Sour gummy worms & other PTSD gratitudes
an informational post
I don’t want to write about PTSD every week. There’s a lot more to my life than what can feel like an arbitrary label, certainly many more topics that I’m interested in. My friend, Rachel, was recently telling me about the blackest paint in the world and how there’s actually a pretty dramatic saga among artists regarding who has access to this paint. I felt this little factoid suction onto the side of my brain in satisfaction along with the distinctive thought, “wow, I’m ready to talk about art again.”
I want to write about the blackest paint in the world and the places in Chicago where I feel my toes gripping through my shoes to stay just a moment longer. I want to write about my thoughts on spirituality and religion after three years of being in divinity school during a pandemic….with PTSD.
And there it is. It always comes back to her, miss PTSD. My counselor warns me not to cling too tightly to a disparaging PTSD narrative for my life. And I’m trying not to. But it feels like every thought, every experience of the last year has been so shaped by what it means for my brain to be functioning through this hypervigilant state. Telling this story is how I make sense of this experience. I can’t write about art or spirituality or beautiful little things yet because I’m too afraid that no one will be able to see me, to find me, in this thick, gray fog that has been looming over my life without knowing what the fog even is. So this week’s newsletter is to share a little more about just what I’ve been working on.
Before going any further, I do want to state that I am not a licensed psychologist nor do I have a degree in any of this. I’m writing from my own experience and about what I’ve learned throughout— please talk to an expert for more information.
When people hear “ptsd,” they often think about war veterans being triggered by loud noises. This is an accurate portrayal. I would be lying if I said that I hadn’t pined for a VA membership a time or two in the past year. I imagine myself seated in a circle with a group of burly men covered in tattoos and scars, finally knowing that someone understood what the hell I was feeling. When I look at my own body, I see the tattoos in the eczema on my thighs and the scars in the crease that’s gotten deeper between my eyes from quadrupling my usual time spent in a scrunched up face.
But PTSD is so many things, there are so many forms it can take. For me, it manifests as extreme hypervigilance—noticing changes in inflection in someone’s voice, being aware of the body language of the people at the next table over, keeping track of everyone walking down a street at a given moment. Yes, this hypervigilance IS as exhausting as it sounds. But honestly, at this point, I wouldn’t trade it, because it’s also my super power. Not much gets past me. That said, it’s hard for me to trust that danger is not present in ordinary situations.
Often, a fire is lit under this hypervigilance so that it becomes all-consuming. These severe panic attacks are different than others I’ve had because when I’m in them, it feels virtually impossible to get ahold of my own brain. Unbeknownst to early-diagnosed PTSD allie, who was absolutely petrified by the mysterious lack of control she had over Body, there’s science behind this.
~~~~informational section (skip if you hate science)~~~~
In a PTSD state, the brain gets stuck in “danger mode.” The part of the brain that controls high-functioning thought and action (i.e. the frontal lobe) shuts down and the part of the brain that deals with fear and emotion (i.e. the amygdala) turns on. This is normal when the body encounters stress, but during PTSD, the button gets stuck. The amygdala can’t stop fearing and the frontal lobal can’t resume, well, basic human functions like communication and good judgement and personality and self-control (bloop, my biggest fear ever, not having self-control, ahhhh).
And when I say the amygdala can’t stop fearing, the fear that I’m referring to is BIG. So big that taking deep breaths or hearing someone say everything is going to be okay is usually not enough. Before moving to the calming myself down bit, I typically need a good ol’ shock to the system first.
