PTSD Blues

Andrew has a profound hearing loss. After years of his getting aggravated because he had to say “huh?” all the time, he finally caved in and went to the VA for a hearing aid (he’s completely deaf in one ear, hence just one hearing aid).  After a couple of failed attempts, they finally hit on a solution that we both thought would work for him. It was an in the ear aid, but had a FM transmitter with it. The idea was that I could wear the transmitter around my neck and be able to speak to him in a normal voice even if I was some distance away or had my back turned so that he couldn’t see my lips.

When it worked, let’s just say I was so excited that I cried. As we left the Audiology department I lagged behind a bit. With Andrew a good 10 feet ahead of me, I said “can you hear me now?” in a voice that was just above a whisper.  He heard me! All the way out of the VA, I repeated this exercise.  To a few passersby that looked at me strangely, I happily said “he can hear me!” Andrew did well through this and even smiled a few times himself.

He wore the hearing aid all the way home. I could talk to him in the car even if I had my head turned to look out the window. After all this time it was the most amazing experience, but it turned out to be shortlived.

When we arrived home I was still wearing the transmitter. Andrew came in and went upstairs to use the bathroom. I started to take the transmitter off and then one of those ideas hit me. You know the type…the ones that you don’t think through but sound so marvelously funny at the time that you just do them. I waited until I didn’t hear footsteps above me and said “do you hear me now?”

Well, there was a lot of noise upstairs. When he came down, he was smiling but it was definitely a strained smile accompanied by a sort of a growl. The one thing you never do to a PTSD vet is take him by surprise.  Let’s just say, the transmitter is now on the TV stand and used only for hearing the TV. I’m going to wait awhile then try to suggest that he use it to hear me again.

For the last few months I have been seeing a counselor in an attempt to get my own problems under control.  I am not sure yet whether the sessions with him are really helping me but I am sure that I am always introspective after a session. Tonight is one of those nights.

One  thing that I have become accutely aware of as a result of my counseling is that I am extremely defensive of Andrew and my relationship with him.  It makes somewhat guarded when talking to anyone face to face about my own emotional wellbeing.  I have been to see 3 other counselors in the last 15 years and each has fed my need to hold back in his or her own way.

The first therapist that I saw was a woman at a local mental health unit. I honestly did like her a lot. She looked like an aging hippie and I am sort of an aging hippie. I thought it would work out.  It didn’t. After a few sessions she decided I wasn’t going to improve until I left Andrew. When I wouldn’t, she declared me unwilling to help myself and told me she had nothing left to offer me.

The second counselor I saw was full-blown psychiatrist.  Again, I really liked him except for the fact that he was seriously into pushing medication and he, too, tried to convince me that I should leave Andrew and build a life of my own. My sessions with him came to an abrupt halt when I mistook therapy as a confidential, say anything you need to say kind of thing. I told him how we kept our 16 year old daughter, who was having  a problem with alcohol and drugs at the time, from going out drinking one night (yes, our state allowed 16 year olds to have the right to leave home and allowed the parents no means of stopping the child) by allowing her to have a beer and play a game of Scrabble with us instead. It was infinitely better than another call from the state police in the middle of the night to come pick up our drunk child at the station or from just sitting here wondering if she was dead in a ditch somewhere. I guess sessions with counselors are not confidential enough that the psychiatrist wouldn’t betray me by calling child protective services. He did, right in front of me, which of course put me in a much worse off psychological state than I was in when I arrived at his office. An investigation ensued and the charges against us were dropped. My trust in therapists was pretty nearly destroyed for a long time.

Last year, I tried going to Andrew’s psychologist. I really like him too, but after one private session, I realized that I was guarded with him too. After all, he was Andrew’s therapist first. It had to be a conflict of interest for him  to even be seeing me.

So, realizing that I really do need some help getting some control of my life with Andrew, I decided to attempt counseling again, this time with a counselor at the Vet Center. I started going a few months ago. I really like the guy, but, I find myself to be almost illogical when I talk to him. The reason is that I will be talking and realize that what I am about to say could be misconstrued. I stop myself, sometimes even backpedal, in defense of my relationship with Andrew. When I leave, one of my first thoughts is always “Did I say anything that will be held against me?’

You know, I don’t really know why I write this blog. I always thought it would be a good way to help others that are living with a PTSD Vet, but now I am wondering if it’s not just a feeble attempt on my part to make someone hear me and say “Ani, it’s okay. What you feel is a normal reaction. It’s alright to stay with someone that  sometimes makes you feel bad”. Okay, so I know that no one that reads this is really going to say that to me, but damn it, I am so tired of having to defend my marriage. I love him. In the 60s love was all you needed.

I don’t know if counseling will ever do me any good. I mean, if I can’t feel free to say what’s on my mind there, am I just wasting my time and the therapist’s time? Is it possible for me to take anything positive away from our sessions even if I don’t feel like I am being fully honest? Am I beating myself up more because I don’t trust myself not say something stupid?

I think having a hard time sleeping tonight will have absolutely nothing to do with Andrew’s nightmares. I am not even in bed yet and I am already creating my own. Damn it!

I don’t know which one of us is “in a mood”. I look at Andrew and see a harshness in his eyes, yet if I try to say anything about any subject, he is argumentative. If I question his mood, ask if something is wrong, he asks “what’s wrong with you?” in reply. I’ve never been comfortable with his answering questions with questions. It fills me with a self doubt that makes me want to ask someone else, anyone else, “Am I being irrational?”

The conversation I tried to have tonight was about my recently returned car. My son had borowed it for a night several months ago and did not return it until yesterday. Today he called to say he found a secondhand car. Of course he was calling because he wants us to give him the money to buy the car.

Some things seriously bother me. One of those things is the fact that both of our grown children seem to constantly want something other than love from us. It’s tiring and as I get older, it’s worrysome. We are on a fixed income now. I refer to it as a non-renewable resource. While we are okay right now, I have the rest of my life to watch out for. Parting with money knowing that it will never be returned frightens me. I don’t do it easily or without a fight.

I wanted ot talk this through with Andrew. He was having none of that. Instead, he asked why I needed the 10 year old car that was returned by my son. It is true that I am not a confident driver. I don’t like to drive. But the car is my car. It isn’t a matter of whether I drive on a daily basis. It’s a matter of that car being available for me to drive.

We do have another (too expensive) vehicle that I could drive, but it scares me. My old car fits me. It’s banged up, but if I bang it up more not much is lost.  Thinking about it, I’m kind of banged up too.

I know Andrew doesn’t “need” things other than his remote control.  I know he doesn’t approve of my materialism. I still want him to be my friend and friends listen when friends speak even if what they are saying isn’t bright and cheerful. Being told to “get over it” even if it not vocalized but implied is not anything I would ever intentionally say to Andrew (I am no saint…I do think it sometimes). I do not wish to hear it, or feel it, when something is bothering me.

It is belittling of me for him to always attack me for not being a comfortable driver. He has his quirks. I have mine. I would like very much to be able to ram the roads and enjoy it. It’s not healthy for me to “have to” drive daily because he says so and because I fought to get my car back. The idea is that the car is there should I want to drive.