It used to be one of my favorite holidays.  I have memories of my dad going upstate and getting my mom some of the biggest pumpkins ever. She would take so much joy intricately carving those, decorating the house, buying a new “creepy” thing each year to add to her collection.  She reveled in each of the costumed children that came to the door, particularly the littles. One of the things I “got” from her was a love of this day. Jesse loved it as well.  For many years, we were the creepiest house on the block by far.  We one upped ourselves each year, the last themed off of “The Shining.”  We even had it playing out of one of the top story windows.  My favorite was when some of the teens came a bit later, not dressed up, acting all cool, saying trick or treat, and when taking in the house, the fake blood, “creepy baby” hanging by a noose, stepping back and saying “hey man, that ain’t right!!!”  It made our night.  Creepy baby was this doll given to us many years ago that “resembled” a real baby, a little too much, but as the years went by, hair loved off, a finger bitten off by Bella, she got renamed “creepy baby,” even by the kids.

The first Halloween after they died, I dressed my house up in the lights, pumpkins, ready to hand out candy.  You see, Raffi wanted everything like it used to be, and though my heart was not in it, I did it for her. When the first little girl came running up the stairs in a Frozen costume, I lost it.  And continued to for the rest of the night, swearing I would never do this to myself again. Last year, my best friend and I went to a movie and beforehand I got a whiskey flight to numb the day.

The triggers are double-fold for me. I ponder what my sweet girl would have been and when I see littles dressed up, the ache, the wonder of, and the longing for her multiplies. Then there are the dead people. Well, not really dead, but alive people who are dressed as dead people. I want to scream at them, yell, scream some more, no! You have it all wrong! If you are going to do it, do it right! Or, even worse, it may be close to right, then I just want to curl in a ball and sob.  I have noticed the flashbacks of what I found that night have of course increased over the past week.  Sometimes after seeing that “costume,” and sometimes, when I think my mind is clear as I am falling off to sleep.  That’s fun, lemme tell you, not.

I met with someone last night that I am getting to know, who does not know what happened. The original invite was to the Lone Fir Cemetery’s Tales of Untimely Departures. I freaked. Because I wanted to see this person, was not ready to tell them what had happened and why on earth I could not do this outing. I almost said yes. I actually love cemeteries. I love the history, the energy, the calmness when walking through them. It’s quite poetic. I feel as if it is one of those places the line is thinner between this and the dead. And no, neither one of them is in a cemetery.  Jesse is in the bottom of the ocean where he wanted to be with his dad.  And Bells, I am looking at her right now as I write this. I just can’t let her go…aside from the memories, it’s all I have. That is another blog for another day. Back to the beginning of this paragraph. I almost said yes. I got lovingly reminded by a friend why I absolutely could not do this adventure even as I was trying to talk myself into it. I so appreciate those kicks in the ass when I need them!  I said no. Let’s meet for dinner instead. It was not the cemetery, it was the potential of running into people who were dressed as dead people. It was this anxiety of being with someone who I do not know very well, who does not know this whole side of me, my story. The anxiety of seeing one of these people dressed up and me having a serious flashback leading to a complete panic attack.  It is why I say no to even my friends.  Fear. The triggers that come from PTSD can be so severe, so debilitating, so scary, so real. My close friends and family have seen it happen to me.  They see me helpless to it. They see me fight it. They see it take me over. My body subject to the hell my mind is in. I know what to do when it happens. But the success depends on the severity. Sometimes it wins.

So where does this leave me? In life? For Halloween? I fight. I fight for the right to party.  Sorry, Beasty Boys reference there, I couldn’t help it. Seriously. I do fight. When those invites come in, I have to evaluate them. If it is for watching the Walking Dead, the answer is always no. Always. I have seen dead people, and not in the Sixth Sense kind of way. That image is scarred forever into my brain and I see it everyday in my head. I do not need to see the Walking Dead. Though I hear it is good. It leaves me in this place of wanting safety. Yet wanting to live and experience new things, new people. Life. Which can have the potential to trigger me. A juxtaposition. I am thankful for my rational brain. I am thankful for my friends when it is not. I am thankful for those same friends who hold my hand when I am in a potential triggering situation. It leaves me in a place where if the PTSD wins, that I am compassionate with myself. I am the type of person that gets infuriated with my body and self when I get a cold, you can only imagine when I have a panic attack or feel like I cannot do something because it may trigger me. It pisses me off. A lot. And like having to learn to say yes, thank you, when people offered me help after Jesse and Bella died, I have had to learn self compassion as well. This is a good thing. I continue to hope. I hope that maybe next year I will be able to do the Lone Fir Cemetery thing. I hope that I can go to a Halloween party. I cannot imagine I won’t get triggered. That is not how PTSD works. But, I have hope.  The first ten or so Timber soccer games I went to, I had mild to mid severity panic attacks. It has slowly subsided to me being able to go almost all the time without now. So, with this hope in hand, I continue on this amazing path called life, waiting and wanting those new adventures.

Our house, The Shining playing the top window, noose and pick ax in the other, and creepy baby to greet the trick or treaters.