I am jumpy

I am jumpy.

I do not like loud noises, sudden movement.  That is what I tell people, endlessly.  And remind them – “Please do not walk up behind me”.  “Do not deliberately make a loud noise”.  “I do NOT like sudden bear hugs”.  Why?  Because this is what it is like every time terror makes me jump:

It is a rock thrown through a pane of old glass.  The antique kind that smashes easily.  My body jerks, a sudden internal rise into the air which feels impossibly high.  Everything is breaking up for me. 

Then black.  Just like the sudden split second off-on flicker of a lightbulb in a storm.  Sometimes it is just a flick off.  Then on.  Even I barely notice it.  I may only miss a word or two of conversation.  But the adrenaline kick lingers for minutes.

That is best case scenario.

Worst?

Sometimes, the glass shards fly out and hover in the air, spinning around me in a flash of white light as I drop into a full-blown panic.  That is all that exists to me in that moment.  I freeze, run, drop to the ground, get in front of the nearest person/object, get behind it.  No conscious process – just that primal fight or flight response.  I am aware, distantly, that I am doing it but cannot stop.

Sometimes individuals do not exist – I am in a terrifying world alone.  Sometimes they become people from long ago. 

Or, I do not recognise those around me, they have become random people who I must protect as well as myself.  That is the worst – the world is in pieces but now I have others to care for, and my head explodes.  Suddenly I can hear what your ears cannot.  Is a dubious super-power.  Others appreciate the first sound of a band.  I hear a gunshot.  Or an object dropped as an assailant sprints toward me. 

My brain has kicked into overdrive. 

It lasts only seconds.  But more is happening in one second in my brain than in an hour for others. 

Then the noise starts - shouting as people do not know how to respond.  Counter-productive because, overwhelmed, I cannot pick out words.  Just their agitation, ramping my fear up.  I scream, lash out, or I dissociate.  I will only remember flashes of detail.  Others will remember me as aggressive or rude or unresponsive, like waking from a dream.

And I am, kind of.  I have to drag my brain to the surface and reorientate to a world I was briefly out of.

People do not know that the only way to quickly reorientate me is to talk to me in a calm voice.  ONE person.  Not multiple.  One voice only.

I use others as a barometer for safety.

As the thumping adrenaline seeps away, the magic pane of glass reassembles.  Like a terrible fairy-tale window which can never be permanently broken. 

Every time that glass shatters, I have to re-orientate.  Whilst others, oblivious, expect me to interact.

Fatigue hits and irritation starts – I need people to back off.  Angry with myself, angry at the source of the noise or movement or whatever.  I am now exhausted in an over-stimulated-get-me-out-of-here type way, my skin a red-hot buzz.  Everything spinning.  Vision blurred.  A headache behind my eyes.  Full of shame and embarrassment, I just want to get away and sleep.  I am worn down.

All because there was a sudden noise or movement.

I spend my life anticipating those rocks.  Never knowing where, or when.  Nor what form. 

Each jump causes chaos for me.  So, if you deliberately make me jump – please only do it once.

Even better, do not do it at all.

See also “Flashbacks – What are They Like?”