Scary Movies Help My PTSD

a photo of a white femme in a white dress with tattoos on her arm holding an ax; a blue old timey overlay with black text: "Scary Movies Help My PTSD"
Triggers discussed in this post include abuse, neglect, animal abuse, and death. If you need to avoid these triggers, please scroll down to the next picture.
Growing up with abuse & neglect has long lasting effects, including horrible fucking nightmares. Waking up in PTSD mode fearing an abuser and wanting to protect my babies is not something I’d recommend. Ever.
I woke up from a nightmare this morning. While mostly based in fiction, it was very real and rooted in a lot of real abuse I went through.
I was living with Mother again. They told me one of the piggies was dead. In reality, they moved him to the basement & were starving him in a clear tote. I yelled and screamed at them, crying and holding him. I took him and we went to the pet store and got things he needed – and then I moved all pets into my room and locked us in.
It reminds me of how she would adopt animals, make me their keeper, and brag about what a good person she was to take them in when she did almost nothing for them. I mean, fuck, she made me dissect one of my hamsters ‘for science’ after Teddy died from cancer. No, let’s not take Teddy to the vet and be humane, but watch her endure horrible pain as a tumor grows and impedes her ability to function and then kills her. Let’s not have a kind little moment for Teddy, but cut her open to ‘explore’ what cancer looks like.
I can still see, hear, and smell it all. I cried the whole time but she made me go through with it. I held Teddy afterward for as long as I could, crying and apologizing for everything before she made me just toss Teddy in the trash.
There are so many similar stories in my past – Mother forcing me to do things I would never do, letting pets ‘go’ outside instead of rehoming them once she got tired of them, etc. There’s the hypocrisy, too, of donating to organizations to save some animals while you neglect, abuse, and abandon others.
If nothing else so far has told you what an evil person Mother is, I think that can highlight it pretty fucking well. There has to be a special place in hell for abusers like this. I wish I believed in comeuppance happening, but I doubt it.
It’s so bad I didn’t want to get up and take my meds cause the piggies would be out of my sight for a few minutes. I finally did so, but only because my pain was overriding the fear and hypervigilance that comes with PTSD.
Jaq was the piggie in question, probably cause he recently had an infection so I’ve been extra worried about him anyway. He was very patient with me needing snuggles this morning, as was Gussy. I’m just grateful they know when something is wrong and when I need extra love.
photo of a red wine bottle lying down on a table with the neck facing the camera
It’s too bad drinking gives me migraines lately cause fuck
It’s really hard to come down from all that.
One of the trickiest things is that I simply can’t stop everything I need to do because of PTSD. It’s certainly easier to practice self-care now that I work for myself, but still.
I know this was a nightmare. I know it wasn’t real. It felt very real, though, and was related to such gross things I’ve experienced. Coping afterward is hard, partially because I don’t know how to put into words what has happened.
My reaction, once I was able to calm down just a little bit, was to put on a scary movie.
I tend to watch scary things often. I never really caught on before to why that may be, but I think it helps my PTSD.
It’s no secret that I’ve always liked scary movies. I watched Child’s Play and Tales From the Crypt as a child – they were some of my favorites.
Now that I’m analyzing it, I wonder if part of my interest in scary things is because it’s almost like a return to normal. I haven’t been chased by a murderous doll or anything like that, but certainly feel at home in the fear that others avoid in avoiding these things.
In peeps with PTSD like me, our brains are kind of always set to ‘on.’ We’re prepared to face anything because of what we’ve been through. There are significant changes in the brain, for example. The hippocampus, which helps with memory retention, is smaller in size than in people without the condition. This also means it can’t help control how we access the memories, which helps cause flashbacks.
The amygdala controls our fear, stress, and emotions. Thanks to PTSD, that area becomes hyperactive and even enlarged. Combined with how the condition affects the prefrontal cortex, This means my emotional responses to things aren’t always what they should be. Most importantly, though, my brain is constantly in a state of fear or stress. It’s part of why I think I do really well with high-pressure deadline type situations, for example.
Basically, PTSD is a giant gateway to living in fear and stress – much like the situations that have caused the condition in the first place. It also keeps me in a state of hypervigilance.
I’ve mentioned that word a bit, but basically what it means is I’m ready for action. I’m ready to defend myself or fight for someone else or punch an attacker, etc. It’s like having a ton of potential energy, but only for defense.
I think this is part of why I like scary movies though.
T avoids scary movies. He doesn’t like the jumps or gore or any of it. For me, though, anticipating those things helps to utilize my PTSD in a positive way. That doesn’t guarantee that I won’t face an issue after watching horror movies all day, but my mind is more focused on the puzzle aspect than the scary one if that makes sense. It’s more about how horror theory will play out or what scares are used or the plot line.
From an emotional side, though, it also uses my fear reactions for some sort of enjoyment. I do so much better after watching scary movies or shows than I do even in therapy. The fear gets out through the emotions we feel as we watch these things.
It’s a weird therapeutic use of horror, but it works for me.

