Nearly two years have passed since my husband got his diagnosis of PTSD. Two years of relief, joy, sadness and despair. I think for us, the hardest thing has been loss.
My husband has lost the man he thought he was. All he ever dreamed of was being a police officer. It gave him so much pride.
We have lost the security his job brought us, and, to some extent, lost hope for the future. Each day passes and sometimes it’s more shit than the last. Will he ever find a job? Will it bring him the same satisfaction and pride and sense of self that he had as a cop?
Will we be able to have another child? Can we even afford to? And will having a baby bring out the fears and anxieties in him that forced him out of his job?
For me, I try to be the glue that holds our family together. Some days I feel more like silly string. Fun, maybe, but more messy and ineffective.
Some days I am angry that I may have to sacrifice my own dreams to support this family.
Some days I am angry at myself for being selfish and demanding, because isn’t love about sacrifice?
Some days I nag and push and manipulate him, when I know I should be more gentle.
Some days I enable him, when I know I shouldn’t.
And some days – more often than I should – I spend long hours in bed dreaming of a better life.
I hate PTSD.
I hate the people that pushed my brilliant husband out of a job instead of supporting him back into it. I hate the people who don’t hire him and don’t give him a chance when he is smart and charismatic.
So much hate.
I wish that I could be more positive.
We do have lots to be thankful for. We have a beautiful family and our kids are happy and healthy despite our lack of funds. We have a supportive extended family and network of friends. My husband is a lot better than he was. The anxiety and depression was all to do with his work, so now that he’s no longer in that work he sleeps and he’s healthy.
So I should be more positive, but I guess sometimes it’s hard to be grateful when the future looks so cloudy.
I wish for peace…
I wish for hope….
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