Even after 40 years of surviving numerous traumatic events, I still must deal with flashbacks sometimes.
This week there were a couple of triggering incidents that happened.
The other day I was on public transportation, and we stopped at a group home where we picked up five guys who appeared to be schizophrenic and off their meds. I was in the van for an hour, and they were chattering away to themselves. I was having flashbacks of when I was in my first mental institute at 14 for anorexia. Then we stopped in between that hour to pick up more guys from another group home that were the same way. It was hard to hold it together with my PTSD going through the roof, but having to take rides on public vans is par for the course.
One of the scary things about this trip was that the first man who boarded the mode of transportation seemed “normal,” but then as the ride progressed, he started getting agitated which escalated into a full-blown fit. I learned from experience by having to live in four mental institutes (three as a child where I should not have been admitted) that you don’t engage or make eye contact with someone who is not taking their medications and is in a state of agitation.
The old me would have just disassociated during this ride Sept. 12, but I have learned grounding tools to help me though this week though I wasn’t able to utilize them on this day. It didn’t stop the intrusive thoughts of my past from 1980 living at the Georgia Mental Health Institute (GMHI) for the eating disorder when I saw and heard things no young teenager should ever see or hear. I was there two months, but it seemed like forever.
When it was time for me to be dropped off, one of the guys asked if this was where I lived and I just ignored him, then the other guys joined in. I couldn't get off that van fast enough.
I have recently learned about grounding techniques to help during flashbacks, which include counting objects of a specific color or type, describing my surroundings, holding a small, meaningful object with me always, saying my name to myself and where I am, and reminding myself that I’m safe although I may not feel that way. Experts also recommend finding a safe place if you’re out and about, curling up in a blanket, listening to music, cuddling a pet, keeping a diary when triggered, and counseling.
Yesterday I was on the van and when I got on there were some people who were also mentally ill untreated, and they were rowdy. One of the men kept trying to flirt with me but I just ignored him and stared straight ahead. I kept using my tools. But, again, intrusive thoughts came in, this time when I lived in a group home at 16 and the familiar blue van labeled Cobb Douglas Girls Group Home would take us to and fro. I remember being humiliated every time we had to get out of the ride in public and people would stare at us.
When the guys from Sept. 13 were getting dropped off at the Adult Day Care, which is a place the van frequently goes with me along for the ride sometimes, the man who was flirting with me, passed by me almost to get off the van. He held his hand out and said, "Mom?" I didn't respond, just stared straight ahead. Then he said, "Dad?" "Aww, I love you, Mom. I love you, Dad." I just kept staring ahead.
When the driver came back to the van, he told me that the people who run these group homes can't force the clients to take their meds.
There should be a different way of dealing with things.
Later that night I got really depressed and as I write this, I still am. The ghosts still haunt me just when I think I’m doing better. However, expressing my feelings in writing or vocally helps me dispel the dark mood and remember that I have survived a lot, and I am strong.
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