Hello readers,
I don’t blog very often. But I experienced PTSD again yesterday so profoundly I have to share.
My car began leaking oil- like all of it’s oil. In the driveway when I went to leave for work. I didn’t have time to deal with it, so instead I took my husband’s car that day.
We talked about it, and both agreed I just had an oil change done so either they didn’t get the drain plug tight or they messed up putting on the oil filter. We decided I would get under the car in the morning and figure out which one – and hopefully fix it there in the driveway.
Some of you are going to ask why did I have to crawl under the car. My husband has severe scoliosis. So lifting things, crawling under the vehicles falls to me. He is the brains and I am the hands. Team work keeps our dreams working.
Morning came, I put on grubby clothes and went out. I jacked up my little eco car that is about 2 inches off of the ground. The jack did not lift it high enough for me to get to the oil pan. So I let it off the jack, put a block down with the jack on it and jacked it up again. I got in under the car and panic set in. I could hardly breath- I could not focus on why I was down there. Sheer panic- so I scooted out and started to walk into the house. I told myself this is silly. Just go look, you know what you are looking for- it’s not that hard. So I did I went back and shimmied under the car- full panic set in. I could see the oil filter and it was covered in oil- I couldn’t find the drain plug and panic took over.
Out I came and went into the house and told my sweetie I couldn’t get far enough under to see anything. This was enough true that I could deny even to myself how bad my PTSD was at that moment. He came out with me- we moved the car to a high spot, jacked it up from there and I tried briefly one more time- I shot out of under there like there were snakes after me. I said I can’t. Let me just pour oil in it and I’ll drive it to the local lube shop for their help.
So my sweet husband who is always supportive and doesn’t badger me with questions when he sees me panicked, got our oil and we did just that. The local lube shop confirmed that the oil filter was on wrong and had to be replaced. No damage to the engine which is more important than anything else, at this point.
I came home and showered for work. This is when my brain began working again. The panic set in from decades ago. I had a boyfriend who abused me horribly. He was a mechanic and as his girlfriend I would help with anything and everything. We would spend hours working on cars, then afterwards he would gang rape me.
Well the thriving healed person I am today would never tolerate being treated like that. But the broken little girl that I was didn’t know better. My mothers words rang loudly in my ears everytime- you are getting what you deserve. So I would try to be a better girlfriend (in hind sight, I was just being a better victim) We were both very broken. He was as abused as I had been. He didn’t know how to treat a woman any more than I knew how to be treated.
I am too old to crawl under cars anymore. But at least I identified what kicked in my PTSD and have the tools to calm the storm within. Trauma has been gone for decades – but the aftermath continues to wreak havoc some days.
My Voice 