 

May: The Ultimate Awareness Month

May 1st marks the start of an awareness month practically tailor made for me – asthma & allergies, arthritis, mental health, and fibromyalgia.
My asthma is, honestly, getting worse. When I eat or laugh or sneeze, I have a hard time getting my breath back to normal… which is probably a sign that I need to use my inhaler more. My allergies always pick up this time of year, though tend to affect my asthma more than causing problems on their own.
My arthritis is steady. I’ve come a long way in two years, thanks to my daily injection and other medications. When the weather is rainy and humidity is high, though, I’m reminded of my limitations – especially at night, when pain relief just won’t come. My hands, neck, hips, and knees are furious.
Mentally, I’m in a good place. Depression and anxiety are staying at bay for the most part, thanks to all the things I’m doing. My PTSD is another story, but that’s alright. With April being my birthday month and May being the month I cut contact with Mother (and having Mother’s Day in it), I know this won’t be an easy time of year.
My fibromyalgia is doing okay right now. I have had fewer skin-aggravating symptoms like allodynia, which is that thing when normal sensations like clothing on your skin or holding hands can feel excruciatingly painful. Today, that’s a thing that’s started and is spreading. I’ll push through cause I have some errands to run, but I’ll be glad when I’m home and can get naked as quickly as possible. I wanted to shower today, but I don’t know that I’ll be able to – the water feels like daggers on allodynia-affected skin.
I always feel conflicted when people say things like “don’t let your disease define you.” My conditions all do – they’ve defined my life from a very young age. They’ve also given me a level of appreciation and compassion that isn’t always a thing for abled people. I’ve gotten to do amazing things, meet the best people, and enact some real change – things that I don’t know I’d be interested in if I was okay.

 

Captain Janeway Sucks

captain janeway sucks

Growing up, I always loved Captain Janeway. It was one of those naive baby-feminist things – finally, there is a female captain! I felt like she was the epitome of sassy and strong, just what a starship captain with a vagina should be naturally.

Earlier this year, I wrote a post entitled The Raven about the Star Trek: Voyager episode of the same name. We were in season four of the seven-season series and Seven of Nine was just going through her initial Post-Traumatic Stress fun. This was especially important as I had finally been diagnosed with PTSD in 2015.

I started to identify with Seven, the hot chick, for the first time in my life.

I never identified with Seven before. She was the unattainable hot girl with more logic than a Vulcan. She had these amazing outfits and cool face makeup. She was out of reach. Because of our shared diagnosis, though, she became incredibly relatable.

The small child in me – the one who was going through all of these PTSD episodes while Voyager was on – cringes so much at all of this. As soon as The Raven hit our television screen earlier this year, I knew she had PTSD. I said it before the Doctor even did once given both her reactions and the findings of his scans.

Poor T, watching all of these with me. I like to think these episodes helped me explain some PTSD things. I’m sure it really wasn’t fun to watch with me, though.

