Over Salted

You know how when you’re having a really bad day and you just can’t wait for it to be over?

The year 2016 is like that for me.  

Was the *entire* year bad?  No. I retired from an amazing law enforcement career and embarked on my dream of competing in a fitness competition.  Aaron and I enjoyed motorcycle rides, trips to the cabin and we were planning a Fall vacation - we were thinking Hawaii.

I see the posts on Face Book encouraging people to not be so hard on 2016.  Some posts strive to stir people to enlightenment by encouraging their readers to post something positive that happened this past year.

I can’t bring myself to comment.  

Just as too much salt ruins a perfectly good pot of sauce, extreme tragedy overshadows the good times - a tough place to be in a society where we’re constantly reminded to focus on the positive, to always be thankful.   In my darkest days, I was overcome by thoughts of suicide along with images that played in my mind on a relentless loop.  If someone would have told me to find something for which to be grateful, I might have launched a heavy object in their direction. I was not well.  Being grateful for say actually brushing my teeth at some point during the day would make my breath less offensive but it wasn’t going to do shit to improve mood.    

Just one split second in 2016 caused all that.

But, a lot can happen in such a small increment of time - an instant, really.  A blink of an eye.  

One thousand one...

...the gun went off.   He found peace.  I was swallowed by darkness.

One second out of the 31,557,000 seconds that comprised the year 2016 was all it took to make it the worst year of my life.  I can’t fathom how anything could be worse than breathing the same air as your loved one as he commits suicide.  God help me if I’m wrong.  

Gratitude, the feel-good serum that helps people elevate to a higher energy, wasn’t even possible for me for the first few weeks.  In my experience, it actually takes an already healthy mind to practice gratitude.  Something bigger than gratitude kept me alive until the perpetual darkness subsided...

...my faith in God.  And, hope that things would get better.

Sure, eventually, I felt grateful  - I had the support of amazing friends, my appetite finally returned and eventually I could lay down in my bed and close my eyes without opening them every 3 seconds to stare at the spot where Aaron fell.  

But, gratitude doesn’t outweigh the desolation of 2016. 

And, I just can’t wait for the year to be over.  I don’t think that makes me ungrateful.

I think it just makes me someone who’s anxious to be inside of a year that has some hope and promise.

Besides, I’ve always loved New Years.  Yeah, some preach that if you want to make changes, don't wait for the New Year.  “Take action NOW”, their words angrily spilling into their live Face Book feed.  

I get it.  New Years isn’t a potion that magically changes anything from December 31st to January 1st.  

Let them preach.  As for me, I’m grabbing a soft throw blanket, a warm cup of coffee and I’m hunkering down...riding out the year until 2017 arrives.  If you’ve had to fight and crawl your way out of 2016, feel free to do the same.  If you want the symbolism of the New Year to start your weight loss program, increase sales in your business, embark on your dream...then wait.  Ignore the static.  Let the rats race.  Life is meant to ebb and flow.

...even a delicious pasta sauce takes a long time to cook.  

To my readers who I love so much, have a safe and happy New Year.

And, may there not be too much salt in the sauce.

Emerging Victoriously

No detail was spared.  I told her exactly what happened...a play by play of the facts.  And, when finished, I took a deep breath and sat there silently.   My therapist, taking notes with such fervor, filled the room with a scratching noise caused by the tip of her ball point pen making contact with the paper’s surface.

She took a lot of notes.  And she kept writing.  And writing....

Her focus was unbreakable.  The scratching sound was unnerving.  So I began speaking again.

“Uhhm.  And, also I....I keep seeing the incident over and over again in my head.”   She silenced her pen and looked up at me without speaking.

“....yes”, I said, as we held eye contact.  “The incident plays like a movie in my mind’s eye, on a continuous loop.  It doesn’t have an ‘off’ button.”

Placing her pen and notebook on a nearby table, she leaned forward and flatly responded, “You have a serious case of PTSD”.   Her words felt like a swarm of bees flying out of her mouth, attacking every inch of my exposed flesh.   

Stunned, I only caught bits and pieces of her continued explanation... about my seeing Aaron’s suicide, about how I thought I also was going to die, and how all those images, segment by segment, got stored in the wrong part of my brain.

I left that first session feeling like a carton of eggshells - too fragile to be out in the world with the diagnosis of PTSD.   How easily could I be set off?   What are my triggers?  How will I react?

