Tuesday, February 06, 2018

Delayed blast PTSD attack

I was at the pathologist's and sitting in the big chair with the padded arm rests for blood draws when a person vigorously attacked the window wall just outside for any hint of leaf with perhaps the loudest leaf blower I have ever heard.

I had to stay calm for the needle in my arm so I chatted with the pathologist as she did her blood business, talking about PTSD and that it was a miracle I was okay. 

The person with the leaf blower moved on and it was only after I had booked a follow-up appointment then gone to step outside to wait for pick-up when I heard the blower again. All that keyed up suppression of fight flight kicked in and I went into a semi-panic state. Not crying or overwhelmed just the desire to escape that noise because my animal brain perceived it as threatening. I couldn't finger block my right ear because blood had been taken from the arm and bending it hurt so I sat left ear facing the entrance, finger in the ear hole, within the shopping centre and winced each time the double set of doors opened to let in the noise.

Then the fucker moved around to the next section of the centre where there is a single set of doors and must have stood in the way of the sensor so the doors stayed open as they "blew".

I didn't cry, but I wanted to. I didn't flee, because I needed to be picked up. I just endured it.

But thank fuck for the delayed blast reaction during the initial and most damaging aural wounding at the window as a needle took blood from me. 

Insanely loud leaf blowers; why the fuck hasn't Elon Musk fixed that problem? 

Elon, get on it. I want silent leaf blowers; make it happen and do it BEFORE the Mars mission. 

The last thing Matt Damon needs as he tends to his martian shit potatoes is some fucker outside the dome with a leaf blower going.

UPDATE: I am sitting with ear protection on from a dead cat bounce from the trigger. I can't handle discord when my anxiety is up so I had to put on these stupid ear muffs and literally talk myself out of the house and into the shed so I would not hear anything that would trigger it. Now I'm in here trying to bleed off the scare. It's fucking surreal to experience your brain chemistry misfiring with signals of dread from a normal part of family life. I know logically nothing is wrong but my snarling, wounded brain has forced me to retreat here where they cannot get me. There is no "they"; but my upside-down brain says there is. And until logic regains control I am flooded with adrenaline and on the cusp of angry crying. That is fucked, but it could have been worse—I could have had a full attack instead of a mini one.

That's life from a workplace injury for you. You're forever stained by what was done to you and to your family. 

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