Rain

I steer behind the wheel in my cozy, compact Toyota Yaris on my way to work. The heat is cranked on high on this cold, blustery day, ensuring that all the frost that decorated my windshield minutes before had melted away. I look around and gaze upon what I would every day: people in grey, black, and tan businesswear scurrying their dress shoes and heels across the road in hopes to catch the next train, cabs parked illegally in the fire zones, and a line of soon-to-be passengers stringing outside the nearby Dunkin’. My all-time favorite band, The Script, has their song “Rain” playing softly through the speakers.

I sing along to the words as I drive onwards.

Woke up this morning, can't shake the thunder from last night

You left with no warning and took the summer from my life

It wasn’t long after that the scenery I was surrounded by warped into something out of a haunted house. The windshield that was crystal-clear from frost now holds huge, ugly, spiderweb-like cracks along with my driver’s side window. All of the airbags in the car deploy, sending blows to my face and chest; the dust from the bags creating a brown haze in the air. My cozy car is now suffocating me, and the once-soft song that has been playing this whole time is now deafening, overpowering the sound of people shouting, ambulance sirens, and my strained vocal cords screeching off the top of my lungs. 

I gave you my everything, now my world it don't seem right

Can we just go back to being us again?

“Change the fucking song!” Eva yells to her younger sister as she drives her home from the doctor weeks later. The once-adored song is now a million blows to the gut. Disregarding the pain from the recent rotator-cuff surgery she had to endure because of the accident, as well as the surgeon's warning of what she should not do, Eva raises her arms to cover her ears like a 3-year-old and close her eyes. Eva all-well knows how she looks like right now. She feels deeply ashamed and embarrassed, but they don’t surmount her impulses. No matter where she goes, no matter what she does, Eva sees and hears everything within that 5-second frame where her life changed. 

Her heart begins to race. Her veins feel like they’re about to burst pulse from the top of her head to the bottom of her toes. For the umpteenth time, she is enclosed, trapped, and covered with glass. She feels helpless to what’s going on around her. Rocking back and forth, it isn’t long before she begins to sob. Her sister respected her wishes and turns off the music altogether, but Eva still hears it repeating over and over again. Eva apologizes to her for her behavior. She shakes her head.

“You really need to stop apologizing for shit like this. It’s not your fault.” 

Then why do I feel like it is? 

'Cause when I'm sitting in the bar

All the lovers with umbrellas always pass me by

It's like I'm living in the dark

And my heart's turned cold since you left my life

Thoughts, thoughts, and more thoughts are the bane of her existence. This is what she has been going through for 62 days straight. Her past consumes her present and holds control over her future. Every second that arises is a cliffhanger of impending doom, and every action she takes holds suspense of something bad inevitably happening. So, she refuses to make any decisions unless she is 1000% sure of the outcome. 

Random flashbacks, panic attacks, lack of sleep, nightmares, night terrors, fear to get into a car, fear of leaving the house, sudden claustrophobia, anxiety at even the thought of getting behind the wheel again all plagued her 24 hours of the day. Eva isolated herself from the people she cares most, and her dark, hopeless thoughts were forever on replay. 

And no matter where I go

Girl, I know if I'm alone, there'll be no blue sky

I don't know what I'm doing wrong

'Cause baby, when you're gone

All it does is rain, rain, rain down on me

Post-traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) is what my clinician diagnosed me within the hour of the first session I decided to attend, roughly 5 days after the accident. People with PTSD have trouble getting past and recovering from a traumatic experience. “It affects millions of people in the US, so you’re definitely not alone,” he said. “One thing people with PTSD learn one way or another is patience. This feeling won’t last forever unless you want it to.” 

That night, I did some research to find a cure for this agony. Cognitive Behavioral Therapy and medication are the two most successful methods for battling PTSD, according to the Anxiety and Depression Association of America’s website. I tear up in frustration and tiredness.   

I don’t have health insurance. I don’t have the money to consistently go to a psychologist. I currently can’t work. I can barely move without wincing in pain. I don’t have a car to take me anywhere. Everyone I know has their own problems to deal with, and I don’t want to be a burden to them. What am I supposed to do? The familiar feeling of hopelessness and defeat wash over me, and I have no strength to fight back. What other options do I have?

Each drop is pain, pain, pain when you leave

It's such a shame we fucked it up, you and me

'Cause baby, when you're gone

All it does is rain

She lies in bed the night of her meltdown, and stares at the ceiling. She holds the urge to get up and move, but her body feels glued to the bed– as if she’s forced to be just a sitting sac, with no motive, no ambition, no goals. I’m worthless, I’m a waste of space. I deserve everything that’s been happening to me. Racing thoughts of negativity sweep through her head at a speed her mind refuses to process, and in response sends a sudden crash of a headache, as if it’s a test to see if she’s still functioning. The ceiling starts to look like they have tiny swirls floating mindlessly, and that is where she makes her stop. “I can’t do this anymore,” she says to herself. 

And it feels like, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

And it feels like, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

She pulls out her phone, and can’t help but to gaze at the top of the screen where it is shattered and broken from the accident. She almost gets sucked back into the horrid memories, but then shakes her head as she remembers her objective here. She looks up “ways to treat depression”. She browses and processes the eye-opening info on the website, “Anxiety and Depression Association of America”. 

1) Find personal meaning by serving something larger than yourself. Remember, service doesn’t have to be big to count. 

2) Create a tiny goal. Find workable goals that give you a sense of accomplishment. 

3) Practice mindfulness. You may not be able to turn off the self-judgment, but you can notice it and bring yourself gently back to the present. Research shows that people with higher self-compassion also have higher self-worth or self-confidence.

After writing down pages filled with information, Eva finally went to sleep with one thing one her mind: determination.

Tried to find shelter here in the arms of someone new

But I'd rather be there under the covers just with you

'Cause you were my everything

Now I don't know what to do

Oh, I'm caught up in the storm

Eva wakes up bright and early the morning after. She decides the goal for the day: free write. She pulls out a blank, unused notebook, and writes down everything that comes to mind. As soon as her pen hit the paper, she’s on a roll. Blue ink runs across the sheet, line after line after line. She gazes at her work, and the lines begin to blur as tears flood her eyes. Eva set a goal for herself and accomplished it. It may not seem much for others, but it feels like her completed a 10K. One of the hardest things to do is take that first step. 

'Cause baby, when you're gone

All it does is rain, rain, rain down on me

Each drop is pain, pain, pain when you leave

It's such a shame we fucked it up, you and me

'Cause baby, when you're gone

All it does is rain

References 

The Script, “Rain”. Freedom Child. Sony/ATV Music Publishing, 2017.

“Home.” Anxiety and Depression Association of America, ADAA, adaa.org/.