer, and the lifeguards are excellent, but the thought left me shaken and teary until she came home. We haven’t gone back to the pool all summer.

When the kids run across the street to the neighbors house, I cringe and listen with my shoulders tight for screeching breaks. I can’t relax until a minute has passed and they’ve had time to get safely across the cul-de-sac.

Michael and I drove by a pond on the side of the road. For the next few minutes an unbidden movie played in my mind, and I didn’t even realize I was doing it. Our car had crashed into the pond and sunk. I helped Michael out of his seat belt, shaking as I tried to calm him down (which was an exact replay of what happened in our actual accident). Water leaked into the car and we made plans to smash through the sunroof. I told him to take a deep breath, assured him it wasn’t that deep and we were going to make it out, and protected him with my body as I broke the roof. I felt the shattering glass cut my back, the water and slimy tangle of roots pour over us… 

I noticed what I was doing, tried to shake it off and pay attention to the road. Deep breaths. Feel my fingers on the steering wheel, the seat at my back. I was not going to panic because of invented trauma in my head.

These thoughts intrude all day long. This is in addition to a full PTSD outburst if another car is irresponsible, distracted, or anywhere close behind me. Last week I turned around (while at a stop sign) and yelled (silently…I gestured and mouthed words) at the driver behind me, texting on her phone. I didn’t wait to see if she responded. The only reason I didn’t descend into complete meltdown was because the kids were in the car with me.

Instead, I turned around and kept driving, the tears coming. “Mommy, what happened?” It scares them every time I lose control. I cried harder. I noticed the song on the radio, 

“When did I forget that you’ve always been the king of the world? I try to take life back right out of the hands of the king of the world.”

For the last two weeks, I end up in a rage or in tears at least once every time I drive, so I’m driving as little as possible now. I’m not sure if this is wisdom, or if I’m giving in to the PTSD and making things worse. I feel ashamed either way. We finished Jana’s commitments last week, and are staying home the rest of the summer. We are going to eat everything in the pantry so I don’t have to go to the grocery store. The kids might get bored, but at least I won’t have to apologize to them for losing my temper and yelling at other cars.

The thought of not driving anywhere this week brings tears of relief.  

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