It happened when I was in 10th grade. A cold practice-room at the back of the choir room, after a school choir concert. Cornered in the small, cold room, the sound of the door shutting is something that still haunts me. He came closer, turning off the lights, I could feel him closing in.
I had to go back to that place five days a week for several hours, for two years after that. My memories of that night only began to return during the second year, when I was a senior in high school, and that seemed to put reasons to the feelings I was experiencing for the last year: the knot that always formed in my stomach, the hyper vigilance and the need to watch for something (only I didn’t know what I was looking for), and the overall sinking feeling that this place wasn’t as safe as it seemed, but it was the only place I could go to feel that safety at the same time.
As soon as I graduated high school, I finally felt a rising sense of freedom, and for two years, I found my escape in a college on the other side of the state, away from my family and friends. My third year of college was the year I transferred to a university closer to home because the distance was starting to put a strain on me and it was getting in the way of the unspoken goals I had for myself. I completed two quarters at that university before having to take a break: my mental and physical health struggles were taking a toll on me. Nightmares. Nauseous. Losing weight from not eating. Racing heart. Isolation. Stress. Depression. Anxiety… my world was ending and there was no way for me to stop it… but maybe I could slow it down?
I went back to therapy. I hadn’t been to therapy since senior year of high school… I figured I was cured. I figured that it was a simple fix. I was wrong.
With the help of my parents, I finally found a counselor that was available to work with me once a week, starting in late March of 2019. I was grateful for the opportunity, because I was losing myself at a rapid pace, and I was doing everything I could to hold on, but I needed help.
I saw this counselor every Monday, and to this day, March of 2020, I am still seeing her once a week, every Monday. Together and in a safe way, we began exploring who I am, where my struggles were coming from and how to go from a coping existence to a thriving lifestyle. I haven’t reached that thriving point yet, but the progress is definitely there.
Part of this journey required me learning how to actually ask for what I wanted in therapy. That took about six months for me to figure out. This led to me asking the biggest question I had been terrified of asking for years…. “Can I go back there?” When she asked me why, I told her I was sick of letting that place control me. I was exhausted from living my life in site of the assault that took place in that room, as if it had some kind of power over me. I had had enough. I wanted to reclaim the life that was and is mine.
For a few weeks, we planned the logistics, who needed to be involved, how much time we would need and the self care that I would plan to do with others following the session. I also had to reach out to my choir teacher, and I confided in him what I was comfortable sharing, saying that I had this diagnosis of PTSD from an assault that took place in the choir room. He was so kind and supportive and he made sure that the choir room would be available to my counselor and I after school and that no one would interrupt us.
The night before we went to the school, I expected to be nervous and panicky. I was waiting for the nervous shakes that I get when I am really anxious, I waited for the knot, the sinking feeling, the racing heart… none of that ever came. I slept very well that night and it didn’t take me any longer than usual to actually fall asleep. This all came as a shock to me, and I believe that this was the universe telling me I was truly ready to go back and face the demons and shadows that haunt me there.
My cousin and best friend came with me to the school and was present for the session. My counselor felt more comfortable having a witness for logical reasons, and I wanted a support person (someone who had been with me from the beginning). I wanted her to see me take this on. I wanted someone to witness me not being afraid, but of standing up to what tried to ruin my life. I wanted someone there so they could celebrate the victory with me.
Part of the planning process was to figure out what exactly what I wanted to do there. This visit needed purpose otherwise there would be no point in even going.
I was nervous by the time I got there, but once I got grounded and remembered why I was there, I was able to have a very intentional time there.
There were lots of emotions that I was experiencing. I was trembling a lot, I couldn’t stop shaking. I think part of me was struggling because the last time I was in that space was when I was in high school three years before. It was a time when I didn’t know what was happening, and I found myself questioning myself. Why was I there? Did this really happen? Should I have been there now? Those questions battled in my mind silently as I prepared to go through with it. The pit in my stomach told me I was there because my experience was real and valid. That was enough for me.
We did a number of things… first we just worked on grounding me in the space. Recognizing that I was safe, that I was surrounded only by those that cared for me was important. Then, something that was important for me, was to walk through everything I could remember – because there came a point where I blacked out, and I was curious to see if that stir anything else, and if not, it would at least further validate my feelings for me personally. So that’s what we did.
I walked through it and narrated what I remembered doing and feeling. When we got into that room, I was taken aback by how cold it really was in there. It was in there that we had to pause and take some deep breathes. I was definitely feeling a heightened sense of fear and anxiety, and my palms were icy and sweaty. I had to verbalize that I could see, feel and understand that we were in the here and now, that I was safe, before I could continue.
The next part of this process I think was the most crucial for reclaiming that space for good. Since I blacked out and couldn’t remember getting out of there, we practiced letting me turn the lights back on and running out of the room (because he had closed the door and turned off the lights). So this was awesome! I couldn’t exactly remember how I had escaped, so being able to visualize and see myself getting out of there was the most powerful thing I have ever experienced. There was a great deal of liberation in being able to see that since so much of that part is just a black hole in my memory.
We finished up with allowing me time and space to read a letter to my 15 year old self. I made some points that that traumatic moment was indeed traumatic, that I would question it in my future, I would be confused and disoriented and people would judge and tell me how I was supposed to be. That I would be called weak, sensitive, and a drama queen. Yet, there would also come a day when I would turn all of those horrible compounded experiences into something truly strong and powerful that would hopefully inspire or help others… and most importantly, I would free myself from the place and time that has haunted me for so long…
If I had known at 15 what I know now as a 21 year old, I think things would have happened differently… not the trauma itself, because I had no control over that… but the way I’d go about healing, that would have been drastically different. If I had known that sexual assault survivors could develop PTSD, if I had known that what I was experiencing was valid and understandable, I would have had a very different high school experience.
My point is, I didn’t have that possible other experience, but our children can. It is so important to have conversations around all kinds of bullying, about sexual harassment and assault, and what to do should that ever happen. That conversation and support would have changed my life in enormous ways, but instead I had to take the long route. Eventually I found my way, but it wasn’t easy and it was purely self-motivated. I saved myself because no one else could. Now, it is my moral responsibility, just as it should be for everyone else, to spread awareness about sexual assault. We have more power than we believe we do to prevent sexual assault. And when sexual assault does happen, we have to know how to respond. We have to!
Flourishing With PTSD 