Who goes there?

Ah, the proverbial military security phrase, usually preceded by "Halt!" Movies and books have shown simple ways to get past guards: throwing gravel, pebbles, rocks. Making the guard jump, look, even go investigate. In a way, movies and books were telling us a bit about the PTSD a soldier can get. Hypervigilance — jumping at noises, seeing shadows.

It doesn't take declared war — or military action of whatever name politics calls it — to create PTSD. Just trauma, being placed in a situation (often repeatedly, but sometimes just once) where showing extreme vigilance was a survival mechanism. It means being hyperaware of sights, sounds, smells. And it means assuming, and mentally preparing for, the worst-case scenario.

Many things can cause PTSD, most of which I have not experienced. But I have enough other traumas that contribute: childhood sexual abuse (which included emotional and mental terrorization); some fairly sophisticated cruelty at the hands of my young peers; knowing that, as much as my parents loved me, I didn't meet their ideal of a daughter; heavy losses — first move of my life at 16 to 1100 miles away, then 9 months later my father died, then five years after that my little brother killed himself. Job changes, mostly due to small businesses going out from under me, but also having too much time between jobs on occasion. Unemployment for 2 years. Then my mom. My vigilance is definitely hyped up and I am always expecting the worst. Adrenaline is pretty much always coursing through my body. Not as much fun as you would think. 

When I saw my previous psychiatrist for the first time, I went through an actual intake (never before or since) where her assistant asked many, many questions, follow-up questions, asked for details. He also comforted me in a specific way: he assured me that the "little hallucinations, nothing crazy, no one telling me to burn things down or anything" were nothing to worry about. My psych told me they were symptoms of PTSD, my first actual diagnosis of it. 

My little hallucinations are kicked up these days. It used to be that when I was anxious, I would see small things at the corners of my eyes, like they might be bugs but weren't. And they were infrequent. Now I see things every waking hour, everything up to the size of a large cat, and they no longer stay just in the corners of my eyes: these shadows have moved closer to my main vision areas. Sometimes I'll catch a corner-glance of a human-sized shadow. Mostly I don't react much. Occasionally I turn my head to see if it's a real bug. I did jump like crazy — in my car — when I thought a gray cat was jumping at me out of the back seat. It was the back-of-seat trash bag swinging around. I've removed that.

I'm not hearing much that isn't there. Some things could be actual insects: there are a couple of roaches that haven't been killed off yet. They might be in the garbage. Ugh. Soon, my uglies, sooon! When I'm in the shower, I always think I hear the phone ringing or a knock at the door. Sometimes I think I hear a text come in on my phone or an email on the computer, and they haven't. In the past I've heard voices just a little too far away or a little too soft for me to make out. No smells right now, either: I used to smell the occasional cigarette, or sometimes poop.

I am experiencing a bit of touch hallucinations. Generally, it's as if insects are climbing on me or brushing up against me. Sometimes it's like a spider's web catches on my arm.

Twitchy? What makes you think I'd be twitchy? I used to get an eye tic: I'm shocked that I don't have one now. I'm remarkably twitchy. I also bite my nails way down; I'm getting better about my face and picking it less and less. And all I want to do is eat sweets and more sweets until I burst. I'm not sure how that relates, but I'm sure someone will tell me if I remember to ask.

Oh, yeah, memory problems. Because when you are vigilant against the present, the future is not really important.

Maybe I should bungee jump again. It might help me realign my mind into REAL fear versus imaginary. And bungee jumping gives one that surge of adrenaline, then it washes away and I, at least, ended up laughing and feeling wonderful and HIGH! So much better than this steady but low-level stream of fight-or-flight chemicals constantly saturating my blood and brain. Nothing beats jumping off a 165-foot-high bridge — knowing that you have an unbreakable band connecting you to the top and that you won't actually die. Knowing you won't actually die: the opposite of PTSD.