survived
08-12-2007, 12:09 PM
Well I’m new here and I’m not quite sure what to say. But I’m going to take my cue from somebody else’s post I read who just laid out their whole situation without pulling any punches.
I was diagnosed with PTSD about a year ago. In September 2006 my husband hung himself. We had been together for almost 31 years.
During our time together, I thought we had a great marriage, even though he would periodically get somewhat verbally abusive. The last time he became verbally abusive was the worst of all. It lasted several years. Then he lost the job that he had for over 17 years, and all of a sudden he stopped yelling and became my very best friend, again. He started following me around like a lost puppy.
Then about five months or so after he lost his job, he started attempting suicide every time I turned my back. In less than a year and a half before his death, he had six attempts. It is the images of these attempts that I cannot escape from. I feel like I will forever be haunted by images of blood. There doesn’t seem to be a room in the house where I can go that doesn’t have some memory or connection with one or another of my husband’s suicide attempts.
One time, he was supposed to be going to see his psychiatrist, he’d only been out of the hospital for one day after taking an overdose of sleeping pills, anyway that day he came home earlier than he should have if he had gone to his appointment. He told me he had not gone to his appointment nor had he planned to. Instead he went to a local Park and stabbed himself three times. He was standing there looking fine, he had a coat on, so I couldn’t see the blood, and he was telling me he had done this horrible thing.
After running around the house like a nut looking for the phone number of some doctor I could call, I finally called 911 (don’t ask me why I didn’t do that first, because I don’t know. I was so freaked out. I just kept thinking that my husband was hurt and that he needed a doctor). Anyway, as happened each time I had to call 911 for one of my husband’s attempted suicides, the police came first. For some reason we were standing outside, on our hill, I think we did that so the ambulance would see us. I still remember the policeman walking up the hill with his hand on his gun.
It was a beautiful spring day. And there was this policeman walking up our hill with his hand on his gun. I had absolutely no experience with this sort of thing. My husband was totally calm and in no way a threat. I guess the policeman saw that pretty quick, because he had my husband sit down on the hill. Before I knew it, there were policeman all over the place. I live in a small town, in the country, I didn’t even know there was that many policeman in the town – of course some were state troopers. Anyway, they separated me from my husband right away. I didn’t understand. They questioned me for hours. They trooped all over my house. I didn’t even get to say goodbye to my husband when they took him away by ambulance.
I had no clue what was going on, why they were questioning me so much. Finally they left. They left me to deal with a pile of my husband’s bloodsoaked clothes all alone. It turns out they thought I might have done it, stabbed my husband. Of course I hadn’t. It hadn’t even occurred to me that they thought I had.
Anyway, that is just a taste of his suicide attempts. In another attempt was he slit his wrist. He lost 50 percent of his blood. I feel like I will never be free of these images of blood.
My own situation is this: I live alone in the country, I’m disabled by a progressive, neurological illness that I’ve had for 28 years. I have no children. I have one cat. Or I should say I have one cat left. During the year or so that my husband was making all his attempts our other cat died and so did our dog. My nephew brings me groceries once a week. But sometimes he takes a week off and then I don’t see anyone at all for two weeks. I haven’t been able to drive now for many years, so I’m housebound. My neighbor mows my lawn in the summer and plows my driveway in the winter. This neighbor is a really great person. He is kind (and so is his wife), friendly and easy-going, and very helpful, but I’m terrified of him. My therapist tells me that’s because I have him wrapped up in a confused knot – that is he reminds me of my husband, he reminds me of my husband’s suicide attempts (he came over after a couple of them and even drove me to the hospital to see my husband). I hide whenever he mows the lawn. I’m glad lawn mowing season is over for now. I am in therapy and see my therapist about once every three weeks.
I feel like I’m in denial about this PTSD. I mean I know I have it, but I don’t know how it affects my life. The illness I have affects my life much more dramatically. The PTSD just seems like the added nuisance – images of blood, the nightmares, the inability to sleep, the disassociation, the waking up in the morning terrified. I’m really not able to tell how much these things affect my life. Between the illness I have and grieving for my husband, I don’t know where PTSD fits in.
Anyway, that’s a short as I can tell my story. I want to stop being haunted by blood. I want to be able to sleep at night. I don’t want to be afraid of my neighbor, who is a great person – his wife even brought me over a full Thanksgiving feast. They left it at the door, because they know I’m afraid to speak to them. I’m totally ashamed of being unable to speak to these kind people.
I’m not sure what I hope to gain from this board. I know that I felt today like I had to get more help than I was getting for my PTSD. Though I’m still very confused about the PTSD. I know I have it. I know it caused me problems. But it seems like the kind of thing that I would expect to be more dramatic, like the way it is in movies.
