I Am in Hell

Writer's Block

I have been trying for days to write. Problem is I work on topics that I am having trouble finding the motivation for. What I want to write about may be too personal to share with my readers. Unfortunately, I think I won't be able to get past this writing block until I share everything.

A Little Bit of History

Some of my readers may already know that my husband has Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I have never fully shared what it has been like living with him and I don't think I want to yet. Suffice it to say it has not been easy for any of us. 

The man I fell in love with twenty years ago is now gone. In his place is this angry, anti-social man who could not go to work, participate in family events or do anything around the house. He wouldn't even come down on Christmas day.

For those who haven't read my earlier posts, my husband was not diagnosed  for approximately four years. Last spring he finally shared some of the problems he had been experiencing since the accident at work - the nightmares, anxiety, anger always simmering below the surface and flashbacks. 

His symptoms seemed familiar from articles I had read online about work related PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.) After much persuasion, he finally made an appointment with our family doctor. My suspicions turned out to be true. 

My husband was so happy that he had a label for what he was feeling. He wasn't going crazy. 

That was all good but we still did not have a second income. My pay checks were not enough and we were always falling behind on the mortgage.

Don't get me wrong, I was ecstatic that my husband was able to get the help he needed but we had very pressing matters that needed to be tended to. Like keeping our house. Paying our utility bills so we could continue to have water, electricity and heat.

Then came the struggle with the WSIB to have his claim approved. With the help of our local MPP, my husband's claim was finally approved five months after dianosis. The money came just in time to save our home from being sold by the bank.

This is where I thought I am finally able to take a deep breath of relief and shake off the overwhelming feelings of anxiety and stress of the last five years. It was hard. Strange isn't it? To finally have relief but not be able to enjoy it? I was always on verge of tears and there was no stopping it.

My husband's therapy wasn't making a difference. I kept waiting to see him smile and just be happy. 

His medication seemed to work for a while but then he reverted back to the anxious irritable man. His meds were upped. For a short while I saw a glimpse of the man I fell in love with.

But it went down hill. He started getting worse - not better. He wasn't eating. He has lost so much weight that he has to tuck his sweaters in to hold up his pants. His face has become gaunt. Episodes of agitation became more frequent.

Valentines Day

This is usually an uneventful day for us. Now I will remember it for the rest of my life. It was the day I fully realized I was living in hell.

My husband woke up at about three in the afternoon. Well, that's the time he emerged from the bedroom. His routine included jumping in my daughters car, getting a Tim Horton tea and going for a little drive while he smoked his face off.

He asked my daughter to borrow the car. She agreed but asked that he not wake her again at five o'clock in the morning to use the car and to please not leave garbage in her car. 

He lost it. How dare she not lend him the car. No matter how much we tried to explain she had not denied him use of her car, it just didn't register for him.

His anger didn't stop there. He was a raging lunatic for almost six hours. He looked like a rabid dog. The vein on the side of his head was pulsating. He was frothing at the mouth and spit flew in all directions when he screamed at me. 

I could not get away from him. I could not do anything with out infuriating him. I raised my eyebrow - it annoyed him. I looked at him - I annoyed him. I looked in another direction - I annoyed him. I was the source of everything bad in his world.

He agreed that his meds needed to be adjusted again. He did nothing about it.

Sunday

Aw Sunday. The day to clean the house and relax.

I heard the bedroom door open and close. My anxiety level sky rocketed. My husband was coming down the stairs.

A simple conversation turned into another husband rant and rave and lose his mind afternoon. 

I was sitting at the dining room table working on my blog. I learned from the Valentines Day Rant that there was no rationalizing with him and there would be nothing I could do to stop him. 

I sat there, saying nothing and not looking at him. Of course he told me I was making him angry. Again. I can't go into all the details. It ended once the police arrived and took him to their car. He is not allowed to contact me or the girls.


Sometimes gratitude and optimism just aren't enough.

Gratitude Journal

I can't end this post here. I have to leave it on a positive note. My gratitude journal always makes me feel better. I am blessed in many areas in my life. Thank you.

I am grateful for:

1. The safety of my family. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
2. Our home because it provides shelter and grounds me. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
3. The food in our cupboards. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
4. Another day of life so I can spend it with those I love. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
5. My laptop and the internet because it is my link to the outside world. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
6. The heat in our home because it is really cold outside today. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
7. My daughters car because it provides convenient, comfortable, safe transportation for her and her sister, my granddaughters and me. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
8. For my pay checks because they are the means to provide the necessities in life. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
9. My daughter for her support and companionship because she stops the heart ache from crushing me. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
10. My granddaughters because they continue to be the reason behind my strength, perseverance and hope for the future. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Thank goodness I don't have to read this out loud. I don't think it would get past the lump in my throat.

