Change

My husband says I've changed.  I asked how.  He couldn't put it into words right then, so I asked him to write about it.  Here's what he wrote...

She didn't always flinch with every loud noise.  She never had an issue with crowds. She never needed to visually see the exit at every restaurant. She never got anxious, anticipating a trip on the freeway.  She never had these things before me. 

I remember the free spirit that took me in, so light and gentle yet tough at the same time. Wide eyed and focused. She jumped blindly into a life of caring for someone and never blinked twice.  It never crossed our minds that this role she chose would possibly change her in any way.  I never expected PTSD to be contagious.

It started slow and came to pass without us even noticing.  It wasn't until a few years later that she began to identify it and voice it openly.  

How cruel is it? Your mind is designed to betray you after extensive stress but, it will make it so your loved ones minds betray them as well?  Like some sort of messed up computer virus that jumps from account to account.  They see your actions, tune into your moods, adjust their lives to accommodate your behavior and the thanks they get from all of this are markers of the same behavior and disorder. Where's your "divine" design now?  No fair and just God would allow this to happen.

Please don't get me wrong.  I'm not saying my wife has changed totally.  She is still the same bright eyed, beautiful, bubbly, angry little scrapper that made me fall for her from the beginning. She still takes my breath to this day.  It's just... I can see it on her face, plain as day, when she's over stressed. I can see the pain in her eyes and the subtle stare that comes from fear.  I know her well enough to know that the fear she feels isn't fear for herself.  I can tell she's afraid something is going to happen to me and she's watching me through those "it's not if but when" glasses. 

I'm not trying to turn this around on myself and the only thing I'm going to say is that the last thing someone with PTSD needs is having to worry about how this is going to fuck up the ones you love. I mean, I would have rather hit her and had her resent me for that rather than have her sucked into this lifestyle or lack there of. At least if I hit her all she has to do is hate me. She wouldn't have to change.  She wouldn't be hurt.  She'd not show any of the signs...  I totally get why some with PTSD just up and take off or actually participate in domestic violence. I understand the hurtful words and the cold, hard demeanor. "Drive them away where they are safe".   

I guess the big heads call it "Secondary PTSD" but stress is stress and I just happen to be the trauma that causes her stress disorder.  It's pretty fucked up when you think about it.