When things get ugly and fast.

 

The Monday I had Jury Duty, was the Monday after my cousin's wedding, at the beginning of September. The Friday before that Saturday, the kids and I finally were able to take out most of the old furniture out of the house and take it to the dump. I have been wanting to do this for years, but my mental health wouldn't allow it. Whenever I thought about it, or about pushing myself to do it, I couldn't, making things worse with guilt and shame. That Friday evening, after we came back home, it felt peaceful and joyful. The house felt emptier, but the good kind of empty. We were too tired to drive three hours for the wedding, so we waited for Saturday morning. When I have too much going on and I know stress will become excessive, I zone out to stay in the present, telling myself I can handle whatever I have in front of me. I knew the following week was going to be tough after the weekend trip, and I was afraid of tiring myself too much again, resulting in another depressive episode.

Then things got ugly and fast.

Angel had to finish a college assignment for a summer seminar he was attending at the University of Washington, after we were done with the furniture. At some point he said he was going to put oil in the car before leaving, which was good because I knew the car needed oil. When he said it, I had my piece of mind that I didn't have to worry about this issue anymore. I used to do things differently- Because I know I forget things, and he is even more forgetful than I am, whenever I knew something important needed to be done, I would write it down in a piece of paper and put it in a visible place. Maybe since he got older and took the responsibility of the cars, I stopped doing it. Not a good thing. The truth is that after I bought the car, we always thought that it wasn't normal how often it needed oil, and that maybe it was burning it. 

We both forgot about the oil before the trip.

After the wedding, we started driving back home, on Sunday, at around 4 p.m., a little worried that it was a bit late and I had to get up early the next morning, but I told myself it was okay. It was just one week, after all. I drove about 30 miles when I heard a noise; the car quickly slowed down and I moved to the side of the road. I had a feeling it was bad. Now I remembered the oil. Things didn't seem promising when I opened the hood, but I still had a bit of hope. We called my niece and nephews to come pick us up and bring us some oil. While we waited, I prepared myself for the worst. I think I knew that the engine was bad and gone.

The oil didn't do anything. We grabbed our things and left the car there. I called my insurance for a tow truck to pick it up, and in the meantime, I needed to figure out where the car was going to be taken, and how to make it back home. My brothers helped me find a mechanic, and we did a detour to drop my niece and borrow a car from one of my brothers. We left Yakima at around seven in the evening, but I still felt I would have enough time to sleep enough hours.

Then the towing situation. My brother sent me the address of the mechanic, after he had confirmed it was okay to drop-off a car at his place on Sunday night. I sent the address to the towing truck. A few hours later the driver calls me to verify if the address was correct, because the place where he was at didn't seem right. I verified with my brother, and it turns out the address was wrong. He actually had no idea why in the world he sent me that address. The car had been taken to the wrong place, at the wrong city, on a Sunday night, in a city I was already hours away, causing issues with the towing company, plus the extra money they were trying to charge. I was also trying to figure this out while I was driving, and by now I was tired and about to lose my head. When I got home, I was on the phone with them for a long time, frustrated, trying to figure things out. Then the person hung up the phone, and I knew something had happened. I waited for her to call back, but she didn't. I called back after a while, and she said there had been an incident, but wouldn't give me details. Now I am worried that something happened to the car, so I keep asking if my car is safe or not. I think the poor driver had some accident, or incident, with the car. I asked if my car was safe, again, if it had any damage, and if it was going to be dropped-off at the mechanic's.  I was assured the car was okay and safe, and that the job was going to be done, eventually. Also, that I wasn't going to be charged the extra money. At some point I was just so tired I didn't care about where the car spent the night, I just wanted to sleep. When the insurance called at around midnight to ask if the job had been completed, I said I honestly didn't know, but that I needed to sleep. 

Monday comes. I was selected for a case on the first group that was called. The judge came to present the case to us, and to give us the questionnaire that determines who is fit for the case and who isn't. Out of all the cases in that court, and out of all the people in that room, I ended up with that kind of case. It was exactly the same case, same situation, of something that is still affecting me, and that I am still working on. I started having a small panic attack and I wanted to get up and leave. But how could I? I had to stay to read more about it, and to answer all the questions pertaining how this case would affect me, and if I, or someone close to me has gone through something similar.

