Post Traumatic Stress Disorder:

My name is Ashley. Today, I am a 23-year-old wife with 2 border collies and 1 black cat. I have a good job that allows me to support my husband. At the same time, he is in college to be a physical therapist assistant. Money is tight, and there is stress, but we have a roof over our heads and food on our table. I am content.

7 years ago, I would not believe that this was possible. At the age of 17, during my senior year of high school, I was diagnosed with PTSD.

The trigger? Watching a man drown while at cross country camp. Being on the phone with other campers trying to describe to 911 where we were. Watching a handful of my teammates pull out his body. Watching CPR started before I could pull my eyes away and force myself to return to the camp. The sound of ambulances and first response vehicles surrounding the camp and EMTs were running past me on the path to the beach.

I went into emotional shock. I started crying when the body hit the sand, and it wasn't for nearly 6 hours later, I was able to stop. I had always worn my heart on my sleeve, and this was no different. The head coach said counseling would be available before the end of the day, but that promise wasn't followed through. Our practices and races continued on schedule. Within the hour, the camp was running their next scheduled 5k.

I suffered because of camp. I wasn't popular on the team. I didn't run because I was fast. I ran for myself and my health. Honestly, I sucked at running and was fine being last on the team. My teammates further ostracized me for my reaction. My younger sister suffered as a freshman varsity runner because her varsity teammates wrote her off by association with me. [On a positive note, she went on to be the #1 runner for the next three years]

During the first race of the season, I suffered a panic attack. I don't remember what triggered the attack. Time has blurred the memory, but I crossed the finish line, unable to breathe with tears in my eyes. These attacks seeped into my practices and then into my everyday life.

I became anxious. I became nervous. Night terrors plagued my dreams, which often left me screaming in my sleep. If I didn't yell myself awake, my parents running to my room would. Emotionally, I was a mess. I couldn't focus. I lost interest in my favorite activities. It took two weeks, but because of the source of my problems started at cross country camp, the school was forced to provide me with professional counseling. It was during my first session; the doctor identified me with PTSD.

Until this point, I had only heard of PTSD used with military veterans returning from war. It didn't happen to civilians, and it was incredibly taboo to talk about anything close to it.

She walked me through my experiences, and what was happening, my world opened up to this new realm of possibilities. I was experiencing a panic attack during these races because my brain compartmentalized them with the drowning. This extended into large crowds and cheering because that's the norm when it comes to meets.

The consistent heightened stress levels were leading to anxiety attacks during other aspects of my life. I didn't have a coping mechanism for the extra stress, and so my brain was wearing itself out, trying to manage my day to day activities.

The school psychologist couldn't prescribe me medication or refer me to a psychiatrist for further help, so my parents took me to our primary doctor. He prescribed Xanax on an as-needed basis. At 17, I was supposed to recognize when I was about to have an anxiety attack and preemptively take a pill before the attack settled in. Despite not being to carry the medication on me for 75% of my day.

Two weeks later, I was put on my first antidepressant. 8 weeks then we would follow up. I don't remember what the medication was, but I had an adverse reaction. The drug suppressed my appetite. I went from my typical 3 meals a day to eating half an apple being too much. I went from 130 lbs to 95 lbs in a month. I constantly slept. I experienced memory loss. I was a shell of who I was. After I showed no improvements, I was switched to a different antidepressant. It helped for a week, but then it didn't.

I lost a lot of friends during this period. Some couldn't deal with the mood swings. A lot I pushed away during my isolation. Some because I made unhealthy relationships in the desperation of feeling good about myself.

I don't remember much of this time of my life. I spent so much time asleep and experienced enough memory loss that the 5 months I was on medication are gone. I stopped taking the medication because I made the choice that not taking a pill was the better option.

May of 2014, I walked across the stage at graduation at 99 lbs. In 2020, I still haven't gained all the weight back. My metabolism system still affected by the residual effects. I have overcome the triggers for PTSD, although I do experience sleeplessness the week of the anniversary of cross camp.

Today, I am treated for Generalized Anxiety Disorder and Depression unrelated to the event. I am still learning healthy coping mechanisms. I have more bad days than good. But each day is another day working towards the life I want to live with my best friend at my side.