I found myself in an interesting predicament these past weeks. We’ve had for a lack of a better term some invaders in our space and it hasn’t been a pleasant experience, but it has taught me something vital to our ability to be part of the extended family. I cannot encourage bitterness and anger. Holding a grudge when I know my husband has been wronged has been something I’d held onto these past years. I’ve realized, for his health more than mine, I have to learn to let things go.
I would love to give all the dirty details and spew the anger I felt and still feel somewhat, but I won’t so forgive me if this all seems a little vague.
I watched myself, almost as if I was standing outside myself, encourage the anger he’d been harboring for years all because I’m angry they wronged him. I made sure not one action was left unnoticed even to the point of letting him know they’d walked out over their hurt feelings while he was still unconscious on the floor after an episode.
Suddenly though, I had an epiphany. The resulting anger was and is my fault. He ground his teeth for days practically frothing with the expectation of another blow up. I started slowly smoothing the wounds I hadn’t caused but had kept open. My epiphany resulted in his epiphany. He let go of past hurts. His eyes brightened and I learned a lesson about following my own advice. Anger isn’t something to be saved. Spend it right away, get it out of your system, and don’t waste time revisiting.
Deep breath. I can do this. Wish me luck... and strength.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Nurse Mary
This is my husband's side of the story about our experience with medical marijuana in treating PTSD. The language is rough but that's him pure and simple.
I was always one of those staunch anti-drug people. I would fall just shy of beating my chest on a soapbox when it came to my stance on drugs. It's funny how times and your personal beliefs change. That was before I was betrayed by my own mind. Since then I've tried everything legal to curb the memories, anger, sadness and visual manifestations.
Trust me when I say, "I've tried everything legal" when it comes to controlling this damned PTSD. My first drug of choice, alcohol, came naturally to me. Hell, I didn't even think I was "medicating" when I'd tip a bottle. I was just doing what had always come naturally to me. 'Must be the Irish in me. I used to joke about "drinking to make the voices go away". 'Only thing is, as the people in the bar were laughing, I was dead serious.
It’s funny how when reality takes a vacation in your mind, you find ways of coping even if they damn near kill you. Oh yeah, my liver has a label on it that says Vlassic. But, as with most things, after a while even the alcohol stops working. You drink and drink and nothing happens. As a matter of fact, you feel drunk when you’re sober and vice versa. At least I did. Once the numbness of the alcohol wears off the intrusive thoughts and images came back. The only real difference was that the alcohol intensified them. So much so that it leads you to make certain decisions that land you locked up in a VA playing checkers with yourself.
After my release from the VA I was given a bag full of drugs and told to go. I was prescribed four drugs that were supposed to work. Well, they worked alright. They made me a zombie. In retrospect, I'm pretty sure they (the VA) were just trying to get rid of me and make it so I wasn't much of a liability. They succeeded because I wasn't able to put two thoughts together to form cognitive verbal sentences let alone being a danger to myself or others. It all ended one day when I was so out of my mind on these drugs that I sat on the passenger side of the car for twenty minutes trying to find the steering wheel. Yeah, had I continued taking them I would have killed someone and possibly myself through a drug induced automotive accident or something. And we were once again dancing in double edge sword territory.
Some time past and I dealt the best way I could. The cycle went; Anger - lucidity - sadness - anger - a massive blowout that ended with an unconscious episode - repeat while anxiety ruled constant over the whole thing. I would mix alcohol and cigarettes into the mix. Hell, that's pretty much what kept me from killing someone. Well that and the fact that I finally met a woman who was caring and selfless enough to understand what I was going through and made it a point to learn as much about my issue as she could. You've read it before so I wont bore you with the whole "she's the only reason I'm alive today" story.