Thanks for listening.
I was diagnosed with PTSD about a year ago. In September 2006 my husband hung himself. We had been together for almost 31 years.
During our time together, I thought we had a great marriage, even though he would periodically get somewhat verbally abusive. The last time he became verbally abusive was the worst of all. It lasted several years. Then he lost the job that he had for over 17 years, and all of a sudden he stopped yelling and became my very best friend, again. He started following me around like a lost puppy.
Then about five months or so after he lost his job, he started attempting suicide every time I turned my back. In less than a year and a half before his death, he had six attempts. It is the images of these attempts that I cannot escape from. I feel like I will forever be haunted by images of blood. There doesn’t seem to be a room in the house where I can go that doesn’t have some memory or connection with one or another of my husband’s suicide attempts.
One time, he was supposed to be going to see his psychiatrist, he’d only been out of the hospital for one day after taking an overdose of sleeping pills, anyway that day he came home earlier than he should have if he had gone to his appointment. He told me he had not gone to his appointment nor had he planned to. Instead he went to a local Park and stabbed himself three times. He was standing there looking fine, he had a coat on, so I couldn’t see the blood, and he was telling me he had done this horrible thing.
After running around the house like a nut looking for the phone number of some doctor I could call, I finally called 911 (don’t ask me why I didn’t do that first, because I don’t know. I was so freaked out. I just kept thinking that my husband was hurt and that he needed a doctor). Anyway, as happened each time I had to call 911 for one of my husband’s attempted suicides, the police came first. For some reason we were standing outside, on our hill, I think we did that so the ambulance would see us. I still remember the policeman walking up the hill with his hand on his gun.
It was a beautiful spring day. And there was this policeman walking up our hill with his hand on his gun. I had absolutely no experience with this sort of thing. My husband was totally calm and in no way a threat. I guess the policeman saw that pretty quick, because he had my husband sit down on the hill. Before I knew it, there were policeman all over the place. I live in a small town, in the country, I didn’t even know there was that many policeman in the town – of course some were state troopers. Anyway, they separated me from my husband right away. I didn’t understand. They questioned me for hours. They trooped all over my house. I didn’t even get to say goodbye to my husband when they took him away by ambulance.
I had no clue what was going on, why they were questioning me so much. Finally they left. They left me to deal with a pile of my husband’s bloodsoaked clothes all alone. It turns out they thought I might have done it, stabbed my husband. Of course I hadn’t. It hadn’t even occurred to me that they thought I had.
Anyway, that is just a taste of his suicide attempts. In another attempt was he slit his wrist. He lost 50 percent of his blood. I feel like I will never be free of these images of blood.
My own situation is this: I live alone in the country, I’m disabled by a progressive, neurological illness that I’ve had for 28 years. I have no children. I have one cat. Or I should say I have one cat left. During the year or so that my husband was making all his attempts our other cat died and so did our dog. My nephew brings me groceries once a week. But sometimes he takes a week off and then I don’t see anyone at all for two weeks. I haven’t been able to drive now for many years, so I’m housebound. My neighbor mows my lawn in the summer and plows my driveway in the winter. This neighbor is a really great person. He is kind (and so is his wife), friendly and easy-going, and very helpful, but I’m terrified of him. My therapist tells me that’s because I have him wrapped up in a confused knot – that is he reminds me of my husband, he reminds me of my husband’s suicide attempts (he came over after a couple of them and even drove me to the hospital to see my husband). I hide whenever he mows the lawn. I’m glad lawn mowing season is over for now. I am in therapy and see my therapist about once every three weeks.
I feel like I’m in denial about this PTSD. I mean I know I have it, but I don’t know how it affects my life. The illness I have affects my life much more dramatically. The PTSD just seems like the added nuisance – images of blood, the nightmares, the inability to sleep, the disassociation, the waking up in the morning terrified. I’m really not able to tell how much these things affect my life. Between the illness I have and grieving for my husband, I don’t know where PTSD fits in.
Anyway, that’s a short as I can tell my story. I want to stop being haunted by blood. I want to be able to sleep at night. I don’t want to be afraid of my neighbor, who is a great person – his wife even brought me over a full Thanksgiving feast. They left it at the door, because they know I’m afraid to speak to them. I’m totally ashamed of being unable to speak to these kind people.
I’m not sure what I hope to gain from this board. I know that I felt today like I had to get more help than I was getting for my PTSD. Though I’m still very confused about the PTSD. I know I have it. I know it caused me problems. But it seems like the kind of thing that I would expect to be more dramatic, like the way it is in movies.
Thanks for listening.