It's been six weeks since a man broke into my house in the middle of the night. When I realized the dark shape at the door was a man, I was out of bed before I knew it, screaming, "Get out of here - get out of here." I punched him and pulled him toward the door. I managed to get the door open, pushed him out, shut and locked the door.
I didn't call the police until the next morning and when I thought about it I realized I must have been in shock. But it didn't feel like what I imagined shock feels like - everything got quiet inside me, I moved slowly, bewildered, trying to solve a puzzle I didn't quite understand.
I went to a party later that day; it didn't occur to me not to. I told a few people what had happened, talked about how astonished I was at my aggressive reaction, pure reflex. Naturally, they commiserated and as they did I nodded, reassuring them that I was all right. I felt all right. Something had happened, now it was over and I moved on. It's true for the first few nights I slept with the light on, but my need to do that was very quickly was over.
I sometimes saw the moment when I realized that dark shape was a man. I tried to feel what I must have felt when I was screaming and punching him but there was no emotion attached to anything I was imagining. I didn't quite believe that the break-in had happened and I shook my head in amazement that I had actually managed to push the man out the door.
A few days ago, I realized I was jumpy, literally jumping at every sound, even during the day. And I heard a lot of sounds - my senses were in overdrive and I couldn't quite relax.
It took me a while to associate my being so on edge with the break-in. It just didn't seem likely that I'd been fine for weeks and now suddenly wasn't. But I kept seeing the dark form that turned into a man and I felt the fear that I didn't feel then.
I googled the symptoms of PTSD. It can emerge a long time after the traumatic event. In women, it's most associated with a violent event. There is obsessive thinking, a reliving the event again and again. As I read, it made complete sense that I had PTSD. But I didn't want to tell anyone or tell myself that there was a label for what I was experiencing. PTSD sounded so melodramatic it embarrassed me. But I realized there was another feeling in me that had nothing to do with PTSD although it was set off by it. I was really embarrassed by my having any reaction at all. I wasn't supposed to be rattled by anything. I shouldn't be vulnerable. I expected I would rise above such petty feelings as fear. Slowly I recognized that was ridiculous and then it came to me. I was demanding I be a block of ice.
