Somehow we survive and tenderness, frustrated, does not wither
Dennis Brutus
Summer is a glorious time of the year. Our summer here on the West Coast got off to a slow start this year (unlike for those of you in the inferno of last week's heat wave). Last week, the rains stopped, the sun came out, and everyone is going around with a smile on their face. Most of the time, I love summer too. I love to go for walks on the beach, eat ice cream cones, and enjoy the long summer days. Summer also has its dark side, when I feel as though a meteor is going to fall out of the sky and land on me. That's because my summer is crammed with the anniversaries of traumatic events.
June 5, 1991 Miscarriage
July 25, 1971 Birth and loss of my first child
mid-August, 1971 Official relinquishment of my daughter for adoption
August, 1972 Break-up with my high school sweetheart
Summer 1973 Two sexual assaults
Summer 1983 Separation from my husband
July 25, 2010 Last time I spoke to my daughter
Just reading that list makes me tired. You might think that after all of these years the anniversaries of these events, no matter how horrible they might have been, would no longer intrude on my life. Sadly, that's not how it works. The intrusive emotions associated with PTSD anniversaries soften; however, they never completely go away. Here is a wonderful post from counselor John C. Flanagan on Anniversary Reactions. How does our brain do that anyway? How does it "remember" when particular anniversaries happen? I know it has something to do with day length, seasonal changes, and specific dates. The beginning of July is often a big trigger for me. I'm sure there are other signals reaching my brain that say: look out! I also know that we need the part of our brain that does this to keep doing it because it is connected to the larger function of keeping us safe. So, much as I might want the anniversary effect, as one author calls it, to go away, I need that part of my brain to do its job. Here's more on the anniversary effect.
Still, I wish that there weren't so many anniversaries bunched up during the summer. It makes me think of a poem by Kay Ryan, called Home to Roost.
Home to Roost
The chickens
are circling and
blotting out the
day. The sun is bright,
but the
chickens are in
the way. Yes,
the sky is dark
with chickens,
dense with them.
They turn and
then they turn
again.
These
are the chickens
you let loose
one at a time
and small -
various breeds.
Now they have
come home
to roost - all
the same kind
at the same speed.
And sometimes I feel a bit like Wile E. Coyote dodging the many obstacles he faces in every episode.
Because it's summer, I 'm going to be writing shorter posts and will post every two or three days.
What are your PTSD anniversaries? How do you cope with them?
