The Anniversary Effect

 I wasn’t going to write about this. I didn’t want to admit to it. I’m fine. Perfectly fine. There’s nothing to see here. But in the interests of being honest about mental health and what is normal and survivable and because I am genuinely fine I have changed my mind.

In trauma recovery there is a thing called the anniversary effect and it can completely knock you off your feet for a while. 

This isn’t a conscious remembering. It’s different, devastating and uncontrollable.

On the anniversary of my Dad’s death I might look at the calendar, check the sky for heart shaped clouds and have a moment of quiet remembering. It’s a good thing.

However, my Mum’s death is a traumatic event that happened to me and my brain approaches the anniversary in a different way. I hate that it does this. It makes it all about me and reminiscing is relegated to another day, another year, another lifetime. That causes guilt, which isn’t good for mental wellbeing either.

It starts about a week before. Sleep becomes more elusive. Eating is erratic. Emotionally I’m all mood swings and quivering anxiety. Focusing on anything is impossible. Lists, that have always been my friend, jump around the page and taunt me. I become a terrible teacher, a snappy housemate, a weepy wife. I say weepy but as I’m not really a crier this is what happened.

We were standing in the Long Suffering Husband’s shed. He’s finally finished it, except for the floor and getting the tools in. 

“It has only taken five years,” he says, “But I get there in the end.”

And tears appear in my eyes. A little sob escapes before I swallow it. 

He looks at me with tilted head and the look I hate. The one where I know he has seen that I’m not right, not myself and his face brims with concern. He steps forward to give me a hug and I cry. 

“What’s wrong with you?” he asks and I snap into anger, pull away, zip myself back up and say that I don’t know. And I don’t. Not then. I know that I’m not right, that I’ve been wobbly for a few days but I don’t know why. 

I have been putting things off. There’s an optician appointment to make, a birthday present voucher to use, which requires looking at a calendar and I realise that it is May and the anniversary effect is kicking in.

This is where my body mounts it’s own trauma response as a kind of memory party.

I’m assuming that anyone who has a trauma response has their own symptoms. Mine build. Difficulty sleeping turns to no sleep, first moving through panic waking, terrible dreams, unconsciously bruising myself at night and weird nighttime breathing. Not eating starts with a general nausea, an inability to swallow, stuffing comfort biscuits in to keep everything down then eventually vomiting for no particular reason. My contact lenses begin to hurt and my vision blurs to the point of everyone asking if I have new glasses. Constipation (too much information?) My brain decides it needs to focus on everything all at once and life becomes overwhelming as I develop a plan for world peace. I can’t look anyone in the eye. My palms are sweaty and my feet are cold. I want to run away but I don’t. I freeze. I go through life on automatic pilot, slowly, sadly, not fully engaging, wondering if I’m doing a good enough job of masking because if anyone notices and says anything I will run. I feel dirty. My hands get washed like I’m Lady Fucking Macbeth. 

The annoying thing is that I have been so much better lately. My broken brain has been healing.This PTSD has been EMDRed and yoga’d away. My walking, breathing, writing have all been slowly working their magic. So I was cross. 

Five years! I shouted into the void. 

Then, the day after the death-day anniversary my brain was light again. The fog had lifted and I was looking forward to things. And it is because of this lightness I decided to write this blog. 

The anniversary effect doesn’t cause a step backwards. It’s temporary and goes away again. It’s just your brain having a pity party. My brain has had to work very hard lately, so I can let it have a party once a year if it wants one. I’m not going to get stressed out by it.

If your brain is currently doing this then you have my sympathy because it’s not fun but you’ll get through it.