triggers – RAPHAELA ANGELOU

I had been feeling better in myself than I had in a long time. Even though I was still in immense pain, I felt able to cope. I was exercising daily in order to maintain my bones, and was eating food which nourished me and provided energy. Then, a trial started. It only took one look at the young woman’s radiant smile, and my heart shattered. It was all over the media, and as I learnt of the case, I thought surely the man involved would be punished. The events ended with her being locked on his balcony, and tragically falling to her death.

Of a night, I dreamed of this young woman. She appeared holding a falcon. Sometimes, I woke up crying. I know how it feels to be held against your will. I know how it feels to be outside on a balcony. I know how it feels to free-fall through the sky to earth, and I know what it feels to hit the ground and the terror beforehand. My life was spared by a series of fortunate events. It feels as though I have a duty to live for all the wounded angels who have soared through the air and haven’t survived. To go to new places, talk to new people, embrace life and try new things. Complacency won’t cut it.

The verdict came through as a newsflash, when my daughter and I were watching Ghostbusters on her IPad. The television was on mute, but I studied the screen and saw ‘Not Guilty’ flashed across the bottom. My daughter was holding my hand in case I got scared by the movie. I was terrified, though not for the reasons she thought. As I held her soft warm hand, I silently apologized to her. I apologized that we haven’t come as far as I had hoped. Each guilty verdict that is read helps to heal some of the pain of the past. It is an acknowledgement that it should never have happened, it was wrong and the justice system gives a damn. I recall watching my perpetrator shake his lawyer’s hand and smirk as he walked by at my committal hearing. I watched her perpetrator on television look up to the heavens and sigh, (as if heaven had anything to do with his release).

My mind in overdrive, and my heart heavy, I felt my adrenaline ramping up. I couldn’t sit still. I had an overwhelming urge to go shopping for my daughter. She needed new shorts, immediately! I couldn’t banish creatures such as this from the world, but damn it, I could get her shorts. I had that power! Off we went, my mind in a trance. Snatching up clothes, I smiled as I realized she also needed new sandals. She keeps growing, and will soon surpass her very short mum. As she smiled at me, my heart felt heavy. I want to keep her safe forever. I hope that I am laying the groundwork in these years for her to become a confident, assertive young woman. I walked dazedly past friends, unable to stop and chat. I had no energy, even whilst my body was soaked in adrenaline, coursing through every atom. There was loneliness in being unable to articulate how I felt. I know what this young woman’s family would have thought as they left the trial. I bought a bottle of red wine, and a text came through. It was my daughter’s singing teacher, asking if we were coming to class. I had forgotten all about it. I sat and messaged back, apologizing. She was lovely, and sent a smiley face, bless her.

I am so sorry justice wasn’t served. I am so sorry your family are suffering. I am so sorry you didn’t survive and go on to have the life meant for you. I am so sorry men like him are out in the world, on the prowl. I am sorry that narcissists exist. My daughter held a little fashion parade when we got home. “I love them, mummy,”she smiled. “That’s good darling,” I replied. I drank my wine and had no sleep whatsoever. PTSD seems to be a clumsy dance, propelling you forward, then back. I looked at my slumbering daughter, vowing to make the next eight years count. Vowing to build her up so she will have the power to judge a scoundrel when she encounters one.

I survived by a series of miracles, and as I run around like a mad thing of a day, I always give thanks. I vow to live for these voiceless angels as well.

I can’t tell you how much the response meant to me after I posted Til it Happens to you. The support was incredible! I was too overcome to respond for a while. People have asked how I got through it all. I suffered status epilepticus at 13, meaning I had continual seizures which couldn’t be controlled. I stopped breathing and was in a coma. It took a long time to recover from this event (it was predicted I wouldn’t). The next year, I met a monster, and was abused. The finale was being thrown off a building at fifteen. My healing has taken over twenty years. There are some things that have helped.

1. I can’t handle violence of any kind. I can’t discuss literature, nor movies, let alone view them, if they are violent. At first, I didn’t want people to think I was fragile. I didn’t want them to see the distress that talking about violence (parcelled as entertainment to the masses), conjured. I would pretend that it wasn’t hurting me. Nowadays, I don’t pretend. I gracefully bow out of conversations and invitations which would bring me into this sphere.

2. I couldn’t leave the house by myself, even to go to the letterbox. It has taken many years and many small trips to gather the strength to go farther afield. I plan ahead, and the apps I have on my phone make my preparations easier. If you are agoraphobic, be kind to yourself. Every little step is a triumph. My major incentive was that I had to get to the IVF clinic early in the morning, and simply had to do it. It made me braver than I actually felt! Now I take my daughter everywhere, and the freedom is liberating!