I left, shaking. But now the garage situation. I parked in the garage selected for jurors. I was driving a big truck. When I was coming out of the garage and I looked at the exit and my big truck, I knew I wasn't going to make it. I had to make a left turn, had very little space, and the exit space was very narrow. I thought about exiting on the entrance side, but none of the workers were present at the moment, and I was afraid a car could be coming. So, I convinced myself, against my better judgement that day, that I would make it. I felt I didn't have a choice. When I noticed my flawed plan wasn't working, I thought the worse that could happen was that the tires would hit the ramp, but that it would be okay. That I would manage. But I failed to notice the other things around me, making things worse. I got stuck, sending me into a small panic of "now what do I do?" I started figuring out how to go back - a little too late I realized I couldn't go forward from that angle. By now thanks God a worker appears to tell me I can't go forward; I told him I was trying to go backwards, but I couldn't. I asked him if he could please move the metal signs, somehow, that were stuck in the truck preventing me from moving.  He did, guiding me to exit through the entrance. An anxiety attack followed, as I started driving back home. I was afraid because I was driving, but I managed by doing breathing exercises to calm myself.

I was excused from the case, and I didn't have to go the next day. But on Wednesday I had to go again. I left extra early to find another place to park, but it was raining hard and there was an accident on the freeway, so the GPS took me on a different route. The night before I had gotten over the map the court gave us with all the parking spots, with Angel, to figure out where to park. Since the parking lots didn't have addresses, and all I had was the map, I parked on the side to study it, and maybe figure out which direction to go. I have never been good with maps, but I remember there was a time when after a while, I would figure them out. Not anymore. My brain wasn't responding, which sent me into panic, frustration and helplessness. I wanted to start crying. I decided to just drive around to find something around and park. Anywhere. I had a small moment of peace that at least the rain had stopped, but the moment I started driving starts raining hard again. I drove around, about two times, and the only parking lot I could find was the one where I had to pay full price. At some point I didn't care about paying anymore, I just wanted to park, especially when I felt my brain had already shutdown, trying to figure out how to do something that is not 'supposed' to be that difficult. Then I waited in line outside, in the rain, for a while, only to be told they had too many jurors and to go home.

This day my tiredness was already kicking in, and my mental health deteriorating little by little. I was just trying to survive and make it through the day, the week. When I am too tired, I can't really take naps and rest; it doesn't work. Lucián was really sick too, and I was too tired to come over to her sister's and bring her some soup and medicine, which was adding guilt to my already vulnerable state. That same night, I discovered my email and social media accounts had been hacked, again. But this time they had added the two-factor authentication, after changing my phone number and email. I tried to recover it, but it kept asking for the authentication number. Why hackers are allowed to do this with Facebook not having better protection/solutions continues to be beyond my understanding. On Thursday, I had to go get labs done early in the morning, fasting, for my appointment on Friday, to a clinic that is one hour away. 

By Saturday I was beyond tired, but I still needed to find a new engine for my car. My brother in California had sent me some information. The fact that my son was familiarized with those kinds of engines and the website made things easier. While he was doing his homework, I did research on better security measures for social media, and I created a two-step verification for my email accounts and social media. It took a while to understand how it worked, and to learn a little about those kinds of apps, but I figured it out. I wasn't able to recover my old Facebook account, although I tried many different ways. So, I created a new account after so many years and memories. It was bittersweet, to start a new one, but at the same time, mentally, a completely new account helped- it felt like a fresh start. I also had deleted a lot of posts from Instagram, only a few weeks prior, but this time, all those old posts appeared again. It triggered my C-PTSD pretty bad when I had to go back to delete them again. 

Angel and I went to a coffee shop to look online for a new motor. He did all of the searching, and we just decided which one would be the best option. We chose a Japanese motor; it was way more expensive, but I preferred to pay the extra money. He found out that Toyota RAV4s from 2007-2009, made in the US- only the ones made in the US - were burning oil excessively, and Toyota US was actually facing a lawsuit, and that cars from those years, under a certain mileage can be taken to a Toyota dealership to be fixed. At least this is what we read, and for more details, I suggest more research. For me it was too late.

When I went to the doctor, she did a test for a health issue I had been having. The results never came, but then I got a phone call that the test somehow had expired and maybe I needed to take another one. So, I drove another hour again, to go do the same test. By now, I already had a big engine in the back of the truck. I don't think I registered, in my mind that this was a big deal and that I was supposed to drive slower. It got registered when the semi in front of me slammed his brakes to allow a car to get in front of him, and I had to hit my brakes. I heard a noise in the back, and a knock. I looked back, and the engine, which was strapped down, by the way, had moved significantly, causing a small dent to the bed cover. 