How it all Came Down

Update on Running Out of Time

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f you have been reading my posts you probably have already figured out that the bank did not foreclose. Somehow we managed to get the money to the lawyers on time.

This is how it happened.

Remember, my husband had been speaking to our local MPP's assistant? Well my husband gave a copy of the psychologist's diagnosis to Nick who shared it with the MPP. Interestingly, the MPP used to be a doctor. He read the document and immediately said he did not understand why WSIB had not approved the claim. 

The MPP wrote letters to the Minister of Health and the Minister of Labour explaining the situation.

The Minister of Labour wrote a letter to Mrs. Elizabeth Witmer, Chair of the Workplace Safety & Insurance Board of Ontario. 

(Here's just a bit of background information about Mrs. Witmer. Elizabeth Witmer was appointed Chair of Ontario’s Workplace Safety and Insurance Board (WSIB) on May 17, 2012, following more than 30 years of continuous public service.She was a member of the Legislative Assembly of Ontario from 1990 to 2012, representing Waterloo North, and later Kitchener Waterloo. During that time, she served as Deputy Premier, Minister of Labour, Minister of Health and Long Term Care, Minister of the Environment, and Minister of Education.)

It took approximately one week between each letter. Then surprise my husband received a phone call from WSIB. That was Monday June 18, 2012. Sorry but I can't remember the title or name of this person who called but I think she was Mrs. Witmer's assistant. She told my husband she had his file in front of her and would be reviewing it that very same day. She also said she would have an answer before three o'clock that afternoon. 

Holy cow! Freak us out. After all this time. It was nerve racking. Each minute was torture. We felt positive she would come back with an approval but there is always that small chance scratching at the back of your mind - what if.

A little after three o'clock, my husband received the call. His claim was approved. Yahoooooo! Treatment! Money!

When? When will treatment start? When is the money coming? We need the money to be at the lawyers office by July second! We are running out of time.

Tuesday came and went. 

Wednesday.

Thursday.

My husband called me at work in the morning. He received a cheque for almost six thousand dollars by Purolator. Wow. We need more but it was a great start.

He took his cheque to the bank to deposit the cheque into his account.

There's a problem.

PROBLEM! What problem?

Gary has not earned any money in more than a year. The bank closed his account a long time ago because it was inactive. At the time, his bank account was in the minus. Quite a bit in the minus.

When my husband found out his bank account was closed, he had to speak to the Assistant  Manager because the Manager was away for a few days. They could not reopen his account and would not open a new one. 

He lost it. I can picture it. His face all red, frothing at the mouth, and that vein in the middle of his forehead enlarged and throbbing. Yep he was yelling, swearing and calling her names.

As usual, when something is going on, my husband called me at work as soon as he got home to tell me what happened at the bank. I listened and told him to go to a different bank and open an account. He agreed but turned out he didn't. He ended up calling the Assistant Bank Manager and apologized for his behaviour - explaining how his PTSD made him do it.

Friday June twenty-second. I got up as usual and started to get ready for work. He started bugging right away. "Take the day off." "Go to the bank and cash the cheque." Shit. He just wouldn't stop so we went to the bank.

We didn't wait long for a teller. I explained that my Husband did not have a bank account and we needed to have this government issued cheque cashed. She told us that she would have to put the cheque on hold for five business days. Please, I asked, we need at least four hundred dollars because our house insurance had to be paid before four-thirty or it would be cancelled. We have been waiting a year for this money. We have missed house insurance payments so many times and they would not wait. If we did not make this payment deadline our insurance would be cancelled then it would be impossible to  obtain insurance anywhere else. And since our mortgage was at the lawyers, the bank would foreclose faster if the house insurance was cancelled. 

The teller apologized. She wished she could help. The bank's policy was to put a hold on large cheques like this one. Even government cheques? I asked. Yes because sometimes the government will put a stop payment on a cheque. I pleaded some more. She said she would be right back. She wanted to speak to her supervisor.

Oh look. It was the Assistant Manager. She came over to us. She would not cash the cheque. She would not allow me to deposit the cheque and disburse a few hundred dollars to us. She could verify the cheque on Monday and cash the cheque. We explained about the deadline and Monday would be too late.

The Assistant asked us to take a seat and wait for a few minutes. She had to take care of a couple of things and call  head office.

