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Everyone has their own way of dealing with anxiety. Mine have gone to unhealthy places ever since Hurricane Katrina and Pat's subsequent diagnosis. I find that in my mid-twenties I am not only claustrophobic but aviophobic. My surprise when I started to react adversely to things that had never bothered me before. Once I began to accept the fact that I am a wreck about flying in an airplane for months before I have to fly, the fear escalated. Once the strangeness of being afraid of riding in the back seat of a two-door car became something I knew and anticipated, it became something I struggle to even see on TV. They intensify and spiral out of control. I suppose this is what happens when you realize that anything can happen. The rule of thumb has come: If I can imagine it, it can happen. I sit on trains and see them wrecking. I lay in bed and imagine my building collapsing. While discomfort is not danger, so I've heard over and over, my fear is as real to me as this computer, or this chair, or the sun in the sky and I don't want to die.
People spent so much time telling me how fine and normal Pat was despite what was happening. So many people all down-playing something that continues to get worse and worse. And Katrina, well, no one could have guessed that we would rot for a week before help was sent. No one knew how unprepared and ignorant local and federal emergency initiatives would be, and when they started debating whether to let us go home or even rebuild our place in the world I don't think they could have robbed us of more of our natural human rights. All the things you think can't happen to you, very well could. Amid the mess, a city that still suffers repercussions from that hurricane, Pat was getting sick and sicker. He slipped right into the abyss even though That could never happen to us. I suppose this is why flooding hasn't worked well in regard to my anxieties. Why can't my plane go down or why can I smother in the backseat of a coupe? I know the odds are against these things happening, but we've already beat the odds. Twice. When you realize that you're showing symptoms of PTSD the first thing your directed to do is confide in others. It seems easy enough, but when you're the sibling of a schizophrenic, whatever problems you may have seem trivial in comparison. Then you're supposed to see your physician and get yourself a referral to a therapist (preferably one with experience treating PTSD). Now there are many resources for PTSD if you're a veteran. But if not you're kind of wandering through a dark and murky water. Treatment should include medication and definitely therapy. I've spent a total of 6 years in Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (4 years consecutive and then another 2 years back to back with a new doctor). Neither doctor wanted to discuss my issues with Pat. I mean they steered me away, changing the subject when I said things like, "I want to talk to my brother. I mean, I write him letters all the time that I never send. Communication feels impossible. What should I do?" Most mental health professionals don't have the experience to deal with schizophrenia and coping with this diagnosis. They say that PTSD gets worse over time and I follow this path perfectly. My only escape from remembering is avoidance and the resultant numbness. One route I've never gone is medication and that's where I see myself in the future. I'm finished with CBT, at least for now. At least until there is a army of doctors ready to help NAMI members, I'll be filling prescriptions for clonipin to get on a plane. |
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