Monday began with an early walk with Her Highness. We are currently in the ebb of a very, very fleshy season of mushrooms, and today I saw a grouping of bright sunshine yellow shrooms that I’d ever seen before. We have a lot of stunningly beautiful fungi on the island—and plenty of less visually appealing varieties—but theres’s one beautiful species that makes some twigs and coarse grasses look like they’ve been dipped in wax and then flocked in different colors. I’ve seen white, brilliant yellow, orange and rust-colored of this species.
And right now, Elder Cedar grove is very, very wet, and it’s beautiful to walk in because GALTT, the society that husbands our trails, have built boardwalks over the swampy areas, and placed stepping-stones where the trail fords a stream. Sheba and I were the only ones there yesterday. There were no other parked cars and knowing that we were alone added to the thrill of walking in a protected and beautiful natural sanctuary.
Also, during the last storm about 2 weeks ago, a tree fell across the trail that was too low to go under and terrifically hard for me to go over. I was dreading getting myself over it yesterday, but when I came upon it, it had been sawn into pieces and the trail was clear. Man, I was happy. Our trails on the island are really well maintained. Today’s expected ‘bomb cyclone’ with winds predicted to reach 120 k/hr may make for a lot of clearing work later in the week.
In the evening, I watched The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society. I watch it every few years. It’s a favourite film. I feel about the film as the lead character comes to feel about Guernsey.
I get my flu and Covid shots today. I am worried about a bad reaction for the first time because everyone is reacting to them. Dwight told me to anticipate a day on the couch watching movies.
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I looked back at a few posts from when my diagnosis hit me because I watched a wonderful fellow talk about trauma. As a word person, I’ve become a tad pissed that this word features prominently in common parlance now.
Lady Gaga has said that she has PTSD. She’s a celebrity and although celebrity news has little integrity, her having the condition made headlines in credible outlets. I have been diagnosed with C-PTSD. It’s the same condition; the “C” part references long-term exposure to the problematic aspect of the person’s experience. And for me, and many others with a PTSD diagnosis, we could not possibly sustain the environment in which Gaga works. Our symptoms, which are uncontrollable, make it impossible to endure the overdose of stimulation an amplified rock concert creates.
I understand myself to have two symptoms that have made me almost housebound. I leave the house only for essentials and occasionally to visit friends here on the island 98% of the time. So, when I hear someone on the news saying that she was traumatized to discover that her Taylor Swift ticket was a fraud. Fuck, imagine how hard breaking a nail is going to hit her! Yes, this is misplaced anger about having my problems, but who said I was perfect?
The guy on YouTube was extremely interesting. I can’t quite believe what I’ve been through since April 2016. Since then, Dr. Shoja, primarily, and some of my own research online and through support groups have informed my understanding of my condition and mental illness.
Parallel to all this learning, is my life experience. From the beginning, I have been asking why? The answer had two answers: one was that parental neglect had given me C-PTSD and PTSD, plus other life experiences, had brought on FND—an incurable and unpredictable psychoneurological condition. The other was a medical explanation of the impact of trauma on the human brain.
I can honestly say that I feel pretty good about my understanding of my condition, eight years in. I’ve put a lot of living and work into where my thinking is today. The other thing that I can proudly and honestly say, is that although I’ve struggled with my symptoms, I haven’t complained about having the condition.
However, hearing my early life experience psychopathologized and hearing these answers hit me just as hard as the condition itself. I felt ashamed because I thought I was weak. I thought that were I stronger, I wouldn’t be in this condition. But I was wrong.
Several years ago, somehow, I wound up on a panel of three people with PTSD speaking via Zoom to a large audience of first responders and medical personnel. Having a session with us was part of their sensitization training about mental health.
The other two people on the panel were from the Canadian forces. I met these men online for the first time live on Zoom. I wonder what I looked like because I immediately regretted being there. Growing up when it was illegal and immoral to be gay has left a legacy in my mind. Hearing who was with me on the panel made me feel what I felt a lot when I was young. Fear.
Our session ended when our host, took the mike to thank us for being panelists, and saying goodbye to the audience of Ontario people, and then she asked us to stay on for a bit. She wanted to know how we felt about the discussion to include in her report on the experience.
I was profoundly moved by my army friends. As soon as we were alone with the host, one of the guys asked me, “Man, where’d you learn all that stuff?” And that led to an extraordinary discussion that was extremely moving because they were so impressed by my knowledge, stutter and all. As we talked the way they wanted my opinion on everything. The way that they made me feel was on a par of the night my show that would go on to tour Canada, opened.
What hurt the most was when I went off on a positive tangent about being saved by Dr. Shoja. That led to many extremely emotional moments because for them seeking psychiatric help may mean a discharge.
It was an amazing experience to hear them speak. I learned a lot from them, and I told them so. When I heard how they lived emotionally, when we talked about triggers, I felt incredible kinship with men who had scared me when I heard their name, rank, and detail. Oh my God.
What shocked me what how out of emotional control they felt. I live with that. My body is in control of the emotional centre of the brain—the amygdala. It makes my body do things I’d rather not do, and my mind unable to overpower the physical symptoms. I tell people that I share custody of my body with my condition.
So, I wish Lady Gaga had kept quiet about having PTSD. I don’t think she has any idea about what she’s talking about. My hand sign for Gaga consists of the dominant hand, in the G finger shape, falling like puke from the lips, downward. I make the motion twice, once for each syllable of Gaga. Misplaced anger again.
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