This would not be a genuine representation of this experience if I didn't tell you that right after I posted last night about how well going to Thanksgiving dinner went, I began to feel incredibly disloyal to Cory.
It hit me about the time I finally turned out the lights, and tried to go to sleep. Tears always brew in the middle of your chest, and I could feel mine there. Wolf Teeth soon followed. Did I tell you I finally figured out what Wolf Teeth (the sudden and pervasive feeling that my teeth are too big for my mouth) are all about? Excuse the sidebar:
Criterion E: alterations in arousal and reactivity
Trauma-related alterations in arousal and reactivity that began or worsened after the traumatic event: (two required)
- Irritable or aggressive behavior
- Self-destructive or reckless behavior
- Hypervigilance
- Exaggerated startle response
- Problems in concentration
- Sleep disturbance
[Above taken from DSM-V Criteria for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder]
Number three, folks- that's what Wolf Teeth is all about. In case you're curious, it sucks!
So some guilt, some Wolf-Teeth, and then my heartbeat started thumping away like a runaway horse. I turned my light on, and tried to get a grip. Tim, God love him, recommended that I chew a piece of gum.
I will try anything. I chomped away for a few minutes, and settled myself down. I spit the gum out, wiped my tears, which for once had been blessedly silent, and turned out the light again.
Sprayed my pillow with lavender mist; turned my Sleep Sheep to gentle rain, put a soft, chunky Infinity scarf around my neck, and grabbed one of Cory's stuffed animals. Laid there. Felt my teeth with my tongue. Couldn't stop. Literally felt like they were growing right out of my mouth. What is wrong with me?
Responder cutting Cory's shirt open..."Is she breathing?!! Is she breathing?!!"...Cory's legs splayed and dirty..."I'm sorry, I didn't see her." ...Cory's eyelashes sooty against her cheeks..."I'm sorry ma'am; she is gone."...Cory's arm in a floppy pretzel shape...blood, so much blood...something is wrong with her head..."NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"...hot pavement, gritty, under my knees and forehead.
I put my right hand over my eyes. It never helps, but it's reflex.
My heartbeat kept speeding up until I thought I might die. Mostly I feared I wouldn't, and would instead sit crouched in bed feeling this way forever. Trapped.
This is what my panic attacks or whatever you'd like to label them are like. This is what my sleep is often like.
This is the exact reason I avoid every possible cue to the events of that day: the road, the grocery store, cooking, my kitchen.
Yes, I did pop a pill. And yes, it eventually stopped. I drifted off and had a dream that Jacob died.
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