Health

His PTSD and my struggle to live with it


I tried maintained some images of my previous life: I worked on the book, started a new research project, got a job offer, and briefly considered moving both of us to Philadelphia. When I’m not at work, I make appointments and call back: therapists, doctors, human resources, insurance companies, co-workers, family, and friends. Jason continued to go to therapy weekly as the scars faded from his face. But he suffers from persistent insomnia – nightmares and hypervigilance keep him awake at night, and he spends most of the day watching TV and falling asleep on the couch. in the living room. I schedule meal delivery and leave the laundry at home urgently. I searched for blackout curtains and white noise machines on Amazon. I fought and fought.

Then I ran away.

On the first anniversary of the beating, I was in Los Angeles on a reporting trip. On my second anniversary, I hit the road, working on a new research project.

When I’m away, I try desperately to feel something – anything – for myself. In Helsinki, Finland, to speak at a Nordic social workers conference, I sat in a 190-degree smoky sauna and then apparated outside, barefoot and mostly naked, to plunge into an ice hole in the Baltic Sea, overhead. in the almost freezing black water, once, twice, thrice.

In 2016, I was on the road 147 days. In 2017, I was gone for 97 days.

We need the money that I earn through talks and research grants. But to claim that all my travel is materially necessary would be unthinkable. I want space and time to be free from the deplorable state of PTSD. I Wanted Leave as much as possible.

In December 2017, We decided to experiment with traveling together. Before the attacks, we were partners in adventure – we drove hundreds of miles on 20th Street, visiting attractions from the 1930s: sifting through a museum of creatures petrified, shot at Howe Caverns, trying to pick a favorite roadside cheesecake. We crossed the Adirondacks and floated in the Sacandaga reservoir. He ducked under the security fence to take pictures of crumbling 19th-century hotels while I kept an eye on the car.

We want to try to get that feeling back. We used all of our Amtrak points to buy two round-trip tickets in a car for a seven-day trip to Montana for my mother’s 75th birthday. In theory, it’s perfect: our little fish tank, crisscrossing the country at a leisurely pace. I imagine we would read, play cards. I bought a small electric kettle so we could make tea while the world went by outside the window.



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