I posted recently on twitter about my experience with ptsd, and I was surrounded by a chorus of people who are so supportive and many who are also suffering. I don’t talk a lot about it. One, because it took me a long time to accept that it was real for me. And two, because it’s a part of my life I feel a lot of shame about and would rather hide it.
Going out in public causes me a ton of anxiety, and I normally try to limit my trips to twice a day at most, and make sure that I get at least one day a week where I don’t have to go anywhere at all. This weekend, there was a day that had three social engagements, which is a lot for one day. Two morning things, an afternoon rest, followed by plans to go out to see a show.
About an hour before I needed to leave, my hands started to shake, and I began to get the familiar feeling in my stomach, the dull ache in my chest. I took a big dose of CBD because, while it doesn’t stop the shaking, it does help with some of the other pains. The only way to describe it is that it feels like I’m about to die. My whole body hurts, I twitch and flinch easily, like I desperately need to protect my neck. I feel like prey. I want to curl into a ball.
The CBD kicks in and I wait until the last possible second to go. In my car outside the venue, I sit in the driver’s seat and try to talk myself into opening the door. Going to see live music is always hard for me, even though it’s one of my favorite things to do. I was so excited to get tickets for this show, bands reuniting for one time only that I haven’t seen in so long, I know the bar will be packed with people I know.
Dave and I ran a record store together for a decade and at shows a huge part of the anxiety is that I don’t know what former friend or acquaintence I’m going to run into. Who is going to see me and rush over to hug me and ask me in that awful, delicate voice, “how are you doing?” oh god, the concerned eyes, “how are the kids??” and then launch into their favorite memory of my dearly departed while I do my best to quell the vomit rising in my throat and back away.
Most people don’t know that I’d rather not be touched. That I’m barely holding it together. That I wanted to be here, yes but I also want to bolt through that door and drive home straight to my pajamas and my little dog and my weighted blanket.
Inside the door the bouncer is someone I go way back with, he was in the peripheral scene as well as my favorite liquor store clerk back before I got sober, when I was a 12 pack a day IPA kind of person. We greet each other with polite hello’s, I hand him my ID. I instinctively grab ahold of my friend as he leads me to a spot in the middle of the crowd just as the band climbs on stage.
We’re in a place I’ve never been, even though it’s a stone’s throw from the store, it wasn’t here while we were running it. It only popped up recently. It’s the best kind of place, a brick rectangle, the stage 6” taller than the floor. It feels like somebody’s basement only nicer, the only door is next to the stage. There is a bar, where a beautiful blonde with a mesh-back “PLEASE DON’T ASK ME ABOUT MY HUSBAND” trucker hat serves everybody. There’s 300 people and it feels crammed full, everyone standing as close to the stage as they can get. When the band starts, it’s very loud.
On stage is 4 familiar faces, though I haven’t seen them for 15 years. Back from the days when all I did was go to shows in basements and see bands on stages at the Hex and the Triple Rock, legendary clubs both now banished to the Minneapolis history books and wherever ancient Facebook posts go to die. I obsessively loved this band, and it was fun to see them reunited. They played all the favorites. The lyrics came back to me half-remembered, as the crowd of 40 and 50 year olds around me sang and bobbed along wearing their state of the art ear plugs. When did we all get so old?
The hinge in my chest unlocks. There is nothing like the obliteration of loud music. For me, this is going to church. Guitar, bass, and drums so loud they drown out the thoughts in my head. Full body jumping, bouncing, and dancing is heaven for me, an overwhelming sensory experience of lights/stage/sound/dance/song. Grown men only know how to say “I love you” by shoving into each other at rock shows. Being there quiets my mind. The rhyme of some shitty pop lyric forever cemented in my heart. Live music is enthralling, especially when you know all the songs and the people on stage are old friends.
Dave hated the music that I liked, particularly pop punk, my favorite, so I would go to see bands like this alone. It was there, in the dark singing along with strangers that I found friends who liked the same things as me. And as my body starts to relax and the shaking subsides, I look around and see the people I know appearing in the crowd as I recognize everybody’s older and slightly changed faces in the darkened. I’m drenched in relief as I remember that – everything is ok – I wasn’t going to run into his old friends or former classmates: these are *my* friends. Dave would have hated this show, these are my people. This is a band *I* liked.
I’ve learned so much about trauma in the last two years of therapy. I’m doing my best to understand the paths that it has carved in my brain and I am working to undo the damage that I can. I am writing down all of my triggers. I bounce back faster now. I know myself better. I’m not as scared of it anymore, and I know that it’s part of who I am.
Thank you for sharing... some people may not understand, but it's important for us to 'take up space' as people who struggle daily, and hourly without it being obvious to anyone. I hear you, I see you.
I love the end of your essay, as you are rebounding quicker... this? This is healing. It used to take me days to rebound after extreme panic, now it simply takes the amount of time for my adrenaline to subside. VICTORY!!!!
I have moved states away almost two years ago and I still have bouts with PTSD when I go out because of my abusive ex and the survivor need to want them back, but know it's best to avoid them.
My ex has a very common physical profile from head to toe and many tend to wear similar clothing (which is more popular up north for sure with the temperatures).
However I still wince physically when I catch someone and I'm usually with family who never met her so it's not like they can notice.