I killed a kitten today. It wasn’t on purpose, but I’m the only person responsible.

When I moved to my new home, I noticed there were tons of cats in the area and my dogs were eating more. I assumed they had more space to roam and worked up more of an appetite. Eventually, I began to hear kittens mewling below my office. I couldn’t figure out how they got there, but I was certain I overestimated my animals and their little food babies.

One night I watched six adult cats and two kittens frolicking on my back patio. They were happily nibbling the dog food that even my dogs don’t love. My heart ached for them, and I began to buy dry kibble for these stray and feral cats. I threw out jingly toys and some fluffy ones filled with catnip. I left out something for them to scratch. Late at night, I’d turn off the kitchen lights and watch them frolic and pounce. They ran around the wheel well of my car, and sat on the tires of my SUV. I wanted to pet them, but was happy just to watch.

Today I had errands to run. I opened my car door and picked up the trash to throw away. I opened the gate, got into my car and drove out of the yard. Then I went back to close the gate and saw it. One of the kittens disappeared a while ago. The remaining one was just behind my tire. I saw an eye dangling from its face. I watched the kitten shake and convulse. The tiny cat flopped grotesquely and I watched it, wondering if I should wait or euthanize it. I looked at my tire, certain I had just run over its little head. It was just a few moments. Maybe not even two minutes.

Someone had pulled up to my neighbor’s house and got out the car. He was distressed agitated. He started rambling and apologizing to me. “I’m so sorry you have to see that. It’s so terrible. Are you okay?” I continued watching until the kitten stopped moving. The guy next door was running his hands through his hair and pacing while I went to the patio and picked up a blanket I had out for the animals. I picked up the kitten, wrapped it carefully, then placed it in my garbage can, certain it’'ll be picked up Tuesday morning and with our current weather, it won’t smell too badly by then.

As I prepared to get back into my car, the guy next door was still rambling and said he hoped my day would get better. I looked at him and realized I might not be reacting. I told him it was disturbing but I already handled it and it’ll be okay.

I drove off, taking care of my errands, and returned to hose away the blood with the jet setting on the hose nozzle.

I didn’t enjoy what happened. I wasn’t distraught over it. I was numb and almost mechanical in taking care of the next steps of my day, as if this tiny life wasn’t meaningful, knowing that it really is.

I’ve experienced several traumas in my life. (There’s a whole book on it.) The year 2020 seemed to carry more weight than I can carry at times. Dissociation is one of the ways my body supports me in processing painful experiences. It’s part of the complex post traumatic stress disorder that I live with.

Per WebMD, “Dissociation is a break in how your mind handles information. You may feel disconnected from your thoughts, feelings, memories, and surroundings. It can affect your sense of identity and your perception of time.”

It’s not the first time I’ve dissociated. I’ve been doing it for decades, without fully understanding what it was, so I want to help you understand what it is. It took years to understand the cluster of emotions and experiences that seem to surround symptoms of PTSD. Today, it was looking at the reaction of the man nearby, and not dismissing him as weak in the face of death. His reaction was rational and I have to accept that mine is not.

In early 2020, I was in a non romantic situation where I was triggered constantly. My life outside of that situation was also demanding and exhausting. (You’ve seen how neglected this blog has been, right?) My stress hormones were in over drive.

Mood Swings

I was experiencing rapid mood swings. I felt happy about little things one moment, and struggling to get through my day, the very next. I was laughing and rage filled in a matter of hours.

Memory

My memory was shot. I have always struggled with it. I can remember things like a person’s birthday, but never remember what day it is. I have a hard time connecting the fact that my friend’s birthday is January 20, and January 20 is coming, but on January 20, the fact that it’s my friend’s birthday will invariably slip my mind. My Dad has PTSD from Vietnam. He can’t remember names of people. His mind protects him from the experience of meeting someone that could die within the hour, because that was the experience in war. It’s easy to forget what was done or said. This is the main reason why writing things down and documentation are so important to me. Have experienced gaslighting, the written details are proof that I can trust myself. One of my favorite aunts passed away several years ago. I don’t remember the funeral. All I remember is them lowering her into the grave. Later that day, my kids emptied a couple of dozen eggs onto the kitchen floor. My ex husband left it for me, and I remember scraping dried egg off the linoleum floor with a butter knife. My mind protected me from the worst parts of that day.

Depression, Anxiety and Panic Attacks

In times where depression and anxiety hit me hardest, I’m typically not okay with how things are, and I’m trying my hardest to change something I can’t change. I’ve since learned I can only control my reaction. In a situation where I felt isolated, controlled and lied to, to the point of being gaslit into believing I didn’t understand what I was seeing or experiencing, I felt extreme depression and anxiety. Stepping back, it makes perfect sense to feel these things.

Substance Abuse

One of my first thoughts as I drove away from home and that poor kitten was that I’m out of cigars and wondered which wine I wanted when I got home. I didn’t buy any cigars while out and I’m currently grieving significant loss. I refuse to do that drunk, because delayed grief is too expensive. Wanting to further numb the little I feel is a way to disconnect.

Healing

Most professionals will tell you that psychotherapy and medication will be the best course of action. I won’t disagree. I will add that the best way to get through it, is to connect through it. Connect to other people. This is how I know what is normal and not normal. Connect to your body. What are you feeling in your body and do you feel it? Can you feel cold? Hunger? What emotions are you experiencing? Can you explain how you feel?

Healing is an ongoing activity. It’s not about idly waiting for time to do what it’s supposed to. Time heals nothing. It’s about actively putting in the work to give yourself back the life you were born to lead. There’s been so much going on in the United States. So much is still being processed and understood and teased into public spaces. Take it as slowly as you need to. Be gentle with yourself. You’re not alone.