Hi all – I'm new here and am struggling to come to terms with whatever is wrong with me. I don't know if I actually belong here but am hoping at least one person out there can relate.
I don't have childhood trauma issues but, for four years, I went through a constant stream of crisis that I was helpless to control and the experience seems to have broken me.
A key part of my story is that I spent 16 years living in a country on the other side of the world. I had a full life there including a business and a family. And then crisis after crisis hit.
The short list (and it is seriously short, I could easily double it):
• My mother in America almost died from a sudden, very rare illness.
• My business partner committed major tax fraud and a criminal investigation and significant jail-time and/or deportation loomed.
• While cleaning up the tax mess, I was thrown into poverty. Because of the terms of my Visa, I was not allowed to work for anyone outside my own company and because of an already looming criminal investigation, I couldn't risk it. So I had to watch, powerless, as everything slipped away.
• I couldn't leave the country because my five children are informally adopted. The only informal part is the legal paperwork. I had been their fulltime, primary caregiver for seven years. To leave would mean leaving them.
• I lost a child. He isn't dead but I lost him all the same. He was and remains my heart. I can't bear to think about it, let alone grieve.
I survived was rebuilding my life when my body suddenly started shutting down. Vertigo, vitiligo, polyuria, arthritis, confusion, headaches, violent reactions to foods ranging from wheat to potatoes. I couldn't stay awake for more than six hours a day and even those hours were broken into two hour increments. My bones hurt and neuropathy started to develop in my feet. I could no longer take care of myself or anyone else and had no choice but to come back to the States where I had a better support system. For six months, I was virtually bedridden. Not overweight to begin with, I lost 40 pounds.
When I started to heal physically, I looked around and everything was gone. The life that I had built, my identity, my independence, everything. I retreated into a shell. And then I went back 'home' for three months to be with my youngest child. I was alive again. But I no longer have long-term residence in that country because it was all based on my business. It couldn't last. I broke down. Completely. Even before I left.
Now I am a hollow shell. I go through periods of extreme numbness. It can last for weeks. I don't answer my phone or check my email. I eventually come out of it but the barest hint of risk has me running back. I have so little left, I can't bear to lose even that because, if I do, I will never recover.
For months, I was paralyzed because to get back home means rebuilding a life here. The two are mutually incompatible. I've moved on from much of the paralysis and have come to terms with various aspects of painful loss, but I am still completely disabled by triggers. I never know when they are going to strike but, when they do, I can count on disappearing into a protective shell again for weeks.
People, on both sides of the world, don't understand that I have become fragmented. Shattered. They push me and mean well. They want me to get over it. I hear them and understand what they are saying. But it is too much. All I can do is retreat again. Sometimes, I shake all over first.
I don't know if I belong here. I am not dealing with childhood trauma. But I think I am suffering from a form of PTSD that doesn't fit the normal DSM parameters. I just want to be able to connect with someone else who understands.
I don't have childhood trauma issues but, for four years, I went through a constant stream of crisis that I was helpless to control and the experience seems to have broken me.
A key part of my story is that I spent 16 years living in a country on the other side of the world. I had a full life there including a business and a family. And then crisis after crisis hit.
The short list (and it is seriously short, I could easily double it):
• My mother in America almost died from a sudden, very rare illness.
• My business partner committed major tax fraud and a criminal investigation and significant jail-time and/or deportation loomed.
• While cleaning up the tax mess, I was thrown into poverty. Because of the terms of my Visa, I was not allowed to work for anyone outside my own company and because of an already looming criminal investigation, I couldn't risk it. So I had to watch, powerless, as everything slipped away.
• I couldn't leave the country because my five children are informally adopted. The only informal part is the legal paperwork. I had been their fulltime, primary caregiver for seven years. To leave would mean leaving them.
• I lost a child. He isn't dead but I lost him all the same. He was and remains my heart. I can't bear to think about it, let alone grieve.
I survived was rebuilding my life when my body suddenly started shutting down. Vertigo, vitiligo, polyuria, arthritis, confusion, headaches, violent reactions to foods ranging from wheat to potatoes. I couldn't stay awake for more than six hours a day and even those hours were broken into two hour increments. My bones hurt and neuropathy started to develop in my feet. I could no longer take care of myself or anyone else and had no choice but to come back to the States where I had a better support system. For six months, I was virtually bedridden. Not overweight to begin with, I lost 40 pounds.
When I started to heal physically, I looked around and everything was gone. The life that I had built, my identity, my independence, everything. I retreated into a shell. And then I went back 'home' for three months to be with my youngest child. I was alive again. But I no longer have long-term residence in that country because it was all based on my business. It couldn't last. I broke down. Completely. Even before I left.
Now I am a hollow shell. I go through periods of extreme numbness. It can last for weeks. I don't answer my phone or check my email. I eventually come out of it but the barest hint of risk has me running back. I have so little left, I can't bear to lose even that because, if I do, I will never recover.
For months, I was paralyzed because to get back home means rebuilding a life here. The two are mutually incompatible. I've moved on from much of the paralysis and have come to terms with various aspects of painful loss, but I am still completely disabled by triggers. I never know when they are going to strike but, when they do, I can count on disappearing into a protective shell again for weeks.
People, on both sides of the world, don't understand that I have become fragmented. Shattered. They push me and mean well. They want me to get over it. I hear them and understand what they are saying. But it is too much. All I can do is retreat again. Sometimes, I shake all over first.
I don't know if I belong here. I am not dealing with childhood trauma. But I think I am suffering from a form of PTSD that doesn't fit the normal DSM parameters. I just want to be able to connect with someone else who understands.