My Frozen World: CPTSD-induced Dissociation

It’s Sunday night a bit past 9pm, the curfew during “winter hours” at the wellness center I now find myself in.  I haven’t had a curfew since I was a sophomore in high school.  It’s not that I was forced here, however.  I can come and go as I please and can grab my stuff and walk out that front door right now.  Thing is, though, I’m actually glad to be here… to a certain extent, anyway.

I was homeless for a relatively short period of time because I had to immediately move out as I was allergic to black mold which began to spew its spores once the heat and humidity of summer hit.  I had to get everything out and into storage so the spores didn’t infiltrate all of my belongings.

I couldn’t find another apartment quickly enough because of my credit, which was in tatters for much the same reason that I became homeless: a confluence of circumstances sent me spinning into my “Frozen World.”  This is my euphemism for what happens to me when a stressor or a combination thereof induce the fight-flight-freeze response.

My Complex PTSD, stemming from physical and psychological childhood traumas, indirectly brought my Frozen World into existence.  I was cognitively aware of these repeated events from my youth but I never emotionally approached them. 

I chalked them up to “childhood as usual" and unknowingly threw up a psychological defensive barrier against feeling any of the related emotions.  This is my Frozen World, but it existed solely in regards to those childhood traumas until relatively recently.

Outside the context of dealing with my childhood experiences, I never previously froze up except for extremely short-term situations.  I fought like hell to defeat the daunting challenges of my life.  That’s the only way I could have made it as far as I had in this world considering the lack of opportunities due to my original socio-economic status (that would be “white trash”).

Finding out I was to be a father caused me to reflect on what kind of father I had.  This brought out so much internal darkness and pain that it swamped my brain’s defenses and swept away the boundaries of my Frozen World. 

The flood of emotions was such that I only dealt with everything thereafter by freezing instead of fighting or fleeing.  I was never one to run away from anything, but I simply lost the capacity to fight.  My Frozen World had now expanded to encompass my entire life.

I progressively began freezing in a state of denial and inaction whenever presented with any type of significant stressor.  With regard to my apartment, I failed to quickly find a landlord willing to risk my credit score.  I had nowhere else to go and no natural support since my family is 900 miles away. 

I couldn’t live with my girlfriend at the time because she had a clause in her divorce agreement preventing that due to her young daughters.  I stayed in hotels the other 80% of nights and ate at restaurants three or four times daily, all of which quickly drained my finances.

I could no longer keep my own girls for overnights, which devastated both them and me.  It also placed me in my ex’s crosshairs because I just knew she would use it against me in court to take the 45% custody I was awarded.  The stress and frustration of it all was simply too much, so I entered my Frozen World and simply acted as though there was no problem at all. 

It’s not like I went into a deep depression or anything.  I didn’t go on some substance abuse bender.  I was happy with my new girlfriend, enjoyed summertime Chicago, went camping, was hanging out socially for the first time in years, and was more or less free of my ex-wife and her manipulative family.  I simply enjoyed life while completely ignoring all of the problems I cognitively knew about but could not emotionally handle.  There’s no room for emotion on my Frozen World.

I eventually began sleeping in my SUV, but that wasn’t so bad because it’s designed for that purpose when camping.  This became my norm for many weeks, even though I still sometimes stayed in a hotel when my spinal fusion acted up. 

Then the money essentially ran out altogether.  Even still I was safely ensconced within my Frozen World, so I just kept on living as normally as I could.  It was fairly normal actually, and yet also simultaneously de-stabilizing in ways which I only now understand after the fact.

So I’m basically homeless, almost completely out of money, the bond between me and my girls was straining, and then my girlfriend ran for the hills (or Lincoln Park).  She knew about everything, but it became too much for her to handle.  She tried to tough it out, but her heart couldn’t bear the weight of it all and she had to kill our special connection to save herself.  I don’t blame her at all.  It’s what I would have told my own daughters to do.

