When the Triggger Gets Pulled-A PTSD experience

Triggers. I don't even know what all of my triggers are, until they're pulled. Other times, my triggers happen so fast I don't see them coming.

Yesterday began the same way every other day begins for me. Nothing unusual in my 15 min routine to get ready and out the door.
I had a great morning watching my talented Inspire kiddos rehearse for their upcoming showcase. I have been slammed with work this week, which is a blessing, but my two (and a soon 3rd) jobs do keep me from some good quality time with my two boys that are home. I decided we needed some time, so we watched a movie and hung out. My 15 year old and I started having an intense "discussion" about behaviors and attitudes. This is a typical conversation for most parents and their teens...probably at nauseam. But there are triggers imbedded in very certain words for me, and unfortunately my boys will often insert these words in heated conversation.
Now, I need to clarify that I don't believe in any way it's intentional on their part at all. But when it escalates and these words get thrown at me, I'm triggered  into a state of fear and panic that is near indescribable.
I've experienced these "episodes" on different severity levels now for about 7 years. So this isn't my first rodeo, and I know what's happening. I also know I won't be able to stop it quickly. I also don't know how bad it's really going to be. So my first response to entering this state is a natural one: To run! My mind shouts "get away!Get away from people, get away from danger! Don't let anyone see you!"
I can count on one hand the number of people who have seen me mid-episode-outside of hospital and EMT staff. Sadly, three of the five are my boys. The other two I won't mention here. But I know that it changed our relationship and their perceptions of me enough to make it "different" now when I see them. 
Yesterday, I was in my car when the episode started. I asked my boys as calmly as I could to please get out of the car and I was able to drop them off at home before I started shaking so bad that I couldn't drive. I made it around the corner to the parking lot of a nearby school, put my car in park and proceeded to deal with the enormous range of fear, emotions, physical pain and angst that that somehow become as common for me as a migraine headache.
I've been fighting with myself about whether I should try to explain or describe this episode publicly or not. There is a lot of stigma, and shame, and misunderstanding surrounding PTSD. It took a painfully long time for me to stop listening to those outside that say "you have complete control over your mind and body. You can just stop it. You allow this to happen." But I realized how backwards their thinking was.
We would NEVER tell an abuse or rape victim that they had control. Or that they simply allowed it to happen, so they should just deal and stop letting it bother or control them. Could you imagine?
PTSD STEMS from abuse; trauma!  Psychological, emotional, physical, spiritual, sexual, etc. No matter the cause, or the amount of control you did or did not have over the situation doesn't matter! The effect and the outcome are not controllable. How we learn to cope, and heal IS!
In sharing my personal PTSD trauma experience here, I'm opening myself up to vulnerability on a level I'm not comfortable with! However, I do understand that vulnerability is what allows us to own our experiences, and step into self acceptance and self love (thank you Brene Brown). And I'll be honest, I hate myself the most during these episodes. To a point where I want to give up. I often wish I could just die. And that is beyond painful for me to admit. Because I really DON'T feel that way unless I'm in that place.
My experience:
My initial response to a trigger isn't always the same, but I'll always know I'm headed for trouble when I become overly emotional, lose control over my thoughts and feel my adrenaline go through the roof! The best way I know how to describe this, is that it feels like everything in my mind gets tossed into a rip tide,  and the conscious part of my brain that knows I'm safe is drowning.  The only thing that's coming through is the terror of realizing you're not in control and you feel immense danger!
As I was driving home yesterday with the boys, this was my initial response. Tears started streaming. And not normal tears, like a flood of tears, but I'm not sobbing. There's no noise. I can't make any noise because the adrenaline in my body is so high that my teeth are chattering. I even bite my tongue trying to stop them from chattering so hard.
My breathing is now making it hard to focus and keep my eyes open. My legs and body start to shake and I am lucky to find a parking lot quickly so I can stop. I know things are going to happen fast.
I stop the car and close my eyes and give in to everything happening. The muscles in my body are twitching and contracting so hard that it hurts. Now I'm sobbing in heaves between my teeth chatters because literally EVERYTHING hurts. My head, my body, my heart. Nothing makes sense. I keep repeating to myself out loud "I'm ok. I'm ok....I'm safe. I'm ok." 
I try to control my breathing to keep from passing out (which has happened several times in the past). I don't want to be found in this parking lot and taken to the hospital. I don't have health insurance and that would be an expensive trip for nothing. They never find anything wrong with me there anyway. Just higher than normal blood pressure and HR, dehydration and exhaustion. Which makes sense. When I'm issued a stress test, it's off the charts and they tell me to follow up with a regular doc to see about reducing my stress/anxiety with medication. I may consider it seriously if I could afford it. I know I can't so no sense in going down that road. I'll be fine. I'm always fine.
Now that I've taken hold of some semblance of coherent thought I try to keep from losing it. I try to count the number of empty spaces in the parking lot until I can't see from the amount of tears coming out of my eyes. It always feels better to close them.
I try to relax my body instead of stiffening everything. But the more I relax the more I shake. If I can tense up enough I don't shake. So I tense up as much as I can.
I try to sing a song to distract myself, while at the same time hoping that no one can see the mess that I am here sitting in my car.
As much as I fight it, the shame and embarrassment of ANYONE seeing me like this is too much to bear. I am broken. And I will be alone forever because who would want to see this? Who would want to have to deal with this weak and damaged woman?
My heart is beating so hard. I'm running a race with no finish line, and no reward at the end, except the end of this internal beating.
I start to feel myself becoming weaker and weaker. Everything seems distant. Everything goes dark.
When I open my eyes, things start coming into focus and I start to gradually feel the aftermath. But I'm not shaking anymore. Thank heavens! My body feels wet from perspiration. My body weight feels so heavy that I all I can do just sit there.
My head is uncomfortable and leaning against the door and seat belt return. I must have slumped that direction when I passed out.
It takes all the energy I have to move my head back over the head rest.
I wish I could say the worst of it is over at this point, but now that my mind is quieted, and I'm much more aware and coherent, this is when the self loathing, shame, guilt, and loss are experienced at such a depth that I want to disappear. My thoughts are along these lines:
"I'm such horrible mom. The boys feel at fault when this happens and I'm probably ruining their lives. It's not their fault!"
"What happened to my life? How did I end up like this? Why did I allow myself to be abused so badly? I will forever live with nightmares and memories that my body wont forget."
"I hate how weak I am. I don't want to be like this!"
"I'm so tired. My heart and my mind and body are so tired. I can't go through this again. I don't want to feel anymore."
"Where would my boys go if I wasn't here? Could someone else do a better job taking care of them. I'm barely a mom as it is anyways working 3 jobs."
This is when I catch myself. I know in the deepest part of my soul that no one can love and be mom to my boys like I can. I am tired as hell. I want to give up the fight. I want to know life again without all of this chaos. But leaving my boys with the knowledge that they weren't worth the fight of my life is not an option for me. They already have a parent who's abandoned them in that regard, and it's hurt them beyond repair.
I drive home, which luckily isn't far. I pull in the garage, and that's the last thing I remember until I wake up on my bed, with my purse still on my shoulder. ( My angels work overtime!)
I try to move and I'm so sore! I feel like I've been run over several times. Every muscle aches and hurts. I try to get up and go check on the boys. I have no idea how long I slept for and it''s getting dark outside now.
I make it to the bathroom and my legs want to give out. I turn back and flop on my bed. I call to Marchus who I can hear in the living room. He comes and lays by me and tells me he helped me into my room from the car because I wasn't talking or moving really when I walked into the house. Once again I cry, and apologize if it worried him. I reassured him that I was ok and that I just needed to rest and sleep it off. He hugged me and said "I know mom. You've explained this before. I understand. I love you!" My gratitude for my boys can't explained in mere words. I can't think about my sweet, tender, understanding boys, and what they've had to endure already in their young lives, without tears coming to my eyes. How could I ever think life with them isn't worth the pain and suffering that comes with it?!

