May is Not My Favorite Month, Part Three

The last few days I’ve been recounting my story of surviving the May 20, 2013 Moore tornado.  Today is the seven-year anniversary, and I wanted my post to focus on my experiences and struggles with PTSD, my recovery process, and me now.  As I say in this post, I don’t know that time really makes dealing with the trauma any easier, but rather I’ve developed a lot of tools along the way to help myself cope.  It is my hope in sharing my story that I can shed some light on PTSD, as well as encourage and inspire others who may also be struggling with their own forms of trauma or PTSD.

To read part one of my story, click here.  To read part two, here.

Part Three

It’s been seven years and I still experience triggers.  I can’t watch the tornado scene in the movie, Man of Steel, which came out that summer.  I saw it in the Moore Warren about a month or two after and had a panic attack and had to leave the theatre to compose myself.  I’ve had moments where I wasn’t quite sure where I was.  My fists clench, eyes glaze over, I start shaking, and anyone who is near me has to coax me back to the present.  This doesn’t happen very often anymore, but it’s happened a few times.  Mainly when there’s a genuine threat of a tornado near me or near Moore.  I still don’t like the sound of long, rolling thunder or jets flying overhead.  Any loud rumbling sounds, really, make me stop for a beat.  The first time we had a tornado drill when I started teaching in a new school, I went and hid in the stairwell so my students and coworkers wouldn’t see my crying.  I don’t like hearing my principals make any kind of emergency announcements or say any variation of the phrase, “teachers, please take your tornado precautions at this time.”  When the weather feels “soupy,” I get an eerie feeling in the pit of my stomach.  Hearing the wind against whatever building I’m in sends a chill down my spine, even if it’s a bright, sunny day.  I obsessively check the National Weather Service website during the month of May, refreshing the page multiple times a day, just to be sure.  The most recent trigger I’ve seemed to develop is twitching – my arms will uncontrollably twitch if I’m watching tornado coverage or a tornado scene in a movie.  Sometimes the triggers make total sense, sometimes not.  But ultimately, for the most part, I’ve learned to deal with them and move forward.

Every spring, I find myself down a rabbit hole of YouTube videos, watching coverage of that day.  I learned recently that this is actually quite common for people with PTSD.  There’s something in us that is wired to almost try to subconsciously seek out the “thrill” of the event.  For me, it’s like my subconscious has always wanted to face the “monster” again, almost as if I want to prove to that tornado that I’m stronger than it is.  Sometimes I find myself desperate to see a tornado in real time.  I didn’t see the May 20 tornado as it was barreling toward our school.  Sometimes I wish I had.  If I could have only just seen it coming toward me.  What?  Like I could have gone all Wonder Woman on it and stopped it?  I don’t know why, I’ve just always wanted to see it.  Thus, the YouTube rabbit hole. 

I began going back to therapy for PTSD in 2018.  Originally to deal with the trauma of a past relationship, it was during those sessions that my therapist and I realized I still had some triggers associated with May 20 that I needed to deal with.  Part of me is embarrassed to admit I still have times when I struggle with the trauma.  I get frustrated with myself for still having to “deal with it.”  Whenever my therapist and I finish a session over the tornado I express my frustrations to her.  Why?  How??  After all this time, why does it still get to me?  Shouldn’t I be “cured” by now?  Shouldn’t there be a magical cure out there to make all the triggers and the traumatic memories go away?  Surely I can Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind my way out of this, right?

That’s the thing though.  There is no magical cure, no procedure that can erase our memories.  But there are ways to help alleviate the stress caused by these traumatic events.  I am grateful to have found a therapist who makes me work through my trauma.  We do various forms of psychotherapy treatment to get to the root of the triggers and stressors.  There’s no “let’s talk about it,” put a bandaid over it, and move on.  I usually hate going to my therapy sessions.  I often don’t want to put in the work.  I don’t want to talk about it, don’t want to relive it.  I’m scared of what my brain will reveal to me.  But at the end of every session, I’m thankful for it, and I end up being glad I went.

I am better than I was seven years ago.  I’d say I’m better than I was even just a year ago.  But I know this is something I will have to cope with for a very long time, perhaps for the rest of my life.  I’m not sure that it ever gets easier, but rather we find the tools to help us manage it.

I wanted to share my story on this anniversary because I know there are thousands of others out there who have their own traumas they have to deal with.  Most of us “suffer in silence,” never talking about our trauma or getting help when we need it.  I used to think PTSD was something veterans had, or people who experienced “real” traumatic events suffered from.  Surely not me.  But that’s the thing I’ve learned on this journey – PTSD comes in all forms, and affects all people in various ways and under various circumstances.  War veterans, survivors of bombings and terrorist attacks, survivors of natural disasters, even survivors of domestic abuse or health scares, like my own dad.  And here’s the other thing I learned about PTSD – it’s okay.  You don’t have to suffer in silence or be embarrassed by it.  There is nothing to be ashamed of, and admitting your struggle doesn’t make you any less stronger than you already are.  We humans are capable of so much more than we realize.  And it’s okay to admit when we need help, whether it’s going to therapy or just finding a friend to confide in.  I have friends I always reach out to on this anniversary, just to check in and make sure they’re doing okay, and I have friends that do the same for me.  We usually don’t want to talk about it or delve into it, but just knowing someone else is there and understands is crucial to our own healing.  Just like we can’t control where a tornado touches down, sometimes we can’t control how our brains choose to process trauma and how we react to it.  It’s okay to admit when you’re not okay, and it’s okay to ask for help if you need it.

Today is Wednesday, May 20, 2020.  My dad is healthy and safe.  The sun is shining on my beautiful, 100+ year old house.  I have two dogs, a cat, and a great boyfriend who is supportive and understanding.  I find myself on edge today, a little cranky, and I will probably turn off social media after posting this and find something to keep my mind off things.  I’m still a teacher, but I no longer work in Moore.  I just couldn’t stay there anymore, for various reasons.  I left in 2015 and it was the right decision for me, for my mental health, for my growth.  I still find myself glued to the television if there’s the threat of severe weather.  We’re having a storm shelter installed in a few weeks, and the thought of a tornado coming anywhere near me or those I love still makes me a little skittish.  But I’m in a good place.  The memories don’t control me anymore.  And if they do, I work through them as best I can.  I am safe.  I will be okay.  I am happy.

Life can change in a matter of minutes.  Thirty-seven, sometimes, to be exact.  Do the best you can.  Work through your shit.  Come out stronger.  Keep on living.