Once she left me, however, I completely came apart at the seams.  Her resilience was a crutch allowing my mind to continue its presence on my Frozen World.  I almost immediately had two bouts of suicidal ideation within 10 days, but these were little more than elaborate cries for help.  Suicide could never have happened because to kill myself would have been either a fight or flight response.  All I seem to be able to do anymore is freeze. 

Fact is, I love this life.  Even with all the horrific things I went through and how I’m currently reduced to essentially nothing, I am so grateful to be alive.  I need only to think of this past summer in order to reflect on the simple wonders this world provides.  Even if I didn’t feel this way, the fact is that I have two little girls who deserve to grow up with their Daddy.  I could never be so selfish as to willingly abandon them via suicide or any other means.

The social worker at the hospital I checked myself into at the end of my final ideation suggested I come to the wellness center from which I now write this.  I went on the wait list and luckily just a week or so later I found my sanctuary.  This is a place for persons with various mental health challenges to get short-term stabilization in their lives, tame or control the effects of their condition(s), and get back to successfully restart their lives.

In only my third night here I have already developed a sense of safety, stability, and hope I wasn’t sure I’d ever get back.  This has unfortunately been intermittently interrupted by thoughts of that which I once was, had, and dreamed.  

It’s impossible to not be introspective given the opportunities and successes I’ve already experienced.  Yet I need only to look around at the significance of what other residents here face to confirm just how fortunate I am to have the abilities and talents Mother Nature has lovingly bestowed upon me.

I’ve been stripped almost completely of my confidence, pride, and ego.  Yet I consider this to be a positive development.  My life can now be reconstructed in a healthy way and be cognizant of all that which I could never admit or even know about myself before now.  

For the first time in my life I have support from people without any ulterior motives.  They aren’t invested in specifically what I do with my life like the “support” I had before with my family, my ex-wife, and her family.  Now it’s simply about me being healthy and happy regardless of what form that takes.  

It’s akin to being forced to demolish and then rebuild your dream home because it had a poorly-constructed foundation hidden beneath a façade of finery.   I’ve cried a monsoon of tears as my old life caved in on itself, and I will continue to weep on occasion for the wonderful yet irreplaceable parts of my life which were irretrievably destroyed.  

Those tears are no longer ones of regret or shame, though.  Those are feelings which breed self-loathing and can quickly spiral me down back into my Frozen World.  These are tears of grieving and, like all grief, they will diminish over time.

I understand myself so much better and have a deeper trust in what my therapy/recovery can accomplish.  There's no lingering doubt in my mind about whether I'm capable of true change.  I’m no longer on my Frozen World and I endeavor to never return but, if I do, I know how to better handle it.  My second life will be vastly superior because it’s to be built on a stronger and more secure foundation like that second dream home... and I'm finally ready to start pouring the concrete.

Complex PTSD and Maladaptive Behaviors

Today I want to explore how our childhood traumas have such a profound impact on who we became as adults.  Many men, such as myself, instinctively dissociated from the pain and confusion inflicted upon our newly-forming sense of self and nascent understanding of the world.  In other words, we had no real choice but to avoid confronting the horrors we endured simply to survive as we awaited and reached for the false safety of adulthood.  

I specifically detached from my experiences until I was 32 years old - over 12 years after the final incident - by subconsciously dismissing what happened (repression), consciously pushing aside thoughts and memories (suppression), or flat out deceiving myself and others by downplaying the true severity or impact. 

It came easy to simply insist my childhood was normal and that “of course” there aren’t any ongoing consequences.  To do otherwise was, in my mind, admitting that I was weak-minded and so soft that I couldn’t even get past things which happened when I was a child.  I'm a strong and resilient man who toughs things out damn it! 

Yet it isn’t about being tough-minded or strong-willed.  There were plenty of signs that I had some deep-seated issues which needed to be addressed.  Back in the day when I used to get into fights, I would never remember the first shot I took.  The beginnings of those altercations were never part of my memory.  I always blacked out for a split second (even when it wasn't a blow to the head) and then I'm back.  It's the most bizarre thing, but I never really contemplated why that happened. 

