The find wasn't as much as I'd hoped for, but was certainly pleasant. There were a few from San Francisco, a few from Cannery Row at Monterey, Carmel By The Sea, Pebble Beach, some from Muir Woods, quite a few from Grand Canyon (Is that one holy place or what?), High Sierras, Donner Lake, Michigan's Upper Peninsula, a few from the Smoky Mountains, one or two from Gulf Shores, etc.
I also found a couple of envelopes with photos from what appear to be the late 70s or early 80s: one is from a business trip to London and the other Chicago. Nothing, and I mean nothing, captures quality images the way 35mm film cameras do. The camera I speak of is an Asahi (not a Pentax, but strictly an Asahi) that uses a mercury battery and those haven't been available in the united states for many years.
While I was VERY happy to have found them at all, without having to go through the process as if I were packing, there weren't very many of Jack or I, but there were a couple of my parents and a few with his family mambers, 1 sister of his which is deceased.
I am now at a point where I hate clocks and calendars with every ounce of my being and for obvious reasons. To quote Jim Croce, "But there never seems to be enough time to do the things you want to do once you find them. I've looked around enough to know that you're the one I want to go through time with."
While I can clearly hear that song in my head as I type this.....If I actually played it, I would horribly break down.
PTSD is something I live with and don't particularly enjoy talking about. I have both types; Acute and delayed. Most will associate PTSD with war vets, and I understand that as well as respect what vets have endured in order to receive the immediate attention regarding this illness.....but make literally no mistake about the fact that people with preexisting mental conditions, such as myself and for a host of reasons, go through bouts of this illness just as hard and sometimes worse than a vet does. A vet usually only recalls a few situations which will cause a 'manic episode', and those episodes can vary from fits of rage to long periods of silence and a facial appearance like a stick man (something a kid in elementary school would draw) to sometimes days of crying, often self-medicating with any number of substances, etc etc.
I have 2 gears; Boiling rage and emotionally cold.....cold enough to where I'm now beginning to understand, all too well, the look I used to see in my father's eyes....how his pupils used to dilate and become shiny in appearance, and there would be no look on his face. But, his eyes said everything his face didn't.
When I began finding myself in the photos I was looking at (I hope that makes sense), I began the swings of mood from way up high, smiling and saying, "AH, YESSS, THERE I WE ARE AT (fill in the blank)", to suddenly saying nothing and yet holding a photo in my hand for several minutes, not realizing how much time had passed.
By the time I finished with all the photos in the container and places it in a spot where it wouldn't fall over and spill everywhere, I began shaking all over....the same way a person would who is going through a detox. I immediately had to take a double dose of my meds just to get it to remotely subside. The highs and lows of PTSD took me through the emotions, but left me shaking in the end. Unfortunately, that's only part of the realm of what PTSD is capable of doing to someone.
When I first understood that I had it (or should I say "Accepted that I have it") is when my father's Alzheimers had taken its toll enough where he had 4 grand mal seizures, was taken to the emergency room, and was transferred to a nursing home from there. I didn't get down there until a couple of weeks after that incident, but was there for 5 days. During those 5 days I lost 18 pounds, had 2 stressed induced seizures which cracked a few teeth, slept less than 10 hours and ended up dehydrated enough that I should've checked myself into an emergency room, myself. Instead, my PTSD screamed "RUN!! RUN NOW!!", and run back to Knoxville is exactly what I did.
That day, I don't remember the trip back here. I'm actually surprised I made it home, safely. My cell phone was in my pocket and relatively brand new, at the time. Jack saw me and became very afraid for my safety. So, he found where the camera was located on the cell phone, sent me to the bathroom and told me to take a photo of myself. I told him I didn't want the camera showing up in the photo (yeah, I know......), so he figured out how to do it without the camera showing up, then handed it back to me and said to not change the look on my face at all, then take the photo. I did. The photo is terrible, and that's putting it mildly.
My point: What you see, here, is something I don't want to relive, ever again. The PTSD, on a speck of silver lining, probably will not allow that to happen. I just don't have it in me, emotionally, anymore.
If you think anyone has a condition remotely close to this, or if you see someone who looks like this, know that something is VERY wrong and that person needs to get immediate help. If you care about that person at all, FIND A WAY to get help for him/her. It could save a life. You have no idea how close I came to taking my own life. If Jack had not been here, I probably would've. But again, I'm now not suicidal. This was taken in September, '07.
Please, let's stop treating mental illness as society's child and at least try bringing people like me back to the category of everyday folks. I really am tired of the label I've been forced to wear for so many years.
Peace to all.
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