Depending on the circumstance, I’ve found myself wanting time to stand still or to keep going so fast it feels like I blinked and months or maybe years are behind me. Here are a few of the ups and downs I’ve been through this year.
This Must Be the Place
In January, I couldn’t wait for my birthday to come around because I had plans to visit a renowned art compound in Buena Vista, Georgia with some friends. Plans fell through and I made the trip to see Pasaquan solo. I’m really happy I decided to go. The construction of it all is impressive. Though there are many questions to be asked about this eccentric artist, his life and work. The best way I can sum it up was that it basically all started with a fever dream.
Did I Find You or You Find Me?
“I know you’re going to blame yourself,” Those were the words my father said to me during a phone conversation where I’d let him know my dog had gone missing after getting through a hole in a friend’s backyard fence. My younger brother would say the same thing in a completely separate conversation. They know me.
The weather wasn’t very patient and within the first couple of days of Tokyo missing, there was a thunderstorm. I heard thunder while I was at home and out of habit, I began scanning the room for her because I knew she’d be afraid of the sound and want to be close to me. I quickly remembered the state of things and was saddened and angry at myself that I couldn’t be there for her.
While Tokyo was missing, I juggled my days between work, visits to animal shelters, putting up flyers, online groups and sites dedicated to missing pets and roaming around the area where she had last been seen hoping she didn’t get too far. A friend loaned me an animal trap. We only caught a possum and a very unamused cat. I set out a trail cam hoping I’d be able to monitor animal activity. Someone stole that. I’d even designed and ordered flyers to distribute via the Every Door Direct Mail service through USPS. Then one morning I found myself meeting up with a van full of kids who volunteered with the founder of an animal rescue to help me hang posters behind my flyers to make them easier for people to spot.
The posters worked. By the next day, I got calls and texts from people who had seen her and gave me the bad news she was deceased. I ran to put my shoes on and texted the founder of the nonprofit who had helped me search for Tokyo to let them know she had been found. They raced to meet me as I drove up and down a busy two-lane road to find her body.
I enlisted the help of my friend whose yard Tokyo had bolted from to drive so I could keep an eye out. I had been so concerned with drivers getting upset over my slow speed, that I was having trouble finding her. In keeping with who she is, my friend threw on her hazard lights and said reassuringly “they can go around me,” when I mentioned how impatient people behind us were.
We found her. I wanted to see her face. But as I approached, I could already see her teeth were exposed beyond what would be usual. I couldn’t stand to see anymore. I stood there and cried as my friend held me. I thought about a coyote we had seen a day earlier while putting up bright neon posters. Seeing just how fast cars were moving along the road and knowing how low of a tolerance Tokyo had for loud sounds, I can only imagine she was trying to get to a quiet location before things came to an end. I bawled and watched my friend and the founder load Tokyo’s body into her van. We met at the nearest animal hospital where I decided to have her cremated. I wasn’t ready to let go of her yet and I feel she and I were cheated of that time.
The following day I was back to work and by the evening I was on a virtual call with my attorney going over what I could expect from the deposition I’d be in with my attacker’s representation the next day.
Home Is Where I Want to Be
What followed that intense and exhausting time of loss was the news, presented in the HR newsletter of the organization where I was employed, that one of their new hires was a familiar face. I had seen this face before when trying to verify what parts of my attacker’s stories were true. Did he have a “cordial” relationship with his kids’ mom? Did they just “lose the spark,” in his words? After multiple women contacted me in response to sharing my experience, I couldn’t help but wonder if he harmed her too.
The HR announcement triggered my PTSD and I had to talk it through with a couple of loved ones to calm down and not immediately associate her presence at the office with danger. That was easier said on an at-home day during my hybrid work week. Every return to the office brought fear and worry that I’d run into her and she may or may not know who I am. What if we cross paths in the kitchen on a lunch break or during a group event?
What if she tells him I’m here? Or he shows up to drop off or pick up the kids? I was in a constant state of worry when I entered the building. Checking my surroundings when I parked. Feeling vulnerable in the parking deck. Trying to remember to breathe as I walked a couple of blocks from the deck to the front door of the office building. Deep breaths up the steps. Remember to smile and wave at whoever is at the front desk. Frantically press the elevator button to get the doors closed before anyone could join me on the ride up. Greet people who make eye contact from their cubicles. Good job pretending. Now do your work and try to convince yourself this whole situation is a coincidence.
After finding out by chance that there were some empty spots in the parking deck underneath the building, I requested a closer parking spot. That meant I could take the elevator to my car without being seen versus parking in a deck, praying I don’t run into her during the walk to the office or the ride up the second set of elevators to the floor I worked on.
I’ll save you the details of the conversation I had with the decision maker in the parking deck situation except to say I ended up in tears after the call and had to make a stop at the bathroom to try to wash away the fact I’d been triggered by having to repeat details of the assault just before a meeting. That request was approved.
Later, I’d learn that according to my attacker, he lived with the person who was now employed at the same organization as me. That sent what was already a daily battle to refocus my brain from the very eerie feeling I’d have at the workplace into a complete panic. PTSD I dealt with and felt I was beginning to get some sort of handle on was in overdrive.