In the following episodes, most people on the ship are helpful with Seven. They understand that some of her reactions aren’t things she can control and go out of their way to help when they can. It takes a while for most, sure, but the adventures Voyager faces seem to speed up this acceptance. The Doctor, a holograph, becomes both her biggest fanboy and advocate.

Captain Janeway does not advocate for Seven, quite arguably the most vulnerable person on the crew. Instead, Seven finds herself used and abused not unlike she did with the Borg. One could argue that, on Voyager, using Seven in these ways makes their actions even more reprehensible than the Borg – at least with them, Seven wasn’t really conscious of what was going on. She didn’t have rights to be taken away.

In Retrospect, Seven’s PTSD is even further defined by a violation from a trader. Instead of really championing for helping Seven, Janeway takes the offender’s side of things pretty quickly. In addition to this, Janeway removes Seven’s free will in several episodes, using Seven to accomplish whatever means she wishes.

I’m not sure why this is. Is there a female jealousy component here, that Seven is logical, intelligent, and beautiful? Does Janeway feel threatened? Or, like some parents, does she feel as though Seven’s entire life and being should somehow be hers?

I don’t know.

I do know this is all in stark contrast to Captain Picard who works tirelessly to help the members of his crew understand life. I can’t help but wonder how Data would have done on Voyager instead of the Enterprise. I’m sure Janeway would have been proud of him, but it seems as though she would have also manipulated him where possible, too.

Picard isn’t without his faults, but it certainly seems Seven would have done better had he discovered her during his time as Locutus of Borg.

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As a child, I so loved Voyager. I didn’t really pay attention to the plot, but it was Star Trek – my favorite. I paid much more attention to The Next Generation episodes we sometimes watched as a family.

It’s hard for me to admit how much I dislike Janeway now. It’s interesting the number of things that I had to endure to get me to the point of stating how awful she is – religious/philosophy studies, ethical ideals, finally putting a name to my PTSD and getting away from abuse, etc. It’s really hard to stomach from an intersectional feminist point of view, too, that Janeway would be so dismissive of a fellow female.

It’s not unlike our current political fun. Slightly off-topic, but this week alone several of the anti-Trump groups have perpetuated stigmas against us disabled and chronically ill people. Because they have degrees, they assume they’re knowledgeable in marginalization and don’t think they’re doing anything wrong (or, on the flipside, some don’t care).

What we really need – us anti-Trump cripples – is for people to listen. Hear us when we talk about what we are dealing with. Support us and give us a platform to talk about what’s happening, what may happen, and what we can do to avoid the worst of the worst.

That’s really not different than what Seven needed – or what I need during PTSD time. It doesn’t seem as though that is something Janeway is capable of providing, at least to Seven.

Have you ever encountered a television show that depicted one of your diagnoses? How did they do? How did this make you feel?

Ruminations on being parentless for two years

Today is my independence day.
It’s the celebration of starting to heal my mind, body, and soul.
It started with saying goodbye to my mother.
Growing up in an abusive home was hard. There aren’t words to share enough of it all.
Thanks, Giphy!
I did meet my dad before the wedding. We’re all busy and don’t talk anywhere near as much as we should.
I am still left feeling very much like an orphan. It’s not been easy to handle. I have had moments of weakness where I want my mother around… and then I remember it’s the idealized version of a mother in a movie or on a show and not my mother.
Thanks, Giphy!
Note: not Kyle’s mom.
Cutting contact with my mother helped me learn a lot about who I am as a person. I had to go through what I did and didn’t like all over again.
The Dave Matthews Band? No longer a like.
Harry Connick Jr? Still a like but no longer a love.
I’ve gone through this with food, media, clothing, and more.
It’s exhausting. I just had finished the period of my life where I should have had that all done when I cut contact. I had to do it twice.
And it was exhausting.
Before cutting contact, I blocked mother and her beau on social media and made some accounts private for a while. Part of that certainly was struggling with my compassion.
The issue is that I was, for a long time, too compassionate to others without being compassionate to myself.
This was evident when examining what led to my flares and other issues.
Very uncool.
Now, though, I am secure in myself.
I don’t need my family of origin to complete me. I simply need my family of choice, the family I’ve made with you reading and T’s family and my sister’s family and close friends.
If my mother were to try to guilt me now? I would only have one reaction:
Thanks, Giphy!

