A Big Event occurred at work. A person passed away, a sad story, one I played a part in. A month afterward I started to experience feelings I hadn't felt in a very long time, feelings I was totally unprepared for. I started to call in sick to work. I would start to get ready for work. And then my palms would begin to sweat. My heart would race. I would start breathing rapidly. I felt like I couldn't make the drive into work.
I didn't know what was causing my feelings, but I recommend positive mental health with my employees. There was a crisis counsellor available theough work due to the death. I decided I should follow the advice I give my employeesand go see her.
I am not sure I knew the journey I started that day.
I went to a counselling session and talked about my physical symptoms. This was the first time I heard 'panic attack'. I refused to believe that I could be suffering from anxiety. I had control. I am successful. Why would I be freaking out now?
I went to a couple of sessions. The counsellor told me she thought I had PTSD. I hadn't really told her anything about myself. She taught me relaxing techniques, of which I am grateful. We did not explore the why, but dealt with the immediate issue. I learned how to calm down. A bit.
The appointments were sporadic. I was assigned a book to read and a workbook to start, and when it came to saying how I felt, I could no longer turn a page. I didn't know how I felt. I didn't know how to tell others how I felt. I would go blank.
I felt tortured. I have accomplished much, yet I can't express how I feel. What's wrong with me? Why so flawed, why trying so hard all the time?
The PTSD thing had me tripped up. I neee to seek expert advice. That's what I do in business. This is what I was going to apply to my life. I found a therapist who was a specialist in my town. I live in a rural area and was surprised I could find someone.
I had to email her my demon stories, the ones that had started to surface. I will talk about it soon, just not right now, here. It deserves its own blog.
I realized that my past was emotionally alive in me still. That what I wanted to be my past was encroaching on my now. I could barely say the words sexual assault. Saying them made me, and maybe still makes me, want to throw up.
I am a survivor. I was sexally abused. I was 12 and 13 and 14 . I am now 37. My past has always stayed there. Until now. I was silenced. I find my voice here.