Mom and I took a little ride today.
Over the Sunshine Skyway Bridge.
In my world, going over the Skyway was a big deal.
My family moved to Florida in 1962 during the Cuban Missile Crisis. My grandparents lived south of Tampa Bay and the old Skyway Bridge. At least once or twice per month, we’d go to their house in Bradenton for dinner. The Skyway was a part of my life. As a little girl in the back seat of my Dad’s Chevy I loved every minute of the ride.
However most people were terrified of it. Evidence surfaced years later that they were right to be scared.
The original bridge was a skeletal thing slapped together like an erector set, with a steep incline and long stretch leading to and from the span across Tampa Bay. Increasing traffic made it necessary to add a second span which was built alongside the old one, turning two lanes into four. It opened in 1971.
The old span was northbound. The newer one was southbound.
Although they were nearly identical, the southbound span was cursed from the start-slipshod craftsmanship, cover ups, dirty deals, with unrealized repairs needed to keep it functional. An accident waiting to happen.
And it did.
On May 9, 1980 a freighter named “Summit Venture” struck the newer bridge during a blinding thunderstorm and the center span collapsed. Thirty five people drove to their deaths below.
The original span, opened in 1954, became the soul two lane source of crossing the bay until a new Skyway was opened in 1987.
It was a gorgeous piece of architecture recognized around the world as one of the most stellar bridges ever built. Whenever Hubs and I felt restless, one of us would say “Let’s go across the bridge and have dinner somewhere.” Inexplicably, the world felt different on the other side. The view from the top was shimmering and vast, the deepest of blue with tinges of green when sunny, and when stormy it wasn’t uncommon to see occasional water spouts spinning like ballerinas. It was glorious and a place I loved to be.
Until I began therapy four years ago.
With the realization of long repressed sexual abuse as well as recovering from a brutal bank robbery, I was as messed up as a person could get. I had PTSD so acute that getting out of bed, let alone out of the house was a Herculean effort. I was frequently sick, with horrible cramps. I eventually lost a job that I’d held for 16 years because I was out so often.
In the last four years I’ve turned down coffee dates, dinners with friends, vacations and quality time with family. I’d lie to them about “things that came up” or I wasn’t feeling well. I couldn’t admit to anyone other than those closest to me that I’d become afraid of my own shadow. I simply wasn’t able to release the parking brake and go out the door.
Sufferers of PTSD often become agoraphobic. Think of a prison cell filled with all your stuff. You need to feel safe so you stay locked up, while longing for a life of choices-which is out of your reach. Sort of. You have the key to the door but you can’t use it. You’re a prisoner in your own home and as much as you’d like to change things, it’s nearly impossible to do so.
Two years ago I was sick and tired of the reptilian “fight or flight” device in my head ruling my life. I stupidly decided it was time to take control of the situation, trying to ignore the quaking inside at the thought of going anywhere.
We hopped in the car and headed for the bridge.
I drove.
As we got closer, I felt that all too familiar prickly anxiety brewing inside, but I ignored it. I shouldn't have done it. By the time we reached the top of the span I was a panicky wreck. I felt as though I was in a “white out” where what I saw made little sense, and everything was completely out of my control. Like flying through space without a tether to reel me back to the mothership.
We pulled into a rest area on the other side where I popped a Xanax and tried to catch my breath. My heart was hammering. I felt my stomach in my throat.
Of all things, I never expected the Skyway Bridge to freak me out that way, given my long history of crossing it and loving it.
Foolish I guess, considering that nearly everything else outside our four walls was off limits.
Afterwards things became worse. I could no longer trust myself to focus long enough to do anything of use.
My therapist told me I shouldn’t try a repeat for a while. My ability to function outside of the house was at a three or four out of ten. A trip across the Skyway was a nine.
That was two years ago.
Recently Mom asked me if I’d like to go on a vacation with her. She wanted to go to our favorite place-the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. Trees, bears, skunks and Great Lakes, lightening bugs, loons-peace. Of course I wanted to go. Our family had been visiting there since the late 1920’s. It was hallowed ground for us. But I was afraid to say yes. What if I freaked out at the last minute and couldn’t go?
I doubled my therapy appointments, more determined than ever to take back my freedom.
Today was my final exam.
A trip across the Skyway.
The ultimate test of whether Shelly was ready to board a plane and spend a week with her mother along Lake Superior.
And I did it.
TWICE!
On the first trip I was a bit anxious but elated when we got to the other side. YES! We stopped at the rest area, took pictures, and I cried tears of happiness. The feeling of accomplishment was like a Super Bowl win.
We went back across the bay to the other side, turned around and began the climb for the second time. By the final return trip, we were chatting and having a marvelous time together. No fears.
My new normal had arrived at last. High fives.
I know I’m not where I need to be yet. It took me decades to hit rock bottom. Two trips across a big bridge don’t signify the end of my journey to wellness.
But it was one heck of an ego boost. Conquering a demon.
It was a chance to realize that I could rely on the inner strength and courage that God gave me; that they hadn’t abandoned me.
They’d just gotten lost for a while.
Michelle Close Mills©
