Last Monday I attended a sleep webinar that my therapist led and invited me to. Backstory: I keep having panic attacks during our sessions, as soon as the subject of sleep is brought up. The first was one of my worst ones, and I had not had any attacks prior to that for several months. It totally took me by surprise.
Because that had happened at the end of our session, we did not address it until the following week. After talking to me about the science behind unprocessed, fragmented memories and how certain sensory experiences can trigger panic attacks, and then how panic attacks can be an indication of trauma, he asked if I would be willing to answer a trauma screening questionnaire. I obliged under the condition that I only have to answer yes or no, and that I could refuse to answer if I didn't feel like it.
Turns out I aced his little test. He diagnosed me with PTSD.
At the very start of therapy almost six months ago, he had already acknowledged that there would have been underlying reasons behind a condition this 'severe' (Cringe... as most eating disordered folks would never admit to the severity of their illness - they are rarely able to validate it, hence it festers and drives them to strive for ever lower weights). However out of respect, I guess, because we knew each other prior to my intervention, he has never pushed for me to disclose anything and let me take my time opening up.
It took three months to even broach the subject, and only because of an unintentional anxiety attack. Typically screening questionnaires are done at the beginning. He said that was a testament to my avoidance skills. Yay?
I have digressed. Where were we.
After the webinar my therapist then messaged me saying he hopes it didn't make me anxious. It didn't, but him asking me about it did. So I told him that, and also told him that I have just realised why. It is not the subject of sleep per se, but the fact that he is asking me about it. We agreed to talk about it next session.
The anxiety, I realised, is because if he asks, then I will feel compelled to tell him why I have such a problem with sleep. And the first time I experienced an attack during our session, I had flashbacks of sleep paralysis episodes I used to have in my twenties. They were horrible. I would get sexually assaulted in my sleep, realise that I was asleep and try to bring myself out of it, but I was paralysed. Eventually I'd wake up, but even that event of waking up, was a dream. And this would repeat, over and over. Until I would wake up for real, utterly exhausted, scared and anxious with no one to tell about it.
Because how could I? I lived with grace at the time but I was not ready to share that with her yet. It took a further eight years for me to be able to disclose that with her.
I told her, that I planned on finally telling my therapist about it. She said she can see why I am hesitating, perhaps I am just being cautious? But sometimes we need to uproot the problem to expose the cause.
I said, "Well of course, anyone in my position would hesitate, this is heavy shit."
That's why literally only she knows, and my therapist, barely. My husband can never know. Never mind the actual experience, but the fact that I distrust my memory of it so much. Everything had been erased until I was in my teens, and then even now my memories are hazy at best. Things are making sense in hindsight, but I have no clear memories to back them up.
Her strategy has always been to bury, forget, distract. I am just unable to do that - I mean I would love to move on and sweep everything under the rug, but there is just a mountain of shit under there now and I keep tripping over it. It just does not seem to be an option for me.
2021-12-03.8:04 a.m.
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