“She would run my head under the faucet, kick me, grab me by my hair and shake me, take things from me, throw away my things, forbid me to come upstairs from the basement…”
She loves music, listening to bird calls, and reading. Although she’s just in her early twenties, she’s already been diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder and dysthymia. Her diagnoses follow a difficult and abusive childhood.
What makes Sveta’s story a bit different from most stories of PTSD and abuse is this: she’s also blind.
Although she can perceive colors and shapes, and distinguish between light and dark, that’s the extent of her visual ability. The blindness affects everything from her ability to escape triggering situations to her anxiety coping strategies. Her parents still largely control the minutae of her everyday life, so Sveta finds herself struggling to carve out her own strategies for controlling her environment.
Summer: Have you always been blind, or were you able to see at some point in your life?
Sveta: I was born 3 months and 2 weeks early. I was put on oxygen because I couldn’t breathe. The result was that not only could I breathe, but the blood vessels in my eyes grew too fast, forcing the retina and the eye apart.
SB: And you suffer from an anxiety disorder, correct? Do you mind sharing your diagnoses?
S: I have been diagnosed with dysthymia, also known as chronic depression and complex PTSD, which is like BPD but to a lesser degree.
SB: Do you feel the dysthymia was always present, or did it develop at some point in your life?
S: The dysthymia was always there for as long as I can remember. My parents used to make fun of my love for minor keys saying, “You only like songs where someone dies”. This, of course, isn’t true. I like the minor key, not the death. It happens, sometimes, that songs where someone dies are in minor keys. It also happens that in songs in minor keys, sometimes, someone dies.
That’s my ultimate goal: to be able to manage panic by myself, without outside help, be it human or pharmaceutical. The power is inside of me, somewhere. I just need to find it.
Should I be paying attention to my body or trying to dismiss its faulty signals? I had no idea. This is the greatest struggle for us panickers: separating the signal from the noise.
I woke up and immediately became aware that I couldn’t feel my left leg. At all. Whatever wacky sleeping position I’d gnarled myself into while rolling around in a burrito blanket on the living floor had cut off circulation to my leg.