I’ve come to lovingly refer to these shocks as 🌸🌻🌼Zappers🌸🌻🌼A gentle body zap signals my little brain to release her endorphins and get me at least to a place where I can begin to ground, breathe, rationalize, and finally, find comfort. I learned very quickly that splashing my face with cold water was not zzzappy enough for me. As a tribute to the creative process that is coping with mental illness, here is a list of my favorite zappers that actually work:
having someone (noah) hold a detachable shower head spraying cold water while I bend my body over the bathtub. some might suggest just taking a cold shower, but it’s something about the absolutely soaked clothes that helps me snap out of it…showers are too normal and boring, maybe I’m a masochist, maybe I’m an artist??
grabbing handfuls of snow and smushing them into my face (this one is nice because it feels so silly that it might just make me giggle, a super shortcut to the finish line)
eating a sour gummy worm (shocking in the most delightful way; discovered this one when traveling without access to a detachable shower head)
fully exhausting my body with movement; this one can be tricky to make myself do, but works especially well when I’m feeling full of RAGE (normalize RAGE, especially for women, especially for women with trauma)
ice packs on the back of my neck until it burns (very important for it to burn, I am apparently immune to the feeling of cold alone, my body prefers that good good near-hypothermic feeling)
These days, I love to fantasize about the silliest zappers that I can think of. Would being blown in the face with a leaf blower work? Would a rollercoaster do the trick? Maybe I should try pouring a bucket of the blackest paint in the world on my head, letting it ooze into the corners of my mouth and trickle down my neck.
gummy worms in ontario
Once appropriately zapped, there is still risk of BIG fear swinging right back in to take over. We’re not out of the woods yet. More steps must be taken. While I’m sharing, and in case you, my friend, also have panic attacks that feel debilitating, here is my full formula, a modified version of my counselor’s 5 official steps for coming out of a panic attack in order (thank you, Kelly!!!):
Step 1: ZaP, zAp, zap
Step 2: 5 senses grounding. Name (out loud is best) 5 colors, 4 things you can feel, 3 things you can hear, 2 things you can smell, and 1 thing you can taste.
Step 3: Deep breathing exercises. I usually go for square breathing or just hold my breath for 30 seconds at a time (holding breath deprives the body of oxygen & lowers heart rate).
Step 4: Ask myself the following questions:
What story did I tell myself to feel triggered?
Is this story true?
How does this story affect me?
What actually is true/would I like to believe instead?
Step 5: Ask for comfort. This is when angel boy Noah swoops in with the the full Stanley cup, lifting my straw to my lips so I can drink water like a hamster (which also makes me feel silly & sometimes inspires a grin//fasttracktofinishlineyouwinthegame. Sometimes I curl up in a ball under the covers and cry (I know right, after all this????) and sometimes I want to move on and talk about the cute thing that Theo, our cat is up to at the moment. Spoiler alert, it’s always sleeping in a squishy position.
I know, it’s a whole process. It takes a long time. And… I regret to inform you that for me, it does unfortunately work. Next comes the exhaustion. Sleepiness. Tension headaches. A return to the blue couch. It can take days or weeks to feel energy again. But the more I lean into the rest my body is asking for, the faster the process goes.
All of this is getting easier with time (even though that doesn’t always feel true). Usually these days I can get away with a ~Zap Lite~, like a momentary ice pack or an interestingly flavored snack and move through the rest of the steps somewhat quickly (by quickly, I mean over the course of 30 minutes instead of 3 hours).
With the hard work of lots of zapping and resting and removing myself from triggering situations, things have gotten better. I know this because this time last year, I couldn’t have written these words at all. Creative energy is returning to my body—an answer to a longing that has been stuck in the back of my throat. How beautiful to have a space for that energy to land.
Thanks for being with me through this more informational-style post today. I just wanted you to know.
XO,
allie
If you or someone you know struggles with PTSD, panic attacks, or intense fear, don’t wait to get help. Unfortunately, healing does not happen alone. Feel free to reach out for more resources!
Things that are inspiring me
I really liked the newsletter this week from Marlee Grace about sleeping for 17 hours. It made me feel seen and grounded.
Tricia Hersey has been a stabilizing force throughout the past several years with her work as the Nap Bishop. Not only did she attend my grad school, but she also grew up in Chicago. She has changed the way I think about everything and I can’t wait to read Rest is Resistance: A Manifesto.
The blackest paint in the world!!!!! Like what, humans are so weird & fun!!!
Emily Vaughn finally released god complex on Spotify & the lyrics are just so…true.
