The following post is about PTSD triggers. The idea was to revisit a trigger from the past and then try to articulate what the experience of being triggered feels like. The first few drafts failed to do this because I was trying to create more, and not less, distance from the experience. So I did what I was trained to do: I rewrote it. When I still missed, I rewrote it again.
The problem was the closer I got to describing what a trigger feels like the closer I got to re-triggering myself. This was something I didn’t anticipate.
So last night when I asked Linda to read the latest draft of my post, I was setting us both up for a triggering incident. Of course I didn’t mean to. Of course I wasn’t aware of it.
Nevertheless, when Linda shared some thoughts about how I might improve the draft, my trauma brain interpreted her response as not being heard. I had worked myself into a pre-trigger state—what Linda calls fertilized ground— and her reception of the piece became the trigger.
The moment of being triggered is really like a light switch being flipped. One moment I’m me. The guy with two sons, an amazing partner, a PhD; the guy who published a mystery novel; the guy who is a good partner, friend, worker; the guy who’s been sober for almost 14 years.
When the trigger switch is flipped, however, I become a frightened four-year-old in a man’s body. I become irrationally fearful of things that aren’t really there. I say things I don’t mean. I want to run away. And I want to break shit.
So I ripped up the draft. I stormed out of the room, knocking two pictures off the wall. I knew I was unsafe. Somewhere in my trauma brain I always know that bed is safe. So that’s where I went.
This sucks. And I don’t want to share it. I don’t really want you to know what I’m like in a trigger. I don’t want you to think I’m a bad person.
But the reason I’m sharing it is because of what happened next: while I lay on the bed, all the trauma recovery work I’ve done in the past few years took hold and I was able to make a decision (in PTSD bubbles there is usually no decision-making at all; just reacting).
I wanted to break shit. I wanted to run out of the house. I wanted to disappear. I remember staring at the glass of water on the nightstand. I could imagine picking it up and smashing it against the wall. I could imagine doing it because I’ve done it in the past.
But the new neural pathway provided a tiny space for reflection, and I made a decision that I don’t want to create more damage. So I reached into my trigger protocol for some heart-focused breathing.
I breathed in, slowly, counting to six, and then out, counting to seven. I repeated this pattern over and over until I started to return to myself. I couldn’t talk about what happened yet—that would be the next day—but I had worked myself back into a safe space—which at that moment meant that I was curled up in bed not wanting to be touched.
The next day both Linda and I wondered if we should stop writing about our experiences. Maybe it was a one-and-done. But it didn’t take long for us to realize that this is precisely why we have to continue. Too many people out there are suffering like us. To be silent because things aren’t going perfectly is exactly what PTSD does to sufferers and their supporters.
So fuck you, PTSD. You can shove it up your ass.
###
I’m Leaving. You. Forever.
If an organism is stuck in survival mode, its energies are focused on fighting off unseen enemies, which leaves no room for nurture, care, and love. For us humans, it means that as long as the mind is defending itself against invisible assaults, our closest bonds are threatened, along with our ability to imagine, plan, play, learn, and pay attention to people needs.
The Body Keeps the Score (76)
The suitcase is open in the bedroom. It’s black with green trim. Garment bags hang from the door. A load of laundry is on the bed. Shoes on the floor. Toiletries on the counter. She’s packing, and I can’t stop her.
I take a breath.
My insides are falling—that feeling when you’re going down the first big hill on a roller coaster only this roller coaster never stops. It just goes faster and faster until I feel like I’m going to explode.
I take another breath.
I’m pleading now. “Please don’t go.”
“Honey, I have to,” she says. “You know that. And it’s only for a few days.
Something about the way she says it. I can sense the disgust. She’s disgusted with me. She is questioning our relationship. She’s questioning us.
I know I’m sick, I want to yell. I know my mind is playing tricks on me. But I keep it inside. Act normal. Just get to when she’s gone. Then you can fall apart. You can stay in bed. You can watch TV. You can get over it then.
The bottom line is that the threat-perception system of the brain has changed, and people’s physical reactions are dictated by the imprint of the past.
The Body Keeps the Score (67)
She’s perfect. She’s the love of your life. She wants nothing but the best for you. She has to go on a business trip. She invited you. You can’t go with her. She’s not doing anything to you. She’s doing what any person does. The next thing. It’s not an attack.
Look at her. She’s amazing. She loves you despite your craziness. She’s putting up with you.
She loves you. She’s crazy about you. She tells everyone that you are the love of her life. She loves you. She loves you. She loves you.
And I love her. She sees me. She knows who I am. And she still loves me. She’s patient. She knows I’m struggling.
But she’s leaving you. She’s going to New York without you. She’s going to party with friends, and who knows? Maybe she’ll meet someone better? Someone who can keep it together because you sure as hell can’t. Look at you. You’re about to lose your mind because your girlfriend is going on a business trip!!! What’s wrong with you? You are broken.
I leave the bedroom, calling over my shoulder, I have to get out of here. I can’t let her see my like this. I can’t. I can’t breathe. She’s leaving.