Then came the day when I read the notice the VA posted up about easing their policy on Medical Marijuana. After much discussion and planning my wife and I decided that maybe it would benefit me to try it out. So, we made an appointment with a local doctor. See, the VA eased its policy but refuses to prescribe it or issue medical cards to obtain it. This doctor was very interested in my problem. Hell, out of all his California patients, I'm pretty sure I'm the only one who actually had a legitimate issue aside from "Mommy and Daddy don't understand me and that makes me sad". He actually issued me a card AND prescribed me other meds.
Like a kid worried about getting caught masturbating, I reluctantly drove to the "collective" to get my first dose of Medical Weed. I was operating within the realm of the law but was totally convinced, in the back of my mind, that I was somehow being stalked by law enforcement. And that feeling never faded the whole time I had a current card.
I brought that first batch home and lit it up. Holy cat shit, it was good. I got that same feeling you get in your gut and ass when the aircraft first takes off. That sinking, blood leaving my head feeling. And then it hit me. Something I hadn't felt for quite a few years... Clarity. On top of that, it was like I was looking at the world through new eyes. I really thought I had found a cure for PTSD.
Then it happened. The new wore off and I had to smoke more to get the same effects. A few weeks would go my and I would have to smoke more, then more... Until one day I didn't get the feeling anymore. All I got was extreme paranoia. Ok, when you already have paranoia, any additional paranoia is very unwelcome. I was, for the first time in years, afraid to die and was pretty sure it was going to happen at any minute.
The cherry atop this shit sundae was the fluttering in my heart. Yeah, I recon enough THC was in my system to create issues with cardiac function. Try being paranoid with a sense of impending doom and being terrified that your heart is going to stop. Yeah, not really a good treatment for an already shitty existence.
I made the decision to stop. I had no ill effects, as a matter of fact, I felt better if that’s possible. Trust me on this... There is no realization more devastating than figuring out after years of dealing with this that there is no drug, be it legal or otherwise, that can treat this fucking condition with any success or without any God awful side effects. Kind of reminds me of the past couple elections. You have to pick the lesser of two evils and press on. I can report however that after a year of being a stoner just shy of being a dirty hippie riding around in an old VW Bus, my wife has continuously commented on how nice it was to "have me back". I guess this shit even changed my personality.
So, here I set right back where I was in the beginning with only time spent dealing to make informed decisions on how I want to proceed from here. It appears that my choices are "Full blown scary prick who cries sometimes and screams in his sleep", "Bloated Zombie with no personality" or "Out of my mind paranoid Stoner with a heart that palpitates every other beat". Well slap my ass and call me Sally, the choice is clear for me. Scary Prick it is! People around here are starting to understand how I am. It doesn't really bother me anymore. Hell, I kind of like the solitude that comes with it. And I really don't mind that people run to get past my house. It keeps the religious fruitcakes and door-to-door salesmen off my property.
I was always one of those staunch anti-drug people. I would fall just shy of beating my chest on a soapbox when it came to my stance on drugs. It's funny how times and your personal beliefs change. That was before I was betrayed by my own mind. Since then I've tried everything legal to curb the memories, anger, sadness and visual manifestations.
Trust me when I say, "I've tried everything legal" when it comes to controlling this damned PTSD. My first drug of choice, alcohol, came naturally to me. Hell, I didn't even think I was "medicating" when I'd tip a bottle. I was just doing what had always come naturally to me. 'Must be the Irish in me. I used to joke about "drinking to make the voices go away". 'Only thing is, as the people in the bar were laughing, I was dead serious.
It’s funny how when reality takes a vacation in your mind, you find ways of coping even if they damn near kill you. Oh yeah, my liver has a label on it that says Vlassic. But, as with most things, after a while even the alcohol stops working. You drink and drink and nothing happens. As a matter of fact, you feel drunk when you’re sober and vice versa. At least I did. Once the numbness of the alcohol wears off the intrusive thoughts and images came back. The only real difference was that the alcohol intensified them. So much so that it leads you to make certain decisions that land you locked up in a VA playing checkers with yourself.
