Chaos and Panic

My name is Cristina D. Johnson.

I have PTSD and DID but I am not defined by them. Rather, I am temporarily impeded by them as I walk through this painful journey of self-discovery and introspection; memory-recall; re-learning; therapy and guidance.

The biggest inhibitor of these disorders, for me, is  the unpredictable nature of them. For example, the other night during a Christmas gathering, someone mentioned a single word and once the word was spoken, flashes of my father - my first and most brutal abuser - began flickering in my mind, like those old-time reels of film. Click-click-click-click, as I felt warmth spread through my body. But because of where we were and because we were so surrounded by people, some "part" of me, held me together and I breathed through the moment.

Strange things cause these outbursts, whether expressed or internalized. When internalized, it feels like a pressure cooker; When externalized, it's like the lid has blown off the pressure cooker.

Occasionally, the lid is gently removed, to let off some of the steam and during those times, there is a moment of relief, immediately followed by (sometimes days of) regret, fear and intimidation. "Oh God I've said too much...I've revealed too much."

White vans; the scent of Vanilla; burgundy vans; holidays; the way someone holds their cigarette; certain words/phrases; smells; telephones; vehicles; certain styles of a moustache; guitars; playgrounds; strangers; some Latinos; grocery shopping....

These and other things set me off and I don't even know it.

Bill unwittingly sent me spiraling into panic one night when he said, "If you're too hot, you can turn the heater down," as we were in the car. I was immediately thrown back into the cab of a truck where - countless times - I was raped and/or beaten as a child.

This was following a phone call from my therapist, which followed a troubling trip to the grocery store. It piled up until finally I was shaking and scrambling for a Risperdal in my purse, dropping my cigarette, discombobulated and all I could do was keep telling myself, "It's okay - it's Bill. It's okay - It's Bill..."

I don't like phones or phone calls and I never (or rarely) answer any phone call that shows an unknown number.

I know where this comes from, but that's another story.

Friday night, Bill and I were up until past 5 a.m. just sitting at the dining room table, talking and having drinks. It was nice. We played spades (he won) and we talked about all manner of things - which we often do. We are good together in that way. We've always had great conversations.

I lit several incense. I love the incense, plus I got a bunch of new incense and burners for Christmas. I was so tickled.

I received a text as we were heading to bed from our neighbor. "Could you guys please chill out with the smoke/incense? It's going through the walls. Thanks."

I panicked.

I felt horrible. I apologized profusely. I heard nothing back.

That was Friday.

Saturday I awoke still semi-panicked. Afraid to do anything. Very jumpy - constantly on Trevor to be quiet, stop talking so loud, stop slamming doors, stop this, stop that. I, once again, hid inside - away from the windows. Time came to cook dinner...

I was slicing the zucchini and squash and it seemed like every time the knife slid through the vegetable and hit the cutting board, a bomb was going off. "Be quiet!" I kept hearing in my mind. "STOP BEING SO LOUD!" I chastised myself. Oh I was so afraid. I didn't want to upset the neighbor.

As I was cooking, my cell phone rang. I looked - it was the landlady.

I felt a punch to my stomach. The fear  that ran through me transformed into trembling and terror.

"Do you want me to answer it?" Bill asked.

I nodded, wordlessly.

Oh God. Oh God.

Bill talked with her as I added the vegetables with mushrooms and onions to the pan. I was trembling so badly that it  felt as if I was shaking both inside and out. Like my blood was rumbling beneath my skin, my bones were shaking, at the same time that my hands and neck and head and my body was shaking. My legs were weak. I wanted to cry.

This is it. This is when she tells me it's not going to work out and we have to leave. Leave this apartment. Move away.

Please...please...please....

As I stirred the vegetables, I heard Bill say, "She's right here, she's cooking actually," and I thought, "Oh no! She wants to talk to me!"

Bill held the phone down. "She wants to talk to you about plowing."

(We have a long driveway that is shared by the neighboring house and usually the cost of plowing of the driveway is split three ways between that neighbor, and me and the neighbor I share the duplex with).

I spoke with the landlady. My voice was shaky. I tried to control it. It was a lot like holding your breath as long as you possibly can. I was holding my breath. Waiting to hear of a complaint the neighbor had given.

No such thing was said.

When I hung up the phone, I exhaled - figuratively speaking - and my body seemed to deflate. Bill, thinking ahead, had lit a cigarette and brought it to me. I ran into the dining room with it. "Can't let anyone see!"

I fixed dinner; couldn't eat. Tried.

Drank my milk.

Tried distracting myself with a movie about a Mayan elder (www.shiftoftheages.com) but this did nothing to stop the turbulence inside.

After, I logged Bill into his FB account so he could play a game that I play. There was a message for him. It was from his sister. I had to show Bill how to get to it but everything got confused and maybe I didn't handle it right or explain it clearly enough but he clicked the little red "1" on the messages balloon and I saw the first line of her message - it was clearly some kind of criticism. Without asking, Bill said he didn't want to read it and he went to the end of the pop up and clicked "See all messages" and when he did that, I saw a (presumably) old message from Gary - unread. Saw his face.

Bill threw his hands up. "Get me out of here," he said as he leaned back against the couch.

I felt I'd done something(s) wrong...again.

We went to bed. I laid down and was overwhelmed - "flooded" as Michelle calls it - and my mind would not stop chattering. I became afraid and I didn't know what I was afraid of. I started to cry. I didn't know why I was crying. I tried talking to myself within my mind and there was nothing but chaos, confusion. Pictures, images, flashes, memories. Gary, Daddy, the neighbor, homelessness, bills, "Dee", Trevor....so much...too much. I couldn't quiet my mind and I just surrendered. I felt I was being battered from inside my skull.

I sat up and took two klonopin, smoked half a cigarette, laid back down. Bill cautiously asked if he could lie close to me. "Yes," I said.

He moved closer and put his arms around me, and I cried. He kept telling me, "It's okay. I'm here. I've gotcha. You're safe." And I just cried some more, feeling foolish. Kept trying to breathe, kept counting my breaths, trying to focus on anything but the noise in my head.

It sucks to live every day in fear.