3. I have had to confront my deepest fears. The ones I was frightened of encountering, as I would surely fall apart. My fears included rejection, loneliness, being left alone and finding out that people weren’t as they appeared. Confronting these fears has been terrifying, and it has hurt. I have uncovered that people I looked up to were abusive behind closed doors. I have been let down and let go, but I have survived. I learnt not to leave myself behind in the process. Comforting myself became of premium importance.

4. People see a smiling, functional adult when you are out and about. They don’t recollect the child kept alive in Intensive Care on a respirator. They came into my life during a different chapter. I know what it took to get to here. The hundreds of hours of physiotherapy, the scores of surgeries… I have to remind myself of my achievements and give myself a quiet pat on the back.

5. Boundaries are a big one for a survivor. I felt as vulnerable as a newborn when I started to make a life for myself. I believed anything anyone said, and believed everyone was a friend. It has taken trial and many errors to come up with boundaries, and to trust my judgement above all else. It was a revelation, to give myself the space to honour my instincts. If a person or situation doesn’t sit right, and makes me uncomfortable, I walk away. It is imperative to do so, as I have a little girl watching me. I need to display good boundaries so she knows that its okay to be in touch with her own. It has sometimes taken me being struck mute in the company of somebody who is toxic, for me to comprehend that my body is trying to protect me by producing physical symptoms. I am free, and thus I get to decide who stays in my life. It may not be anything that anyone is doing. Rather, they remind me of someone from the past. I still have to honour my discomfort.

6. Things will trigger me on a daily basis, and much of it is out of my control. It could be a song coming on in the supermarket, an aftershave I detect in passing. It might be a conversation, or visiting a friend in a hospital where I had prior surgery. Deep breaths are required, and sometimes a visit to the lady’s restroom to compose myself. I tell myself that my anxiety is a natural reaction, and I am doing fine. If I am with close friends, I will tell them that a memory has come up. If I am not, I will breath deeply, find a focal spot to concentrate on, and reassure myself quietly.

7. I will not drink to excess, nor take tablets to blot out a bad day. Sometimes, the memories hit hard, and along with the massive amount of pain I suffer, it becomes overwhelming. Alcohol is a depressant, and thus, is disastrous as an antidote. I will only have alcohol when in the company of friends at dinner, or as a toast of celebration. It only compounds the depression which inevitably comes after overworked adrenals have crashed. Instead, I go for a walk, swim or am otherwise active. It helps tremendously.

8. I will space out at times. When you hardly sleep, and are in pain, it happens naturally. When you put flashbacks or a panic attack into the mix, let’s say I am sometimes away with the fairies! Writing (and preparing for a writing task), also lends itself to spacing out. If you holler at me on the street and I don’t respond, that’s why! I am escaping into my inner world, which is expansive and magical. I nearly jump out of my skin when I am walking along and a car beeps me. I remain jittery for the rest of the day. I am hyper vigilant; always scanning a crowd for danger, even when in my own world. It’s quite a combination!

9. You are allowed to say “no” to a request. You are allowed to rest. I keep going until I can’t, and at that point, I retreat for a bit. I have to. It is a revelation, when you learn that you can keep free spaces in the calendar. Even thirty minutes to sip tea and daydream is heavenly. I need time alone to restore and reboot. Time is precious, and I try to use it wisely.

10. My survival has been an odyssey of epic proportions. I tried to run from the memories. I attempted to smother them, as one instinctively does a fire. The smoke streams from underneath the cloth, and then the flames explode forth in a cacophony of rage. It is like burning off disease, only to have damaging adhesions form underneath. Running doesn’t work, and it certainly doesn’t help. Over many years, I have visited my places of trauma. I have wept and I have released at each site. I only did so when I was ready. You have to be ready. My natural instinct is still to run when triggered, but now I have tools. They come in the form of a laptop, a paintbrush, a pastel. They come to me as bird song, my walking shoes, my friends and my music.

When I was a child, I had big dreams. I had a determined spirit and an acute awareness that what was being done to me was not only wrong, but evil. I felt as though a cannon had ripped through my psyche, smattering me into pieces. Over time, I have laid out all the pieces, and put them into place. I am glued, sewn, fused and grafted together. I was once a china doll. Now I am reinforced and can never be broken again. It takes time to heal. You will want to give up. You will consider yourself beyond repair. You will want to run and you will try to escape your own mind. You will want to give up. Please don’t. The joy of finally accessing the tools to help you cope are worth the fight.