Today, when I woke up and looked in the mirror, I saw the exterior aftermath of last night. (So not attractive!) I had mascara stained eyes and cheeks and streaks of it running down my neck. My hair was a sight (though that's nothing abnormal) and my eyes were red and weary. I have a slight bruise on the left side of my head, but it's not bad at all.
I tried to look past the woman staring back at me to see a soul who is courageous and never gives up! To see a heart that keeps beating even when it's put to the test of debilitating endurance and heartache. I tried to see a mind that works hard to help others and make the best of every situation. I longed to see a Daughter of God who's made so many mistakes yet still knows she's loved and cherished. A daughter who doesn't just disappoint, let down and need help. I wanted to see myself as the mother who has the energy and stamina to burst through the day being the best mom she can because being a mom is all she has to be. Some of these are a reality. Some are not. I don't always see what I want to see.
So often in my life, I've relied on others, or more specifically a significant other, to remind me of who I am. Inside. This can be so dangerous!
What everyone sees on the outside is the tip of the proverbial iceberg. But recognizing and knowing who I am to my core, regardless of my mistakes, or the ugliness that PTSD is, and more importantly in spite of what anyone else thinks or believes I am, is going to have to come from within. And today, like many days, it's harder to find for myself. But I won't stop looking. And I won't continue to deny myself the gift of what good there is inside of me, no matter what a mess I appear to be, or what parts of my past try to haunt me.

The effects of abuse are real. They are not something you just "get over" or find peace from once you move on or find another relationship to fill a void. I'm learning that I can only do my best to learn to trust myself. Asking for help isn't weak. And feeling the need for arms around you to help you feel safe at your worst, doesn't mean you're not strong and independent.

I know this post is heavy. But it's real. And I am grateful for the lessons and healing that come from vulnerability, and recognizing that not everything is roses and sunshine. In fact, more often than not, it's hard and discouraging. But love and hope are ever present. And healing happens as we allow it by persisting and never giving up.
Again, I'm so grateful for my boys; for their unconditional love and their nonjudgmental support. I am truly blessed!