The Secrets We Hide: Surviving PTSD/MST

By PAULA ANDONIE

"The Secrets We Hide" is a powerful story about one incredible woman's journey of facing her demons head-on and overcoming them, despite profound difficulties. A disabled veteran, Paula Andonie took a job at the local VA Medical Center. At first, she was elated – feeling as if her life came full circle. However, she soon was hit with the trauma of her PTSD. Despite keeping it a secret for 39 years, the inner struggle could no longer be hidden. In her breathtaking book, you will be able to follow along her inspirational journey of pain, growth, and self-discovery.

How far can one person slide into darkness before losing control? How can an old trauma affect a person's behavior? These are some of Paula's questions. In this story, you will join her as she must find a way to overcome obstacles that no one can train for, and most can never even imagine. This is Paula's inspirational story of discovering her truth in treatment. A must-read book for everyone, especially veterans who are also facing their own respective struggles and trauma, "The Secrets We Hide" will offer you hope, even when it seems like there is none.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Feb 22, 2022
• ISBN: 9781667824345

Book preview

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Copyright © 2021 Paula Andonie

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

For permissions contact: author.paulaandoniegmail.com

ISBN (Print): 978-1-66782-433-8

ISBN (eBook): 978-1-66782-434-5

Disclaimer

All the names of the characters in this book have been changed to preserve their privacy. Except for myself, I am Paula Andonie.

I dedicate this book to Doc

How can I possibly thank you for walking with me on this journey of self-discovery? My heart is full and my mind is clear. You have inspired me to become so much more. And for that I am eternally grateful. My words can never completely convey the profoundness I have experienced. Nor the joy it has been to meet such a good soul.

Table of Contents

Preface

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Epilogue

Glossary

Acknowledgments

Preface

October 20th 2020

There are so many things going on right now. I don’t even know what I feel anymore. Part of me wants to keep trying; the other part of me wants to die. I’ve wanted to start a journal, one that I can just talk to. I found this journal on the internet.

I quit my job a couple of weeks ago; actually, I guess it was a month ago now. I did it in all the wrong ways. I burnt that bridge down to the ground and there’s no going back. Some bridges are meant to be burnt down, so you never make that mistake again. I walked out of my job and dumped off everything I had; my computer, my phone, my credit card, my financial statements, everything, and I left. I don’t know if it’s my PTSD or depression, anxiety or mix of it all. Some days, I just want to be left alone. I pick my moments when I come out of my house. It’s getting harder every day.

Most of my moments are treasured by the silence around me. I couldn’t make the people shut up. I couldn’t make them leave me alone. All I wanted was to be left alone. I needed silence, and that place was overstimulating. They called me 24 hours a day for stupid shit. Lazy people who aren’t sick call in all the time. I couldn’t stop them. I might write them up, but they never fire them. How do you manage people when there are no consequences? How do you do anything? Before that I had my job at the VA Medical Center. I was a driver, a motor vehicle operator. I was there for a year and five days. I was a temp, on a one-year contract, but they did not renew it. It felt like being fired. If I’m being honest, I was glad; I was so scared of catching this coronavirus.

When I started that job, it was everything I dreamed it would be. Good money, good people, good place. I was so happy. I was on a high, which faded about four months in. Within six months, my PTSD woke up. I started dreaming about those people who did that shit to me. I started picturing them jumping in my vehicle or me picking them up at their house. I just kept dreaming I’d see them again. They’d say, hey don’t I know you? I’d look in my rearview mirror and the next thing I know, I’d wake up and find out I’d killed them with my bare hands, in the most brutal fashion. That can’t be good for anybody. I started getting angry. I think it started the day some drunk guy started talking dirty to me. I couldn’t make him stop. I mean, I couldn’t punch him in the face. I couldn’t cut his throat. I couldn’t shoot him in the head like I really wanted to. I think I could have stabbed him a thousand times and loved every minute of it.

There’s something inside me that I know is f****d up. I know in the wrong situation that I’m capable of killing someone and brutalizing them. But I don’t mean just for talking dumb to me. I mean, if they touched me or cornered me. See, this PTSD thing, which I thought was bullshit, is real. And there’s somebody that lives inside me that thinks about it a lot. I think about tracking these people down. I remember that woman’s name. I lied and said I didn’t, but I do. Now it’s been a thing, where at 3 or 4 am I’m on the internet trying to find her. Because I want to see her and find out the name of that man who raped me. Then I want to brutally kill her. Then I want to go see him. I know it’s terrible, it’s evil. But I want to kill him too. I want to do brutal things to him. I want to torture him. I want him to suffer every day until I’m tired of it. So now that I’ve read this privacy policy in this journal, I wonder how many people will read my personal thoughts. I guess if someone comes to my house to lock me up, I’ll know. It’s not illegal to think about homicide. When it becomes illegal, I guess I’m done. It’s when you’ve done homicide.

I feel like I’m going to explode. I can’t tell anybody these feelings. I won’t. I don’t want to write these down. I can’t write as fast as I think. So hopefully this is a safe place to vent. I’ve never killed anybody, but I have seen a lot of death in the military. I just feel like I’m going to explode. My brain hurts, it won’t shut up. It won’t stop thinking, thinking, thinking. It’s a good thing I’m a recluse. I don’t want to get out and do anything. I don’t want to go anywhere. I don’t want to see anyone, and I can do that for a little while. My disability and my savings will allow me to do that for a minute. This is why I’m chasing a cure, or some kind of therapy. I really want that Stellate Ganglion Block (SGB). I think that’s only given in Chicago. I need to investigate it and go see somebody in Chicago. See what they can do for me. They say it’s only good for one year, but I can’t even imagine that. Even if I could just get rid of this feeling for one year; I can’t imagine one year of feeling normal. It would probably help me become normal for a while. I just want to be able to breathe again. I want this damn monkey off my back. I’m tired of thinking about it. I’m tired of being angry. I’m tired of feeling this evil inside me. The thought of being able to take a deep breath and not have this in my head every day is incomprehensible.

Introduction

This is a story about a girl who became a soldier. This is about a person who always knew they were different. Who always felt like they never really belonged. In retrospect, I think this person probably inadvertently had a neon sign on their head that said: different, vulnerable, loner. We tell a lot about ourselves sometimes without ever opening our mouths. That’s the beauty of humanity. However, that’s what makes us ripe for the picking when it comes to a predator. They are very skilled