 

I’m not a bad daughter

Identify something negative you believe about yourself because of a past mistake for which you’ve struggled to forgive yourself (for example, “I’m a bad person”) – something that is not a fact, even if it may feel like one. Look for one piece of proof to support the opposite belief today. (For example, helping your sister could be proof that you are, in fact, a good person.)

My belief: I’m a bad daughter for not having a relationship with my mother.
Believe it or not, that’s still a belief I struggle with.
I know I’m doing the right thing for me, but damn. Society always thinks differently, and that peer pressure is hard.
One nice thing, though, is that I know I’m not alone.
We’re warned that “divorcing their parents will comeback to haunt” us, that we’ll rue the day we ignored Biblical and societal standards of honoring our parents.
The thing is, those parents have to honor us back at some point too.

“I feel angry that I never had a proper mother. I feel angry that I don’t know what it feels like to be nurtured or taken care of.” – Adult daughter who has not spoken to her mother for seven years

Adult children do not divorce their parents lightly. “The feelings of love and loyalty are so strong,” says a daughter no longer in contact with her parents. “It took me many years to stop feeling ashamed of the hurt I had caused them, but my desire to protect my new family was stronger.”

Some note that forgiveness doesn’t mean erasing the past:

Forgiveness doesn’t mean sacrificing myself to please someone or an entire culture of someones.

Others note the freedom that comes with the change:

Overall I am a happier person since I have disowned them. I feel relief mostly, like I’ve gotten out of jail for a crime I didn’t commit.

Regardless of everything else, I know that I’m doing what’s right for me. I refuse to be abused anymore. I don’t expect everyone to understand, but I do expect that people respect my decision.
It’s not one that anyone in my position makes lightly.
Without my mother, I am whole. I can have a real relationship with my sister, something ironically my mother predicted would happen when we were younger – we were told she didn’t care if we liked her or even loved her but we better love each other, damnit, because we’re all we have. Apparently it’s easier to talk that than live it.
My health – mental, physical, and emotional – is better than it has ever been.
My relationship with myself and with others is better.
I’m far less angry or frazzled all the time.
Courtesy of Pinterest
If my mother truly cared about me, she would support me in this even though it hurts her since it benefits me so much. I guess I know now that she doesn’t really, does she?

 

Anger is a black hole

Think about how you parents (or the people who raised you) processed and responded to anger. Write down anything unhealthy you learned from them and what might be a healthier choice. (The goal is not to blame them for their shortcomings, but to recognize how you formed some of your patterns and what can do to change them.)

Oh heavens, Mother didn’t. There was a lashing out with anger, hurtful and stinging words.
Some of them still echo in my head.
I learned to be horrible to other people because it would supposedly make me feel better, but I always felt empty and horrible afterward. I wanted the horrible pain and feeling in my stomach to become a black hole and suck me into oblivion.
The Eridanus Black Hole, courtesy of ListVerse
I was led to believe that anger and judgment were a way of life, that being paranoid about others judging me was what I was supposed to do.
My anxiety loved it.
My heart did not.
By working on mindfulness and compassion training, I’ve been able to build upon my natural skills for helping others. I’ve been able to calm down a lot of that anger that seems to come from fear and hurt.
I’ve taken that black hole and created something new, something beautiful.
The Pillars of Creation, courtesy of ListVerse
And I’m incredibly proud of that.

 

Musings on My Personification of Arthur

I have often said over the last few years that I feel grateful for being sick since childhood. I don’t remember living really without the limitations that I have grown up with, even though they do change enough to irritate beyond belief. I have multiple chronic diseases but my fibro is currently the worst offender now that my SJIA is mostly under control.