Then the remodeling of two of the rooms; removing the carpet and painting. Angel was doing most of the work, but I was doing my best to help him because that week he went back to college and started a new part-time job on campus. My nephew moved in with us that week, because he transferred to university and needed a room. It is mostly done, but I think we will wait until they get a break to be able to fix the closet. 

In planning for that week of jury duty, I cancelled my therapy appointments and didn't push myself to do any exercise that week. It actually was helpful. Then I was busy with the rooms and the changes at home, so I cancelled a few more sessions. Then my therapist cancelled due to an emergency, then Covid, then I show up to an appointment only to find out it was cancelled because of my debit card. Remember how I had to get a new card the first time Facebook was hacked? I had updated the new card information with the clinic, but it wasn't processed on their end. Even though my therapist was able to find the form, I still had to redo it in order to have the appointment. I also was feeling a bit better and feeling that maybe therapy once a week would be a good option, so I could have more time to spend in the house and doing other things to move forward, and that were not revolving around my mental health. I was nervous about this decision, to be honest, but my therapist and I decided to try it out.

I think that with the inconsistency of therapy and all the issues going on, another bad depressive episode followed, along with a terrible menstrual period, more migraine headaches, and abdominal pain. Anxiety and panic attacks started showing more often again, with each day becoming a struggle.

Last week I told my therapist I couldn't do therapy once a week; that it had been a bad idea and a bit of a disaster. We started therapy twice a week again, which is hard, but for now it is what I need. We will start working with EMDR therapy, in the future, but we are not there yet. She wants me to practice regulating my nervous system first and better. 

It's really easy to lose myself when my mental health deteriorates. To go back to the same emotions of being hopeless and losing my grasp. To start being judgmental with myself, asking big and ugly Whys, instead of being compassionate. I also think that my mind erroneously thought that starting to get better meant "I am okay now." I keep having to relearn how this recovery thing works. In such a short period of time I wanted to switch to once a week when my mind was not ready. I also started thinking that maybe I didn't need EMDR therapy. I told my therapist I was trying to move away from trauma now; that I already had told her most of my traumatic events. I was under the assumption that speaking about it once was enough. Then time to move on. But this is not how trauma works at all. Someone said, in a podcast, that healing is not an endpoint. That healing and wounding and trauma, they are on-going in life. In another podcast, it was emphasized that we believe that healing or being healed means clean slate, but that it is a misperception. I actually understand now how I was still believing this misperception. 

This doesn't mean I am not getting better, because I am. It just means I have to keep working on things.

I started feeling trapped again. In my body I was feeling a lot of trauma and pain and wanting to cry, daily. I was having the shameful whys, "why am I here?" But I was also and genuinely asking "why?" I felt something was going on; my body was trying to tell me something, but I couldn't figure it out. I asked my therapist, and I told her I needed help figuring this out, so I could work on it. She came up with some suggestions, that I knew were true, but they were true in the past. I also realized maybe a big part of me was still trying to fix myself, which would explain a lot of other heavy emotions and sensations. Although it was true, in a way, it wasn't the issue. The following days I was on the same spot, feeling depressed, trapped, unable to do much, and if I did, it was taking way too much out of me, and I was struggling more and more to save myself. When I asked my therapist, she asked me if it was the little girl or the teenager wanting to know why, and I said I didn't know. I realized later that it actually is my adult self. I genuinely needed to know why I was feeling the intense trauma, pain, and debilitating emotions to a point that it was becoming destructive with my depression getting worse. 

With some internal work, I was able to figure it out.

It was shame. 

Even now, a part of me wants to feel shame about me still struggling with shame.  I am not talking about shame for past mistakes; I already dealt with that monster. I am talking about the debilitating and destructive shame a lot of us carry all the way to our core, because it was imprinted in us by our parents and past generations. 

Now what? I thought. Because I feel this shame thing in every cell in my body, and I don't want it. There are a few podcasts that Brené Brown has on shame that I will listen to. I also had the question - why is shame so powerful? What research do I need to do to understand it better? Is there a book to read? But I don't want to read more books. The little voice inside my head immediately sent me to that same place that it always takes me - myself. I don't need the books or the research to understand and work with shame. I just need to look at my experiences, and the way shame was imprinted in me as a child, teenager and adult. I just need to see how shame has been used, as a weapon, by a lot of the adults in my life. How it has been a silent and powerful evil. 

I don't know yet how to overcome it, but I know I need to look at the way it was passed on to me. 

Paty ♥
Learn. Believe. Allow.