I knew I had been anxious about my first group therapy session with the new doc. I just didn't realize how anxious I really was. The two nights before the session, I didn't really sleep much. I was a bit of a hot mess. I arrived early as I always do. It gives me a few minutes by myself in the room to collect my thoughts.
Then the doc and the other veterans showed up and things took a turn for the worse for me. It became very clear early on that doc was going to work out. She's competent and runs the group well. She involves everyone.and does a good job directing conversation. The new doc was never the issue.
I kept on looking up and expecting to see Doc Casagrande. I kept on looking over the where he had habitually set up shop in the corner of the room. He wasn't there and it hurt, knowing he would never be there again. It's one thing to grieve on your own timetable. This was not. I had to force myself to move on and pay attention to what was happening in group. I didn't want to yet but I wasn't given a choice. It hurt like hell and I suffered for it all last night and today.
I kept on thinking, if grieving was this hard for my doctor, what the hell was going to happen to me if something ever happened to my wife or daughter? The fear intense, palpable. I have never been so scared of losing something in my life and I didn't know how to handle it. I ended up rocking and holding my head like someone kicked me in the groin. It wasn't continuous. Every time I would catch myself after a little bit and force myself to stop. It wouldn't take long before I was rocking again, unaware that I was doing it.
When I woke up this morning, my emotions were still raw and I was anxious as hell about everything and nothing, all at the same time. I kept on taking doses of my anxiety medication until it made a difference. Then, off to work I went, hoping and praying that I could make it through the day without verbally decapitating someone.
Somehow, I have made it through and it is something I am very grateful for. My wife has been worried sick about me and was concerned that I was starting to regress back into a hole. While I haven't regressed, I had to explain to her that what I was mostly feeling was grief exacerbated by my PTSD. I was just grieving. That's all. It just goes to show that, while I have gotten closure on Doc's death, being reminded of that loss can still be profound and emotionally distressing. I haven't felt his loss as keenly at any other time. It is still difficult to explain to you the depth of the loss I feel and it has overwhelmed me for the past two days. Now I have to work out all of the jumbled mess that is my thoughts and see if there's anything else or any revelations hiding in the murk.
As I continue my life with PTSD, I will share my challenges and discoveries on this blog.