That brings its own challenges, though, like feeling that I’ve lost a huge part of me. Arthur, as I’ve always called my SJIA, was much like a twin. There is an emptiness that comes when the thing you’re closest to is gone, especially when you have a tendency to personify it.

There is a mix of joy for some semblance of pain relief, sorrow that he’s not around, and guilt that I’m doing so well while children I know have been in and out of the hospital seriously ill and fighting for their lives.

If Arthur had come along later than kindergarten, would I feel differently about him? If I grew up in a home without abuse, would I have gotten so attached to him, to that familiar pain?

I think that I clung to Arthur and used the physical pain as a distraction from my emotional and mental distress from my childhood. Another child in a similar situation may go to a friend’s house as a source of respite, but I didn’t have friends. I was basically not allowed to have them because I could share something that happened and I’d be taken away from my mother.

 

That threat was always there.

 

Arthur was that escape for me. Stress and emotional distress bring on flares so it was easy for me to be distracted, to escape into the pain that was most comfortable to feel because I didn’t know different.

 

I did know that my household was awful, that this was not how things were supposed to be, but I didn’t know a life without Arthur.
Courtesy of Quotes Gram
Arthur, my security blanket, is tattered and worn.

 

I have to actually face everything I grew up experiencing, both as an adult and as the child in me.

 

I know I’ll be better for it and I’ve already made so much progress…

 

There are too many times where I want that blanket back, though.

 

The Raven

It’s no secret that T and I are complete nerds. We’re proud of it. Currently, we’re rewatching Star Trek: Voyager. There is a lot I can say about the show, from the sassiness of Captain Janeway to the complexities of being lost in a quadrant of space humans have never seen to the process of helping a former Borg ‘assimilate’ to her human body.
We’re currently watching season four, the season where Seven of Nine appears and we learn more about her backstory.

 

H/T Memory Alpha
As we started watching the episode, Seven begins to have these visions where she sees other Borg coming towards her. Instead of embracing or simply being indifferent, she feels intense fear. Right then, I had my suspicions on what this episode would entail.
Upon heading to sickbay, The Doctor examines her and finds elevated levels of various chemicals in the brain. My suspicions are confirmed and The Doctor informs Captain Janeway and Seven that this is reminiscent of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.
Side note: flashbacks suck, but I’m glad mine don’t include creepy animals like ravens.

 

H/T Memory Alpha

As these flashbacks continue, Seven begins to act out. Eventually, her Borg hardware starts trying to take over again upon hearing a homing beacon. That homing beacon eventually takes her to the planet that her family’s ship crashed on – The Raven.

During this time period, she has gone through the main stages of PTSD very quickly – flashbacks, hypervigilance/hyperarousal, and being numb like threatening to assimilate others.

H/T Memory Alpha

Quite honestly, this is how it really happens.

Sometimes we get to that realization that we are safe but can’t shut down the memories. Other times, it takes something big to knock us out of the cycle. For Seven, being on the ship did that:

It happened here. This is where it began. This is where I was assimilated. This was our ship. We lived here. We lived here for a long time. My father did experiments. They were very important and we had to travel a long way. I had my birthday here. My cake had six candles on it and… and one more to grow on. And then the men came. Papa tried to fight them, but they were too strong. I tried to hide. Maybe they wouldn’t find me because I was little. But they did. And then Papa said we were going to crash and the big man picked me up and then suddenly, we weren’t on this ship anymore. We were somewhere else. And then I became Borg.

Seven talks often about how difficult it is to interact with other humans. She feels isolated, alone. She doesn’t know how to behave or how to do simple things like eat.

H/T Memory Alpha

It’s not unlike how I’ve felt – having to have my husband show me how to brush my teeth or carry out other simple tasks. There is a shame in that which can keep people from pursuing that learning.