Focusing on projects was the perfect way for me to distract my brain from the flashbacks and general disturbances of triggers. So, I looked forward to staying busy and genuinely cared about the work I did. After being so public about what I had experienced, I sometimes worried people would only see that when they looked at me and come to an unfair conclusion about who I was and how capable I was in a professional sense. I never wanted what happened to me to interfere with my work but now it was literally there with me every time I went into the office.
I submitted an urgent request to HR – literally titling the subject An Urgent Request – to temporarily work from home. I knew that removing myself from the same physical space as the person who had such a close association with my attacker would allow me to focus on my work and avoid spiraling into episodes of worry and fear. I still have no idea if she knows who I am, but the closeness of it all was not something that would be sustainable for me long term.
Because my director and teammates had been clued in on the situation and responded as you’d expect understanding colleagues and good humans to, I believed my request to work from home temporarily instead of hybrid would be understood as a reasonable accommodation for someone suffering from PTSD. That request was denied. I was told it was not work-related.
It got to a point where I could not go into the office and feel okay. Ironically, I was a part of a project all about safety being a top priority for the organization at the time. I turned in my resignation letter. Before I left, I felt compelled to write a letter to the CEO of the organization. It was not an angry or bitter letter. The intention was to share the way the series of events had triggered my PTSD in hopes he would consider this in determining how to best serve his employees’ well-being in the future.
Though my experience was unique, PTSD is not. And several people in this country (and around the world) experience it for a variety of reasons. I took a suggestion to share the letter with another leader in the organization. I got a soulless response from the legal department. While I am proud of the work I did accomplish and appreciate the people I met, with more insight into some motives and actions, and the obvious way my well-being was shaken, I do not regret leaving. It was horrible timing though because I was moving.
Out of All Those Kinds of People
A part of me has been watching over my shoulder since the day I first shared his name publicly. Some mornings I wake up wondering if he’s found out where I am or if he’ll retaliate. After leaving my job and feeling particularly defeated, I decided I wanted to take my power back. I would spend a full weekend training with a veteran officer, soldier, and martial artist who has committed his time to partner with an amazing, funny, fellow veteran and cancer survivor to teach women to defend themselves.
I met other women with various backgrounds and reasoning behind taking the course. It was physically tough and mentally challenging. Some of the scenarios we acted out triggered really bad memories and the education portions of the classes included what I believe to be necessary, but at times, disturbing language or footage. The instructors successfully educated a captive audience on the realities of the crimes and how to best protect ourselves.
Anyone who takes sexual violence lightly attempts to diminish the severity of the act or claims they’d make better choices than someone who survives (or doesn’t) an assault has no idea what they are talking about. They have never been through it. Too often, these same people are the ones in charge of determining whether or not, in their opinion, you were indeed sexually assaulted. Somehow people who are victimized carry the burden of the trauma along with blame, antiquated, inaccurate assumptions, and something to the effect of:
“If it was me,”
“You should have,”
or “Why didn’t you…”
As I chatted with my counselor and also with my sister, my conversations would sometimes turn toward my mounting concerns over employment. I’ve lost count of how many jobs or interviews I’d taken. After much research and preparation, I quickly realized applying for jobs is a job in itself.
My sister encouraged me that in between job hunting, I should enjoy the downtime. I’m glad she pointed this out because it made me realize that for so long I had been wishing I had a pause button. I craved time to myself to be able to heal without the increased stress that the pandemic and the trauma had brought.
After dodging COVID for about two years, I tested positive. The part that was so infuriating was that I’m pretty certain I came into contact with the virus while attempting to apply for a low-key job in a rehabilitation center. I spent a couple of weeks recovering on my own and feeling the aftereffects.
Share the Same Space for a Minute or Two
Angel, a black lab and pit bill mix who totally called my bluff when I vowed to never even look at another dog again, was one of the pups I’d spent some brief time with when volunteering with the animal rescue that helped me find Tokyo. I really wanted to adopt her because I had seen how well-mannered she was.
I lasted for a week! One week. Thinking she was my cute, new BFF, I enjoyed my time playing with her and getting her acquainted with my place. There was a major issue though. Angel had been through trauma herself and was reactive. I would see this displayed every time we went outside. I ultimately realized that there was too much foot traffic and not a dedicated space like a fenced-in backyard where we could work on helping her through her fear safely. I also realized every walk made me increasingly anxious to the point it was making it hard to take care of myself following that bout with COVID that left me pretty exhausted.
She Lifted Up Her Wings
I live in a different place than I did at the beginning of 2022 or even 2021. I am grateful when I consider the gift that it is to have the will to keep going. I’d be lying if I said I don’t still get angry because my days are now bookended by anti-anxiety and sleeping pills, something I never needed before experiencing PTSD. Tears still come and I am still heartbroken over the way I was mistreated and the way all survivors are mistreated. If time heals all wounds, then I’m banking on the clocks racing ahead.
I’m looking forward to spring because I’d like to invite friends to read with me in parks. As I’m becoming familiar with the area around me, I also plan to get back to birding beyond my window. I have a bicycle waiting for me thanks to my sister. The outlook for 2023 seems promising.
No matter what time of the year: Don’t be afraid to ask for help. Be generous. Be well. Show love.
*Title and headers are lyrics from This Must Be the Place by Talking Heads.