Those questions were answered just a few days later when fireworks went off near by as I sat in the backyard of Aaron’s parent’s house.  I’ll spare the details but to say that it was ugly would be an understatement.

I didn’t want to live the rest of my life having a melt down every time I heard a loud bang.

In my second session with my therapist I explained what happened.  “That’s your PTSD”, she said in response.  

And, that’s the last time she said those words.

Over the course of just two sessions, she repeated the phrase “your ptsd” enough times that I finally requested she word it so that the PTSD was less.....mine.

“Can PTSD be fully cured?”, I asked. 

“Yes”.  

“Then from this point forward please refer to my diagnosis as ‘The temporary PTSD related to the incident’ versus ‘Your PTSD’”.   

I’d eventually switch therapists.   I explained to her from the beginning about my diagnosis but I assured her that I would become PTSD-free very soon.  She smiled and said  “There’s a societal consciousness around PTSD where the diagnosis has become more powerful than people’s ability to be restored from it...but full restoration and healing is possible as long as therapy is available to patients.”  

My new therapist conducted 90-minute EMDR sessions with me over the course of several weeks (as compared to just 20-30 minutes with my previous therapist).  They were exhausting.  It was a lot of hard work.  I went through countless boxes of tissue paper.  But, I embarked on every session with the sole purpose of emerging victorious.   

I still conjure up images of that horrific day but the images don't paralyze me; I'm in control of them.  And, I still live in a world where cars unexpectedly backfire while I’m out walking my dogs.  And, where large canyons of fireworks go off while I'm cheering on an ASU football player who just scored a touchdown at Sun Devil Stadium.  

I jump at the loud sounds just like everyone else.  But, then I smile.  Victoriously.  

The Letter Z

He is the first one listed in my contacts on my iPhone.  

His last name is followed by the emoticon with the two pink hearts - the one with the heart on the bottom and the smaller one just above it, to the right.  It’s my favorite; they’re the happiest of hearts.

Yet, it feels like a punch in the stomach every time I see his name: Aaron McDonald

I can’t ignore it.  But I can’t call him.  I can’t email him.  I can’t text him.  All I can do is stare at his name in disbelief that I can’t talk to him or see him ever again.

It's the same feeling I got when constantly faced with our last text message string on my phone.  Being slightly Type A, I delete texts to keep my text screen clear and tidy.  But, I was careful not to delete that last thread between me and Aaron.  It was a short conversation (given my propensity to continually clear messages) but it was the last one I had.  It took place June 22nd while I was having dinner with Staci at True Food Kitchen and he headed out to his friend’s house.  

“I’m headed to Damon’s but I’m fine.  I’m 100% fine" he texted while I sat at the dinner table.  The part about him being "fine" was out of the blue like it always was every time he would say or text something like that.   “So happy you’re visiting Damon...plz tell him hi!”, I typed back, ignoring the "fine" part knowing that this theme would repeat throughout the evening, his words and pixilated texts sure to leave me confused and anxious.

His text made me feel sick to my stomach.  I knew this was just the beginning of a very volitile situation; I knew he wasn't doing well.  Exasperated, I looked up from my phone to Staci and confided, “this is what he does....he says he’s fine but a storm is coming.  I just don't think he's happy.”

I hated that text string. 

Sure, it contained a few normal sentences here and there but mostly it consisted of the all-too-familiar discussion where Aaron pretended everything was okay when I knew damn well it wasn't.  It made me anxious every time I saw it.  And, sad.  Mostly sad.   

So one day I just simply deleted it.  Unceremoniously and without much thought...I swiped left, hit delete and it was gone.  Forever.   I don't regret it.  

Like that text string, my mood often lowers when I see Aaron's name in my contacts every single time I pull up that screen.  Sadly it does remind me a little of the confusing and manic text messages he'd send me. Plus it's a bummer that it just sits there....unused, as a reminder that things never did get better like I hoped.   

But, I don't have it in me to delete his contact card.  Not yet.  Though, I recognize I can't get sucker punched by it every time I stare at my contact screen.  So I pulled up my contacts, my heart dropping when I saw his name even though I was prepared.  I cliked on his name, hit "edit" and while in that mode, I placed a letter "Z" before his name.  I hit save.  I pulled the main contact screen up again and saw Aimee K.F as the first name listed.

I smiled.  My contact screen was nuetralized.  I feel no guilt in that.  I'm still here and I have to take care of me.  Aaron will be forever and always in my heart.  But, in my phone he's 'ZAaron' and frankly, I think he thinks it's hilarious.