Then through therapy and research I began learning about the dissociative aspects of my mind, which stemmed from the prolonged physical and psychological abuse I sustained as a child.  It was my brain's way of shutting off right when I would start to absorb the blows from my father in an apparent attempt to anesthetize and protect me.  I’ve since tried to explain this as going into mini-shock.  Of course, the pain of successive blows brought me right back to reality... but it is truly bizarre (and a little awe-inspiring) to recognize how adaptive the human brain is. 

This was also how I came to truly comprehend how my coping mechanisms, which were so effective in childhood, were utterly destructive when implemented in the adult world.  This is essentially what is meant by “maladaptive.”  For example, the "mini-shock" reaction helped me not feel the initial attacks from my father during childhood, but it put me at an absurd disadvantage during fights once I got older.  It was adaptation to my traumatic world as a kid but ended up being quite bad for me later. 

I'm not terribly concerned with addressing the particular issue related to fighting because I'm not an idiot teenager/20-something anymore and my last fight was over a decade ago.  However, there are plenty more maladaptive behaviors from childhood which I've subsequently had to overcome or are currently still trying to overcome by re-wiring my brain little by little, day after day.

The significance of this makes it worth repeating: Those coping mechanisms which served us fairly well throughout our disturbing youth are at best unhealthy during adulthood in virtually any context.  It’s okay to be self-absorbed as a child/young adult because your job is basically to focus on yourself and become the best adult version of yourself possible.  Once adulthood hits - and I mean the adulthood of responsibilities - the problems arise as you navigate workplace politics… romantic relationships… new and ever-changing social groupings... parenting your children… and all of the other ways in which adults must become those social animals evolution demand we be. 

Those preservation tactics from my youth are predicated on withdrawal, sole reliance on self, and distrust of virtually everyone.  Those tactics continue to be the ones I initially reach for even now.  I cognitively know adults don’t effectively function this way with all of the responsibilities and pressures associated with career/family/etc, but I still have to work hard at recognizing when I do these things.  That’s what I mean by “doing the work” in recovery.

I do my best to recognize when I use these maladaptive tactics, but it continues to normally come after the fact.  But that’s okay for now.  My therapist uses a football analogy.  Very rarely do you get to score on the first play of a drive.  So I shouldn’t expect myself to completely change my behaviors in this area immediately.  As long as I’m being introspective and honest with myself each time I have these maladaptive behaviors, then I’m moving the ball forward a little bit down the field.  Recognize them often enough, continue to determine more productive and positive methods which would have been better, and I’m slowly but surely retraining my brain to respond differently to various triggers… and that’s the touchdown at the end.

There's a concept called neuroplasticity about which I will go into great detail in a future post because it lies at the heart of why we can fully recover from CPTSD, unlike other diagnoses which require medication and therapy for life.  The basic idea behind neuroplasticity is that parts of the human brain were “wrecked” to a certain extent by the traumas which resulted in CPTSD, but the brain is elastic enough to withstand the wreckage and be “rewired” through recovery as with the process I just explained above.  I’ve already started seeing the results, and I’m working harder than ever as a result.

No matter how much progress you and I make in our recovery, whatever occurred during our life to necessitate recovery in the first place will always be a part of our life story.  We’ve spent so much effort dissociating ourselves willfully or not from the pain of those incidents that the mere thought of outright owning them as our own seems absurd and terrifying.  During my recovery I begrudgingly acknowledged the need to own those parts of myself that I wanted so much to push away, but it was only after many false starts that I finally “got it.” 

I can tell you from experience that this is a painful process.  Those distressing realities of our past need to be embraced as obstacles we will conquer, and only then can we dispatch their current destructive power.  We can become free and whole again by embracing our traumatic history, understanding how our previous defenses have become our current maladaptive behaviors, and then doing the work to retrain our brain away from using them.