At the end of my last blog, I mentioned a bit about my trauma and 1990s. I mentioned needing medication for heightened emotions. What I would like to do is explained that more.

In March of 1993, I attended a Mass that turned my life upside down. A week before I had been asked by a neighbor to join the small group that sang at Saturday evening Masses. I had always wanted to do something like that. I can sing but can’t read notes. I knew I could sing because I was in the choir at the junior college I attended – reading notes was not a requirement. The director tried me as an alto but I needed the melody. So he put as a first soprano. Now at our church, I had not inquired about singing and was surprised when asked. My husband and I were not going to church together because of our son who had a lot of health issues (2 1/2 years old at this time) and doctors orders. My son couldn’t be brought into large crowds because of all the germs and illnesses that might also be in attendance. I needed to start interacting with adults and singing would work.

So, I went that fateful Saturday (3-20-1993) that would change my life (truly) forever. I don’t know what happened because I don’t remember. It and that still remains a blank spot in my head.  I went home feeling attacked and a few days later started writing poetry and dreaming at a fever pitch. In June 1993, I started seeing a psychologist. One of the first things he said was that I just needed someone to talk to. He thought at first I was trying to remember something (repressed memory). We tried hypnosis but I would not go under far enough. Some place closed off in my head had been cracked open. If you have read my previous blog posts, you can understand the possibilities there. After a year, he decided I was not trying to remember but trying to close it – or I would have remembered by then. Whatever it is  that is so traumatizing it is better to leave there. So that is how we proceeded.

My poetry and journals were (are) my lifeline, and my doctor read them all. All my emotions, especially anger, went into them. What happened when that closed box cracked open was that I went into survival mode. Doc said all my senses were in heightened state of awareness to protect myself. I was able to work through this without medication until summer 1995 after my daughter was born. I tried breast feeding but neither of us were happy with that. Plus, I had left my son with a “friend” at a Burger King for an hour and a half while my daughter and I went to an appointment. He was so terrified after that that he would not leave my side – not even to stay with his dad.  The friend in question couldn’t to my satisfaction explain. So the friendship was dropped. My husband is a farmer and needs his sleep. So, my kids and I slept in the living-room. I slept on the couch, my son on the floor by me, and my daughter in her bassinet.

Now I need personal space and time alone and there was none to found. I went to my daughter’s pediatrician and explained. No problem and we began the process of weening and changing to formula. She was much happier. Then, after the weening, I told my psychologist to medicate me now. He was hesitant, but I needed everything to numb. Nothing would take my issues completely away. I had no one who could take care of my kids but me. And, no one knew better than me how important for me to hold it together. Doc did what I needed. He sent me to a psychiatrist for medication because he couldn’t prescribe. I still went to my psychologist weekly and only once a month to a psychiatrist for a medication check.

Another stress for me during these years was with my mentally impaired sister in foster care. I became her guardian and conservator in the early 1990s. She was not always well behave and issues constantly came up. I loved her but many times it took tough love.

As I said in last my blog, I have been off that type of medication for about 15 years or so. I went to my psychologist through the rest of the 1990s. My kids and I within a year were able to move beyond all of us sleeping in the living-room every night. We compromised and had “camp out” Fridays for a few years in the living room. They got to try to stay later. I survived the stresses and lack of personal space. My kids are 20 and 25 now. I am very proud of the people they have grown to be. My sister passed away after hip surgery in 2008.