Discovering the activation of my trauma dissociation

Hospitals have a specific smell…I would know, I’ve been to quite a few all over the world due to a genetic condition that can disable me without warning or explanation.

Apparently, I was 5 years old when I had an altercation with a mirror that resulted in a trip to the Emergency Room, lots of stitches, pain, blood, and traumatic amounts of loss. To this day I have a thing against getting blood transfusions…I think my child mind misunderstood something about them. There’s even a scar that I’ve never noticed before. It’s not in a prominent position, and my brain had a way of hiding it from me so that I would not recall or question what caused it. But I was attacked at my former workplace by a hateful coworker who wanted to claim I was a DEI hire. She didn’t know that DEI or diversity isn’t the insult they thought it was.

I became keenly aware of that scar after that “alleged incident” (HR made her apologize but there were no recorded fact finding conclusions. Ha!). After throwing up breakfast (and thereafter not being able to eat eggs), I could not sleep. One cause was the severe back pains that exacerbated my genetic condition (and lands me in hospital again and again). After I relayed what happened the day or so before – that I blanked out during the attack, and hit my back on the part of the desk behind me when I pushed my chair to get away from the person – the ER doctor diagnosed “a trapezius spasm”. Take some pain medication and it should be gone in a few days, a few weeks at most.

Six years later and it greets me every morning, all day, and in my sleep.

That’s because THE BODY KNOWS and KEEPS SCORE.

Since then, I have had other traumatizing experiences there. On my last day of work, something happened been having unrelentingly realistic nightmares. A protective bubble that my brain had operationalized to protect me in a healthy way, was now poof – gone.

My nightmares are persistent and resistant to medication. Thanks to a whole lot of medical care providers, and move to a compassionate country, they made me realize that it is because they are memories. As I started to recall things over the years, even more things trigger me than they did before. In fact, everything triggers me.

LIFE triggers me.

I need answers and no one wants to give them to me without me fighting for it.

So I fight. I write. I demand answers…5 years of asking, pleading, begging to be told about my life.

From slow revelations it is clear that someone made my files disappear. The WBG Insurance company, Broadspire, have removed the records of my “outcry”, reports about what happened, and gutted my file. They used this as an excuse to cut off my financial disability benefits which derailed my medical care and healing. This was just one of a series of deliberate acts of nudging me to lose my mind.

…for 5 years they gaslit me into thinking I was crazy, overwhelming me with self-blame and shame that I didn’t protect myself.

But I did.

I did protect myself, but I didn’t know all the dangers lurking in the darkness of Medical Authorizations. The Insurance company that I trusted as a fair third party knew what would happen if I didn’t get the care I needed, so they blocked it. FOR. FIVE. LONG. YEARS. According to them, a review as per my 2020 appeal letter challenging their arbitrary decisions is still…”ongoing”.

The reality is, that hurt me deep…but Broadspire made sure the hurt was permanent, and now I have to accept the reality – I dissociate.

I’m often not myself. And when I “wake up” I’m not sure what has been happening for those months. From recording my faint awareness, I now know what is the catalyst – hospitals. The 5 year old me is triggered.

Since working at the WBG in torture for those years, seeking the care I need causes me to split into chaos, my usually well-performing highly functional parts revert to a time I had no awareness or understanding. And friends, it really is nothing like in the movies. I’m there, I know I am, but I am no longer living the world as one person with one identity. I am now my dysfunctional parts.

Thank you Broadspire and Crawford. Your “one-on-one” attention surely achieved your goals: living is an endless revolving trigger…I guess that’s what your balance sheet calls recovery!