At the end of the episode, Seven escapes. She starts learning more about her humanity, trying to learn about creativity – something Janeway was discussing with her at the beginning of the episode. She says that she will eventually learn more about her parents from the ship’s computer, but isn’t ready yet.

In her own way, Seven’s immediate battle mirrors what many of us living with PTSD go through. At the beginning, we don’t often fully comprehend our flashbacks. They are incomplete or, like Seven’s, not entirely accurate. We don’t understand what is going on with our body and mind.

We don’t get what we’re feeling.

Like Seven, it takes someone telling us that we’re okay. In the immediate situation, Tuvok was able to help bring her out of the attack and work on getting to physical – and emotional – safety. Once back on the ship, The Doctor, Janeway, and others work with Seven to help her grow, to feel safe.

H/T Giphy

I never thought that I could identify with one of the Borg, but damn. There is some irony in the fact that I’ve said T is similar to Tuvok in the past as well.

I’m not sure there’s a point to this post, except to point out how expertly PTSD has been shown in Star Trek: Voyager.

Other pieces on the subject or this episode:
Seven Of Nine: Posterchild For Childhood Abuse & Recovery?
The Raven (Memory Alpha)

Starting the EMDR process

Real talk?
I’m mentally frazzled right now.
A few weeks ago I started the EMDR process. EMDR stands for Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing, and it’s a type of therapy especially useful for trauma victims or those with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.
Basically, this therapy is a way to allow your brain to process these traumatic events by dealing with the emotions but having safeguards in place and coping tools to help. Some tools used are lights to move your eyes back and forth, a headset playing a series of alternating beeps in each ear, or little vibrators that alternate in your hands.
It’s not easy. You can’t tackle the big stuff right away and even the ‘small stuff’ is a lot more intense than I realized.
This is not my favorite.
But it’s also good.
I can tell that it will help. It’s just a matter of getting there and being ready to process my childhood traumas… and as much as I want to get past them, it’s scary to think of going into them. I feel like I’m standing at a door that sits ajar, behind which there are screams. I know I need to go in there to do something but it’s scary.
It’s sad when you can compare your life to a scary movie. Maybe that’s a part of why I like Scooby Doo and scary movies though.
In Scooby Doo, you always knew the baddie was a person.
In scary movies, you know it’s something inhuman.
Both ideas are comforting in different ways. I want to believe that my mother is human, that her mental illnesses have driven (and still do) her to do some awful things. But she’s done some unspeakable things that don’t lend to being human either, so it can be easier to vilify her and turn her into a demon.
Neither option is awesome.

 

I am not my PTSD

I am not my PTSD.

It makes it harder to be me, though, to participate in the ‘real world.’

There is no back button to avoid the trigger, no fast-forward button to make time go faster, no play button when I feel stuck.

There is no pause button in real life to easily push when you’re triggered at work, playing with your pets or niblings, at home, during sex.

I cannot tell my niece to stop everything. I cannot tell my pets to stop needing me. I cannot tell work that I need to binge on Netflix comedies instead of being stuck in a seven am meeting with several doctors.

There are times I can’t be as close with my niece, because she is the spitting image of my sister at that age. Sometimes watching her be silly and have fun and be safe reminds me of the things I couldn’t do to help me sister not be beaten, assaulted, put down every day of her life.

There are times when I can’t even let my husband touch me, times when him brushing his hand against my arm isn’t just painful from my fibromyalgia but causes a remembrance of an assault.

There’s no pause button in real life, no way to go back and say I need a moment. We all want explanations. Explanations are great, but don’t make the person explaining feel any better.

My PTSD is the thing that is probably the worst in my life. I never know when it is going to hit and there are few coping mechanisms that I can use to combat it. Sure, I can pull up Netflix and watch The Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt at work when I have time. I shouldn’t, but I can. There are times when listening to music is helpful, getting out raw emotion or making me just want to dance.

There are times when being held by my husband, playing with our pets, talking with my sister, playing with my niblings… where these all do more harm than good. No one should have to live that way.

By the way…