This is why she’s going to hook up with someone else. She needs a break from you. You are exhausting. You are not right in the head. What kind of a person feels this way about his girlfriend who is going on a trip. She’s not leaving you! At least she wasn’t going to leave you until you started acting this way. You’re pathetic. And broken.
These reactions [to triggers] are irrational and largely outside people’s control. Intense and barely controllable urges and emotions make people feel crazy—and makes them feel they don’t belong to the human race.
The Body Keeps the Score (67)
I’m in the living room now. I grab my keys. They’re heavy in my hand. Outside, I can see palm trees and blue sky. It’s the greatest city on earth in the greatest neighborhood on earth. Why am I freaking out?
I open the front door but images of her leaving flood my brain. The suitcase, the shoes, the toiletries…she’s going to be gone for five days. I’m going to be in this space alone. She may not come back. She may decide to stay away from you. She may finally realize that you’re not worth the effort.
I can’t leave.
I return to the room.
I can see the exhaustion in her eyes. Why are you back?
“I don’t know what to do.”
“Baby, I love you.”
“But you’re leaving me!”
CUT TO:
He’s leaning over me now. His face is flushed. He’s breathing heavy. I’m in the garage. His arms grip me tight. The door to the garage opens, and a teenage girl steps through it. She’s got long blonde hair, a striped shirt and pink pants. She’ll get him to stop. She’ll save me. She freezes. Go back in the house, he says. Now! No! I try to yell but my voice is faint. And just like that she turns around and leaves me behind. Forever.
CUT TO:
I’m in the bedroom with Linda. And the suitcase. She’s leaving me too. I can’t believe it’s happening again. Please don’t leave me.
CUT TO:
The trauma that started “out there” is now played out on the battlefield of their own bodies, usually without a conscious connection between what happened back then and what is going on right now inside. The challenge is not so much learning to accept the terrible things that have happened but learning how to gain mastery over one’s internal sensations and emotions.
The Body Keeps the Score (68)
Linda doesn’t know what to say. What is there to say?
CUT TO:
I’m being held down. I can’t leave. I can’t breathe. The girl left me with him. Roman left me with him—
—Linda’s leaving me here with him too—
CUT TO:
The sun is warm on my skin. Roman and I turn the corner, and there he is.
“Who’s your friend?”
“This is Aaron,” Roman says.
“Nice to meet you, Aaron. I’m Cory.” Let’s say he’s wearing a KISS shirt and jeans (I don’t really remember). His blonde curly hair is long, and his face is smooth. “Why don’t you run along, Roman. Let me get to know Aaron, okay?”
Roman screws his face into a ball.
“It’s his turn,” Cory says to Roman.
Roman looks me in the eye before he leaves me with Cory.
I take a breath.
Don’t leave me.
Cory grabs me by the arm. I sense the danger. I don’t want to go. But it’s too late.
And then he pulls me along with him, toward the garage—while the world, and everyone in it, leaves me behind.
This post is part of a series intended to be read in sequence. If you haven’t already, we encourage you to start with 1. INCITING INCIDENT, 1976
This is correct.
Yes.
We act like this. In fear- and then after we act like this we begin to thaw. And things come back into focus and we kind of understand that it isn’t really happening again- or still happening. It’s over- but so are we-over- in ways- but we have to go on.
So unfair this circle with no way out.
Thank you again for this voice.
This explanation of why we are like this.
Thank you, Elizabeth. It’s so nice to hear your experience through others’. It’s good to know we’re not alone.
Aaron, I know this is painful, but I get this. Thank you for sharing and illuminating how this feels. I have PTSD too, only my incident of origin was actually a series of incidents.
Thank you, Tom. I’m sorry you have PTSD too, but it’s nice to connect with you in this way. I only wish we’d known when we lived in the same city!
Aaron,
I’ve been there. I cry as I sit here reading your post. My eyes tear up and I cannot see. I think I’m good at faking it till I make it; but reading your post lets me know its all an act. Fortunately for me, I ended up with a partner whose also damaged. Only Phil worked through his shit with analysis long before I met him. He and his siblings talk about what happened. My sisters won’t talk about our childhood; so I talk to Phil, but he wasn’t there.
I wish we were nearer to each other to reach out and hold each other’s hand. I’m in Nevis looking at the trees moving in the wind over the ocean. A good beach walk is what I need.
My love, hugs and courage to you. Iris
Dear Iris:
Thank you so much for this. Being heard has been more important to me than I realized, and having other people to talk about it with is crucial–but as you say, processing the event with those who were there is perhaps most crucial.
I love the image of you in Nevis. It’s peaceful. Serene.
Love,
Aaron
You have a strength that most people do not. I am glad you two found each other and I look forward to observing your path of healing. Much love to you both.
Thanks, Tracy 🙂
That’s some powerful writing. The positive thing is that you were able to make a decision to use your therapy – the heart-focused breathing – to care for yourself. That means the therapy is working. You’re learning to heal yourself. It may feel like it’s taking a long time but it is working which is the important thing. Thanks for sharing this. I hope it brings you comfort and healing. xo
Thanks, Margo. It is nice to see progress. I’m so grateful.