A Long Ride
By: Sydney Yoder | @Sydneyyoderr | tw: head trauma, ptsd
My first three months at East Carolina University were amazing. New campus, new friends, a whole new environment, playing the game I love; every bit of it was nothing short of a young athlete’s dream. It was Thursday, October 31st, when I headed to my teammate’s house on my bike, in the dark, with no helmet. I had ridden to their house several times before, in all hours of the day, as it was not even a mile down the road. I leave the dorms, and start flying down the hill towards their house, the intersection light is green, and the timing is perfect. As I'm approaching the intersection, the light turns yellow, and I immediately go into fight of flight mode: either I’m slamming on the brakes and hoping I have enough time to stop before I get to the road, or I’m speeding up and trying to cross the street. Adrenaline was rushing, so I decided to cross the intersection, there was no time for waiting. I can see the red hand on the crossing sign as the stoplight turns red. At this point, there is no turning back. I am entering the intersection. There are two lanes of cars and the car closest to me is blocking the vision of the car in the farthest lane. That car catches the greenlight on their side, and just as I make it halfway through the crosswalk, I am hit. I go airborne into the middle of the intersection and land straight on the ground without my bike.
I can remember trying to stand up and not being able to feel my legs and feeling a big lump on my face, but other than that, the rest is quite foggy. An ambulance ride and several hours later in the hospital, I was on my way home with stitches in my knee, and a nasty headache. Physically, I made it out pretty lucky. After three months of PT and treatment, I was feeling like a million bucks. However, my head was a whole other story.
The accident was on a Thursday and that Sunday I took my first concussion test. After reviewing the results, my trainer told my mom she didn’t know if things would ever be the same for me again because of how low my test scores were. Things got pretty dark after the accident, as for the first time in a while I couldn’t do much of anything I was accustomed to doing. Everyone around me was still carrying on with their lives and I was at a standstill. This was hard, everything had been taken away from me in the blink of an eye and there was a lot of uncertainty about my future. I wasn’t eating and I was losing weight by the day. Every night when I laid in bed to go to sleep, the second I would close my eyes I would either have vivid imaginations of getting in a car accident or driving a car and hitting someone and killing them. This happened for several weeks at night and during the day when I would lay down to take naps. My brain was exhausted since I was running on little to no sleep every night.
I talked to my trainer about going to therapy, due to the simple fact that there were several things in my daily life that I was incapable of doing since the accident; I wouldn’t ride in the car with anyone, I wasn’t eating as the sight of food made me queasy, I couldn’t get on my bike but I still had to get places, I wasn’t able to cross roads unless in large groups. Every time I saw my face in the mirror looking like it had been beaten in, I would start crying. Basically, everything that is expected after a traumatic event was happening, but to an 18-year-old kid. I took it upon myself to seek outside help as it was too overwhelming to handle on my own. In retrospect, I am tremendously grateful for this.
I was in therapy through my school for several months after the accident. I had lost nearly 20 pounds in two months, and even though some sense of normalcy started returning, my overall mental health and sanity were still plummeting. I was home for Christmas break, traveling the Caribbean, and when I came back to school, I got cleared for my concussion. I was starting in the outfield as a freshman and everything was going great for me, I should have been on cloud nine. On the outside, I was still the same person everyone knew prior to the accident, but something was just not right, and I knew it. I was in season, so life was super busy and it made things better. But then, Covid hit and we got sent home. I didn’t have anything to fill my time with, and things got bad. Fortunately, I was able to be open and vulnerable with my mom, and I would cry to her every week about what was going on in my head. After she realized she or anyone in my close circle couldn’t do anything to help, we made an appointment to go see one of the best post-concussion syndrome doctors around. I was under his care for about a year and was finally able to get some answers. No shocker, I ended up being diagnosed with PTSD, post-concussive syndrome, and a traumatic brain injury, alongside depression and anxiety, all stemming from the accident. He set me up with a therapist that specializes in PTSD, who I went to for several months after. We also experimented with different medications that would help me with my lingering headaches, fogginess, sleep issues, anxiety, and depression. I assumed that after medication and a few therapy sessions I would be back to “normal”, but it took a few months to find the medicine that worked for me and to really feel that therapy was helping. Just about a year after I first met with my concussion doctor, he discharged me and referred me to a psychiatrist who would control my medication from there on out.
As months went by, I could feel myself slowly returning to the silly, obnoxious and lively person I once was. I was on three different medications that helped me sleep and manage my anxiety and depression throughout Sophomore year. I was able to effectively manage my panic attacks, I was in a routine, things were just clicking again within my head. When softball season ended, I was okay with not having a care in the world, I could go on vacation and relax for once, overall I was just in a good place. I spent the end of this past summer doing a lot of reminiscing on the last few years.
Thinking of where I was the year prior and after talking to my family and doctors, we decided that I was finally at a point where I could start weaning off my medication, as we felt that I no longer needed medication to help me in my day-to-day life. After nearly a year and half of being on medication, the September before my two-year anniversary of the accident, I no longer needed therapy or medicine to help me feel like myself.
Though all my mental challenges have not gone away, I am now able to use the techniques I learned in therapy to help when I feel things are getting out of hand. I also know myself better to understand that if I need to reach out to someone, I will. The biggest thing for me has been my routine when I feel like I'm spiraling. Going on a walk, working out, going for a drive, and talking to someone is my routine and what works for me. Also, I am learning it is important to take things one step at a time, and I understand a panic attack or an episode isn't a sign of weakness or a setback but rather lets me know I am still alive. Instead of the mindset “Why me?”, my outlook is now one of gratitude and comes from a perspective of “This happened for a reason.”
When I look back, I just think how thankful I am for my accident and the people around me, because now I am able to share my story and educate people about mental health and the stigma surrounding it. It is sometimes difficult for someone without a mental illness to relate to someone who struggles with it, or understand what they are going through. I want to emphasize to everyone the fact that one hour or day you can be on the top of the world, living your best life, and then the next second, you can be in the deepest black hole of your life, believing there is no way out. With that being the case, it is so important to reach out to the people around you, so that they know what you are going through and know who to reach if it gets to that point. Just because no one can heal or do your inner work for you, does not mean you should ever have to fight your inner battles alone. The stigma of medication for mental illness, the stigma attached to going to therapy, the stigma associated with mental disorders and brain injuries, and the overall stigma of not being okay; everyone has their own story, I am just lucky enough to be able to share mine. Check in on your people, do things that benefit your happiness and don’t be afraid to reach out for help, because at the end of the day, everyone is fighting their own battles.
