By Bill Turner
Note: Though I am a survivor of acute, exacerbated post traumatic stress disorder, and I discuss how I am treating it here in this post, I am also writing this in SAFE mode. This post contains no specific triggering descriptions of any trauma.
I got a bike because I lost my pocket knife. More specifically, I got a bike because I lost my pocket knife and rather than allowing my brain to be hijacked by dissociation at the loss of my favorite tool, I moved forward into a new healing phase in my life. If this sounds a little peculiar to you, allow me to assure you that it is almost impossible to encapsulate with the English language just how peculiar the last year of my life has been.
In May of 2017, I made my first trip to the hospital to deal with the existential threat that untreated PTSD had become to me. For about four decades I have lived with the illness, which was the result of repeated childhood trauma. By December of 2017, I had spent a total of four months of time off and on in inpatient treatment for both PTSD, and the stroke that I believe was the inevitable extension of the combined effects of the illness and the struggles associated with being homeless. Not many people can spend a third of a year in the hospital and still keep their living arrangements intact, and I’m no exception.
But I’ve made incredible progress in the last year as well. I’ve learned many tools to help me cope with my illness. I have become a practitioner of meditation, and have learned to incorporate ideas like “radical acceptance” and mindfulness into my system of treatment for my PTSD symptoms. I am now reading a book on attachment-based Yoga and meditation to treat my illness with compassion and mindfulness. The book outlines ways to stay grounded in the present, which is really the only way one can get a handle on the dissociation that PTSD can provoke.
All of this leads me back to the pocket knife. As a homeless person, I have very little that I own. As a PTSD survivor, I have a tendency to be hypervigilant in the care of what I do own. That pocket knife was not intrinsically valuable - I think I bought it for under twenty dollars at a sporting goods shop - but in some ways it was a symbol of my triumph over the challenges of homelessness.
I do not use drugs of any kind, including cannabis as of May 3, 2018 - I quit so that I could better feel my body and deal with triggers more effectively. I quit smoking in August of 2017. I’ve lost over 100 pounds in the last year through exercise and portion control. And above all else, I take really good care of my equipment. All of my gear is well maintained, and that is rare for someone living outside.
That pocket knife was my little sidekick. I used it frequently for all kinds of tasks. I set it down on Saturday, June 2, 2018, and accidentally walked away from it. I had only travelled one hundred and fifty yards when I realized my mistake. Unfortunately, living outside exposes one to the reality that there are a large number of people who just take whatever they can find. By the time I got back to where I had set the knife down, it was gone.
I searched for it all over the place. I double checked my pack, my pockets, and all around the area where I set it down. The fact is that I knew exactly where I had left it, and it was gone. No amount of searching was going to change that fact. At that moment I had to radically accept that I had lost a knife that I had come to love, and then I made a decision that changed every cycle in which I normally engage.
Instead of focusing on the injustice of someone taking one of the very few things I own, I made a decision that I was going to ground myself in the present and focus on the facts. It was a cheap pocket knife that I can replace, even though I had attached greater significance to it, and there was nothing I could do to get it back. I then made a second decision that was revolutionary for me, and one that has set in motion something entirely different from anything I’ve ever experienced.