[Issue #1] The Exhaustion

Defining PTSD for the rest of us

“I’m exhausted, that’s how I feel,” I say with the kind of tone you hear when the needle of the record player hits that sweet spot. I’m not altogether hopeful about my exhaustion, but I’m not not hopeful. Let me make this make sense.

My hope for this newsletter is simple.

To explore (and gain) a better understanding of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, what it really looks like in our day-to-day lives, and to validate that PTSD is not only for combat veterans. And maybe bust some myths about how PTSD manifests in extreme cases versus the social collective pop-culturalization (is that a word? - Google says “no”) of PTSD in Hollywood.

Before we dive into the complexity of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, I want to lay out some basic information, definitions, and ground rules. What can you expect from this publication? Who am I? Why am I so obsessively passionate about mental health and PTSD?

Let’s get the legal stuff out of the way. I am not a doctor. I’m not a popstar, either. I’m a writer. That’s it.

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You can now read I’m Not Triggered, You’re an Asshole! in the new Substack app for iOS (coming soon to Android).

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That being said, I have also designated myself an “expert” in Post Traumatic Stress Disorder because of the length of time in which I have been negatively (and sometimes, oddly enough, positively) impacted by my own PTSD - about 30 years or so coupled with the amount of psychotherapy I have had in that time (still going strong on the therapy). That’s a long fucking time to suffer and now I want to know why.

Photo by Susan Wilkinson on Unsplash

So, what is PTSD? The United States Veteran Affairs Department defines PTSD like this (taken directly from their website) -

PTSD (posttraumatic stress disorder) is a mental health problem that some people develop after experiencing or witnessing a life-threatening event, like combat, a natural disaster, a car accident, or sexual assault. During this kind of event, you may not have any control over what's happening, and you may feel very afraid. Anyone who has gone through something like this can develop PTSD.

It's normal to have upsetting memories, feel on edge, or have trouble sleeping after a traumatic event (also called "trauma"). At first, it may be hard to do daily activities you are used to doing, like go to work, go to school, or spend time with people you care about. But most people start to feel better after a few weeks or months. For some people, PTSD symptoms may start later, or they may come and go over time.

If it's been longer than a few months and thoughts and feelings from the trauma are upsetting you or causing problems in your life, you may have PTSD.

The point is, PTSD can make me grab for ghosts that don’t exist. It can make my body twitch from night terrors. It can make me randomly start crying when my wife makes a simple request. It can start arguments and full on bar fights. It can put a line of white powdery fun into dry, bleeding nostrils. It can make me feel crazy.

I’m not crazy.

Neither are you. That’s the good news. The bad news is, we all have our own shit to work out and it, apparently, will take a looooong time to undo all the lies I’ve been telling myself (and the ones you’ve told yourself, too). And even better news? We get to shift and move and be uncomfortable and reflect so that we may live a life with happiness and maybe some peace. We get to expand. We get to be part of the cycle which creates the rhythm of nature.

If you think way back to your childhood, I bet you can find a moment in time where you felt defeated. You felt like an anchor without a ship. A vein filled with booze instead of the reality of life’s blood. I felt (feel) like a full-on frantic fucked up disaster when the shame takes hold.

PTSD mimics that time (or times, for some of you, definitely me) of self-defeat. It mimics the same feelings. Physiologically, the reactions to situations borne from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder cater to our shame. Our guilt. Our history. Our past. I learned recently (yesterday in therapy, I’m not joking) that I can’t actually out-run the person I was. Because there is no was. There is only now. There is only me. Me (and since we’re being honest, I must admit that the me I have, am, I very much dislike).

When you suffer from mental health issues like PTSD, it can feel debilitating to try to enjoy a dinner out with friends, let alone your life. The terrible mantra of what if… sits in my head like an old, metal, rusty, creaking chair without a cushion. It feels hard and square and obtuse and intrusive. Who’s ass is in that chair?

I was (am) a patient of UCLA’s Operation Mend intensive treatment program. In a nutshell, my wife and I (and my then service dog, Charlie) flew out to southern California and stayed for three weeks (in February of 2019). Those three weeks were filled up with roughly 200 hours of therapy by the end of it. I came back home better. More at peace. More in alignment with who I wanted to be.

And then fucking Covid happened.

You know the rest. Let’s jump to the good part.

After my own dreadful and distressing experience during the pandemic (still going on, as of this writing), I knew something had to be different. I began writing. Really writing.

I’ve written, with a fair amount of frequency, nearly every day in some form or another since the age of 7, but during the pandemic I made the decision to turn my love of writing into something more professional. I started with a memoir (thanks to Elise, the best fucking therapist I’ve ever had) and it’s a half-baked serial non-fiction read on my personal website.

And then I suffered panic attacks. Near agoraphobia. And like many of you (maybe?), a visceral hatred of having to get groceries at a store.

So now what? Bad news (again). PTSD hangs around like a creepy uncle. It likes to take a backseat on every ride. PTSD will lie and tell me it’s my best friend. PTSD is just jealous. Jealous of my own attempts at finding joy. Happiness. The truth.

What is the truth? The truth is, there’s no real “cure” for PTSD. There are treatment options. Options which are being researched by fantastic and scientifically bound institutions. Options which work really well. I intend to cover the medications, drugs, and other medical/research aspects of PTSD in further newsletters.

As for the ground rules of this newsletter and future community, I am hopeful to have kind and open conversations about PTSD and mental health, here. My hope is that we can bond through relatable experiences of trauma and still find the hope and love of the other side. I would love to interact with readers and writers who share a similar interest (obsession) with mental health. I want us to learn from one another, use our own personal stories to help power others.

I want to hear, know, read, feel the power of your stories. I want to share with you the tremendous power of my own stories. We have all been bruised, beat up, pulled down, thrown down, grabbed up, groped from head to heart.

Our hearts are broken, even if we refuse to see it. If you want to see it, if you’re willing to see it, as much as I do so that you may find a place filled with fewer assholes, join me.

Maybe we’ll make it together.