Ten minutes later she returned and asked us to join her in  her office.  No good news. The bank wouldn't budge. No money for us here.

My Husband freaked. He walked out swearing. I sat there for a moment trying to compose myself. Tears swelled up in my eyes. I apologized to the Assistant Manager and explained, it's been hard. I stood up slowly and walked out of her office and out of the bank.

When I got to the car, Gary was standing beside it having a smoke. His cousin, Claude, who came along for the ride was having a smoke too. 

Claude told Gary to go to the bank he deals with. My husband has no identification but we decided to give it a try. 

I sat in the car while Claude and my husband went into this bank. 

It was really hot in the car. It must have been thirty degrees with the humidity. I had two smokes. I was getting anxious because I had to get to work.

Finally. They came back. I couldn't read the expression on Gary's face. He sat down in the driver's seat. 

Well? 

No problem. 

Jack had went up to the teller with my husband and said, hi, this is my brother and he needs to open a bank account. This teller has a thing for Jack. They were flirting back and forth while she looked my husband up on the computer. She found him there from years and years ago when he had an account there. She opened a new account. She called WSIB and had the cheque verified right then and there. My husband deposited his cheque and took some cash out. No holds either.

I closed my eyes and thought, thank you. Thank you so much.

We went straight to the insurance company and my husband plopped the money down.  

Saved again.

What a great weekend we had. Okay we were foolish but I didn't care. We ordered in food on Friday night. Went shopping on Saturday and on Sunday. It was fantastic. I don't even remember when I could go out and just spend. There were so many things we needed. It was hard choosing. Pluck it. Buy whatever came to mind. Yah!

I spent four hundred dollars! I bought for two of my daughters, for my husband, for two of my granddaughters and things for the house. It felt so good to be able to buy for my family. It had been so long. I wanted to spoil them and I did.

I knew more money was coming. Wednesday afternoon another cheque came by Purolater. And another cheque.

My husband deposited the cheques in his brand spanking new bank account and had a certified cheque made out to the lawyers office in the amount of eleven thousand dollars. And a couple hundred to spare. He went straight to the delivery company and had it sent out with a void cheque. 

Just in time. Proof of insurance was sent out on Wednesday. The lawyers received the money and void cheque on the last day. Friday June twenty-ninth before closing. 

Saved again.

I have been very fortunate to have so many caring people in my life. Everything in the universe shifted to save the day at the last minute. Thank you.

Do you have a similar story to share? I would love to hear it.

Pleading For Help

Letter of Depression

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his is a copy of a letter that I emailed to our local MPP's office. At this point my husband has been to the MPP's office several times speaking to to Nick, the MPP's assistant. My husband wanted me to write to Nick. I didn't and still don't understand why but he insisted and growled at me until I wrote the email. I don't think in the scheme of things that it made a difference to Nick or my husband's case but I actually felt better after writing it. Have a read.

Hi Nick,

You don't know me but you have met my husband. I am not sure what he has told you. But last week I was so depressed and crying because i just had nothing left in me to keep going. He leaned toward me and said to stop worrying. He explained that you told him to stop worrying, that you would take care of it. It was enough reassurance that I could get up and kiss our honey bunny good night.

I didn't really believe that everything was going to be okay. These last three - four years have been a living nightmare. The constant anxiety, the butterflies in my stomach, my heart racing, the urge to rip my hair out and run around screaming. The problems with money, the problems living with someone who has PTSD . . .

As you know, my husband has not been working. He has been diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. His WSIB claim is pending and Disability takes forever.

We are always in arrears with the mortgage so the threat of foreclosure is always looming over our heads. Actually, I feel alone in this. My husband just doesn't seem to get the importance of paying our bills. Maybe it is his prescriptions or his PTSD. I don't know.

I have a three year old and a sixteen year old that I am responsible for. And of course my husband who cannot contribute financially, emotionally or physically (around the house). I can't afford food or keep up the bills.

In the fall of 2010, Union Gas disconnected our gas. I was carrying pots of boiled water up the stairs to the bathtub so our Hunny Bunny could have a warm bath. (The rest of us tolerated ice showers.) I ended up slipping and falling down the stairs and breaking my ankle. I had surgery on Saturday night and went home Sunday afternoon. I went to work on Monday because I couldn't afford to take any time off. I don't know if you have had a broken a bone like that -requiring screws, but the pain was excruciating.

My husband's car is sitting in the driveway. We have been using it for parts to keep my car going so I can get to work. We can't drive once it gets dark because the rear lights don't work. Someone slashed all four tires last spring then a few weeks later smashed the rear passenger door window. Someone thought I was lying when I told them what has been happening because no one has that much bad luck.