After my release from the VA I was given a bag full of drugs and told to go. I was prescribed four drugs that were supposed to work. Well, they worked alright. They made me a zombie. In retrospect, I'm pretty sure they (the VA) were just trying to get rid of me and make it so I wasn't much of a liability. They succeeded because I wasn't able to put two thoughts together to form cognitive verbal sentences let alone being a danger to myself or others. It all ended one day when I was so out of my mind on these drugs that I sat on the passenger side of the car for twenty minutes trying to find the steering wheel. Yeah, had I continued taking them I would have killed someone and possibly myself through a drug induced automotive accident or something. And we were once again dancing in double edge sword territory.
Some time past and I dealt the best way I could. The cycle went; Anger - lucidity - sadness - anger - a massive blowout that ended with an unconscious episode - repeat while anxiety ruled constant over the whole thing. I would mix alcohol and cigarettes into the mix. Hell, that's pretty much what kept me from killing someone. Well that and the fact that I finally met a woman who was caring and selfless enough to understand what I was going through and made it a point to learn as much about my issue as she could. You've read it before so I wont bore you with the whole "she's the only reason I'm alive today" story.
Then came the day when I read the notice the VA posted up about easing their policy on Medical Marijuana. After much discussion and planning my wife and I decided that maybe it would benefit me to try it out. So, we made an appointment with a local doctor. See, the VA eased its policy but refuses to prescribe it or issue medical cards to obtain it. This doctor was very interested in my problem. Hell, out of all his California patients, I'm pretty sure I'm the only one who actually had a legitimate issue aside from "Mommy and Daddy don't understand me and that makes me sad". He actually issued me a card AND prescribed me other meds.
Like a kid worried about getting caught masturbating, I reluctantly drove to the "collective" to get my first dose of Medical Weed. I was operating within the realm of the law but was totally convinced, in the back of my mind, that I was somehow being stalked by law enforcement. And that feeling never faded the whole time I had a current card.
I brought that first batch home and lit it up. Holy cat shit, it was good. I got that same feeling you get in your gut and ass when the aircraft first takes off. That sinking, blood leaving my head feeling. And then it hit me. Something I hadn't felt for quite a few years... Clarity. On top of that, it was like I was looking at the world through new eyes. I really thought I had found a cure for PTSD.
Then it happened. The new wore off and I had to smoke more to get the same effects. A few weeks would go my and I would have to smoke more, then more... Until one day I didn't get the feeling anymore. All I got was extreme paranoia. Ok, when you already have paranoia, any additional paranoia is very unwelcome. I was, for the first time in years, afraid to die and was pretty sure it was going to happen at any minute.
The cherry atop this shit sundae was the fluttering in my heart. Yeah, I recon enough THC was in my system to create issues with cardiac function. Try being paranoid with a sense of impending doom and being terrified that your heart is going to stop. Yeah, not really a good treatment for an already shitty existence.
I made the decision to stop. I had no ill effects, as a matter of fact, I felt better if that’s possible. Trust me on this... There is no realization more devastating than figuring out after years of dealing with this that there is no drug, be it legal or otherwise, that can treat this fucking condition with any success or without any God awful side effects. Kind of reminds me of the past couple elections. You have to pick the lesser of two evils and press on. I can report however that after a year of being a stoner just shy of being a dirty hippie riding around in an old VW Bus, my wife has continuously commented on how nice it was to "have me back". I guess this shit even changed my personality.
So, here I set right back where I was in the beginning with only time spent dealing to make informed decisions on how I want to proceed from here. It appears that my choices are "Full blown scary prick who cries sometimes and screams in his sleep", "Bloated Zombie with no personality" or "Out of my mind paranoid Stoner with a heart that palpitates every other beat". Well slap my ass and call me Sally, the choice is clear for me. Scary Prick it is! People around here are starting to understand how I am. It doesn't really bother me anymore. Hell, I kind of like the solitude that comes with it. And I really don't mind that people run to get past my house. It keeps the religious fruitcakes and door-to-door salesmen off my property.
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