Unglued
In 1984, I was walking every night, trying not to kill myself. I had to start life all over again.
In 2008, I was afraid to get off the couch, and having an emotional breakdown. And again, I was having to start life over.
Both times, I was at the end of my rope, hanging by a thread, not wanting to be dead, but wondering what else there was in life, and if I had any value.
I was consumed by a level of anxiety I’d never experienced before. It was so bad, I was afraid to get out of bed in the morning — dreaded starting another day of pain. But I was too afraid to stay in bed. Yet I couldn’t wait for the day to be over so I could get back in bed, and when I did, I only felt safe on my stomach, propped up on elbows, watching the same video over and over again on a small portable player while Ed watched TV.
Almost every night for months, it was the Pixar movie, “A Bug’s Life.” It was safe, all the ants worked together, and there was nothing scary or provocative. And the best part, the part I wanted to be in, was the big sleeping chamber where all the ants rested, sleeping safely and comfortably in their little hammocks. It was snuggly, all of them there together, safe from any threats. Just the security of being there together with all of their friends. I so wished I could live with them.
I was afraid to be seen by anyone or to even move around the house. All I could do was sit on the couch, trembling. Just like my fears of staying in bed or getting up, I was afraid to leave the couch, even as I was afraid to stay on the couch.
On the couch, I felt some level of safety. The stiff back cushion pressed against my spine, and I almost felt ‘shielded’ and assured that “The couch had my back.” At the same time, I clutched a pillow to my stomach, hugging it tightly against my body. That pressure gave me a visceral sense of comfort and safety.
But my mind raced, my heart pounded, and my muscles were taut. Every minute felt an hour long, and I wondered how I could go on. What was wrong with me? Why was this happening? How could I fix this? I couldn’t spend the rest of my life freaked out on the couch. I could barely stand the level of anxiety in me from one minute to the next. Never mind months or years of it.
Status
After the fall of 2007, when Ed had to stop working at the gym, things only worsened. He became more silent and withdrawn. And in spite of his exhaustion, he couldn’t seem to stay asleep.
Even when he did sleep, I would wake him up because I was restless and snoring loudly. He would lie awake counting how many times I snored and partially woke myself up. Neither of us knew at the time that I was suffering from sleep apnea. All we knew was that both of us were more and more sleep-deprived.
I tried nose tapes, mouth guards, different pillows, and sleeping upright, but nothing helped. I felt upset, guilty, desperate to change it, but out of options.
And his worsening mental and physical state scared me. That only intensified my spiral downward. I tried to talk to him about my fears, friend problems, concerns for him, but anything was too much for him to handle. Any conversation just wiped him out. He just seemed angry and unreachable.
On the one hand, it wasn’t surprising, given that when he came home from work, he had to eat and then spend the rest of the night flat out on the bed due to sheer exhaustion. But on the other hand, both of us were spiraling downward with no one there to help us. And where usually, if one of us might be struggling with something, the other would help with support, this time, we were both plummeting into despair. We couldn’t help each other because we could barely help ourselves.
Now I understand the medical basis for what he was going through – a hypoxic brain injury. When his blood oxygen dropped in the ER that night, it damaged part of his brain as if he’d had a stroke. And I now know that I was in the throes of a severe PTSD reaction that would take another year and a new therapist to diagnose.
But at that point, all I knew was that I was in despair over everything, depressed, and scared. Everything intensified my anxiety, and I was powerless to stop it.
Could ANYTHING turn this around?
Tags: family, life, love, mental-health, writing
Soul Mosaic 
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