Did you know that Union Gas can shut off your gas in the fall and then when winter comes and you still have not paid the bill, your family can just freeze?

Did you know that Cambridge North Dumfries Hydro can shut off your electricity in the summer. That means no cooking, no hot water because the water heater requires electricity, no lights, nothing....

Did you know that we cannot get any kind of assistance because I make too much money?

I need to see light at the end of the tunnel. I am literally losing my mind.

We are going to lose our home. Nothing like kicking a person when they are already down. We were financially in a good place, now it has all fallen apart. I had to cash in RRSPs. I am being garnished for credit card debt. We racked up the cards trying to get by. I have borrowed from almost everyone I know. We are at the end now. No one else can lend me the money I need to catch up the mortgage again. The bank has sent the mortgage to the lawyers to initiate foreclosure. WE CAN'T LOSE OUR HOME. Please help us. Please. . .

Sincerely,
Darlene Nemeth

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder

PTSD Crashed Into Our Lives

The Nightmare

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o say it has been difficult would be an understatement. For me it has been a living nightmare from which I can not wake. For him? That is a little hard for me to answer. He has been dealing with it for almost four years now in secret. He didn't share anything with anyone. He believed    he was going insane.

The Accident

H

e could tell you the exact year, day and time that it happened. It has been burned forever into his memory. 

Not me. Most days I can't remember how old I am. Ya, I feel dumb admitting that but it's true. I don't even remember if the accident occurred in the winter or summer.  

He called me at work on the day of the accident. I could hear his voice quivering as he spoke then he broke down. I didn't know what to think or how to react so I just listened.

His coworker, his friend fell from the second floor of the house they were working on, head first into the cement. My husband ran to his friend's side. His friend was not moving and his eyes were wide open blankly staring into space. 

He's dead.

I can't image.

Gary yelled out for help and stayed with his friend till others arrived and took over.

That was the day everything changed. The accident killed the man my husband was but his friend survived.

The Next Day

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he man who hired Gary walked across the parking lot to join him in the car. Since my husband’s transfer to a different department, Joe was no longer his supervisor but the two of them had kept in touch and I suppose they were friends. 

Joe knew my husband enough to see there was something wrong. They spoke briefly then went into work.

The company had brought in some sort of specialist, a counselor to speak to the crew. My husband was the first person to go in the office. This woman was there to counsel the employees. What were her credentials? Where did they get her from? She told my husband to get plenty of sleep, eat properly, exercise and keep happy thoughts. My husband scoffed. What kind of ridiculous advice was this? And he left the room to return back to work.

The Storm Clouds

Where is My Husband

H

e worked a lot. I'm not sure if he worked more . . . but it seemed like he was working all the time. When he wasn't working he was sleeping. If he wasn't sleeping he was miserable.

 I remember brief appearances where he would come down from the bedroom to get something to eat. His pacing; the scowl on his face; the swearing because he couldn't find something.  We couldn't do anything without agitating him. We couldn't do anything right. We were damned if we did and damned if we didn't.

The atmosphere in our home was awful. We felt it the moment we walked in the door. It just got worse the longer we were there. Oh, sorry I forgot to mention that this atmosphere was only present when he was there. We walked on egg shells whenever he was there. 

I was so grateful for the hours he worked. He left for work just before the girls got home from school and returned when we were asleep. Those times were great. The girls and I could relax and enjoy each others company. We laughed, sang, played games, watched movies, did homework together . . . 

The weekends were unbearable when he was around. I would take the kids out as much as possible because anywhere was better than home. We spent much of our time at parks, beaches, the homes of family and friends.

I can chuckle to myself now but then? He would get so angry he looked like a rabid dog! His face would get red. The blue vein in the middle of his forehead got huge and pulsed with a life of it's own. He would clench his teeth and you could see his jaw muscles throbbing. Spitting mad? I thought it was just an expression. Not true. His spit got frothy and gathered at the sides of his mouth. Some spit would shoot out at me when he was yelling. I would have to dodge it or get it in the face!

But honestly, it wasn't funny at all. I could see his outbursts coming. It started with him being easily agitated. The smallest things annoyed him. He paced back and forth on the dining room floor. Before I knew it he was bitching and complaining. (He'd say, men don't bitch.) I'd ask what's wrong. We, meaning the girls and I, were the problem.

Yep, it's time to run and hide now. Daddy is getting grumpy again.

Do you know someone with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder? I would love to read your story.


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