Friday, November 24, 2017

The scary door

With thanks to Futurama.

I was on pick-up for theboy from school and arranged to meet in the usual spot which was the foyer. I arrived about 10 minutes early.

Schools, by dint of necessity, have thick doors that lock off the admin area from the public. It's a door with a key that you have to use each time you open it. 

I know all of this because after the first door slam—which I was not expecting as I perched on an arm rest and waited for the bell—triggered a fight flight response. The door slam shot through me and out the other side and my PTSD-afflicted under brain reacted. Even as I knew logically nothing was wrong my brain chemistry fired and I started crying.

I had to then watch the door instead of the corridor for my son and hope he saw me and the way out because if I didn't know the door slam was coming then my fight flight worsened. 

I was shaking, and crying, but not big outburst tears, just fat trickles that rolled down a trembling face. Some of theboy's peers walked past and I'm not sure if they saw I was crying or not but if they ask theboy, who has been my carer in times of acute panic, he will explain I got injured in the workplace and that's part of the result.

We've arranged for a new meeting spot, under some pine trees. It will be shady there—and there will be no scary door.

I hate that my under brain—my upside down in Stranger Things terms—still has this capacity to react. I've been good with sudden noises but they happened at a distance; the concussive power of that door slam was something else entirely—I could feel it and my underbrain cooked off and ordered me to flee. 

Except I couldn't as I was meeting theboy. So I bore it, watching the scary door, crying and waiting for him to arrive.

Then we had a kick-arse ride home on the trike with him in the back. 

The scary door; for me it's a real thing with real life implications. But I'll treat it as I treat all such triggers, with guarded suspicion and avoidance where practical.

WFTW.

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