Sunday, November 24, 2013

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder

NataliePraise God,  Father God, I thank you for this PTSD that I have.  I hate it, but I know you are with me thru this each and everyday.  I haven't been able to say that until just recently, or even thank God for my diagnosis.  Father, I beg of your forgiveness, I was too proud to admit that I couldn't whelp my self, that I might need you Lord when the panic attacks happen.  But Father, oh I need you, I need you everyday!  

Thank you for showing me God that you are in control even when I am not.  Thank you for bringing me closer to you.  For giving me a hunger for more of  you as I face this with you Lord.  Thank you for letting me "feel" what some of my students feel when they have their panic and anxiety attacks.  Now I get it God.

Where did this come from?

On Oct. 2, 2004, our lives were changed forever.  Our middle child, Malorie was with some friends coming home from a Volleyball Tourn.  The car ran off the road, overcorrected and rolled several times.  Malorie was laughing one moment, and sitting a the right hand of Jesus praising him the next.  She will be forever 13 to us.  As a mom, I blocked out my grief, I think I just kept going because I had to take care of our two other kids and didn't want to give Bryan something else to worry about.  I looked like I was healing on the outside, but on the inside I was crying over how much I missed Mal and over the tragic journey our family was now on every single day.

One year later, in Oct., a student of my, Eddie Meeks was killed instantly in a hit and run by a drunk driver.  I can still hear myself telling our students in the school gym what had happened to Eddie.  At the same time, I remember thinking, oh my gosh, this is how Malorie's Friends found out about the accident she was in.  Again, I went into the "mom mode" and took care of our students and teachers.  Not once taking care of myself.  For days, I would cry all the way home, wipe the tears and "pretend" I was fine.

The following Aug. after just the 3rd day into school, one of our 7th graders committed suicide.  I did not know him but felt such a loss over this.  I did know his family from an older sibling I had had.  This really took a toll on me.  At the funeral home, I could even go up to the casket, I pretended to but didn't look.  I had trouble sleeping, I grieved over Gunner, and still was grieving over our Mal.

The following year, in the Spring, a student of mine, Dylan, an 8th grader committed suicide.  I got the call at 5:30 in the morning.  Oh God, Jesus Jesus Jesus, I remember praying, that was all I could get out as I got ready to meet with our teachers before school that day.

I'll talk more tomorrow about the other events that led up to my diagnosis.

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