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Me:Sounds good
Just before noon, there’s a soft knock on my office door frame, and I look up to find my best friend hovering in the entry, with a pensive frown on her face. “Ready?”
No, but it’s not like I have a choice. “Ready. Where are we going?”
Astrid chews on her lower lip and slips her arm through mine as I meet her at the door. “I was thinking we could go up to Pike Place Market and get gyros from Turkish Delight, then sit at the MarketFront Sundeck and catch up.”
By ‘catch up’, she means ‘talk about Gunnar’, and we both know it. “Sounds good. I haven’t been to Turkish Delight in a while.”
We get a rideshare to Pike Place Market and queue up with the tourists and other locals waiting to order delicious, authentic Turkish cuisine. The underlying tension between us is awkward, and I can’t take any more of it. Time to rip off the bandage. “How is he?”
Her long sigh tells me everything. “Alright, I guess. Better than when Bjorn got hurt but not as good as before that.” From the corner of my eye, I can see her turn toward me, but I’m not ready to talk about this while meeting her gaze, so I scan the people in line in front of us as she continues. “Look, I know we’ve talked about Gunnar’s PTSD before, but only in bits and pieces. I never shared the nitty-gritty details because that wasn’t really anything you needed to know. But now…”
Her voice trails off, and I can see her biting her lip again. “But now I do.”
She nods. “You know that PTSD isn’t curable, right?” I nod, finally looking at her. She clenches her jaw and takes a deep breath through her nose. “So, imagine you’re seventeen, out with your mom, doing a little holiday shopping, and while you’re off getting the car, some asshole holds her at knifepoint and tries to steal her purse. Then imagine she attempts to fight him off and gets slashed with the knife, nicking an artery, and by the time you pull around with the car, she’s already on the sidewalk, dying right in front of you. You’d just left her a few minutes before, and she was fine, and now she’s gone. And if you’d only stayed a few more minutes or opted to walk with her to the car instead of picking her up, or if you’d been there to fight him off, maybe she’d still be alive.” My stomach drops, and my heart squeezes for the young boy Gunnar was. “Gunnar beat himself up for years over thewhat-ifs. He knew it wasn’t his fault, but it didn’t stop him from blaming himself anyway.” I want to say something, but what is there to say? So I stay quiet but give her my attention. “It took him a while, but he worked so hard to deal with the trauma, and for the past few years, he’s been really good. There’ve been a few down periods where he’s struggled but nothing really big. And he knows he’s going to struggle on and off with the PTSD for the rest of his life. It’s part of who he is.”
“Like Jules and his anxiety.”
She bobs her head back and forth. “Yes and no, but for this discussion, it’s a decent comparison.” I don’t mention that this really isn’t a discussion, since she’s doing most of the talking. “Anyway, enough with the analogies. My point is that Gunnar went through all of that and worked really hard to get himself to a good place mentally. That should have been it. But then Bjorn got stabbed.” She holds up a finger. “During a robbery.” She holds up a second finger. “And almost died.” She holds up a third. “Any one of those things would be a trigger for him, but he got hit with all three. And he spiraled.”Merde. “Cass, his therapist, calls it decompensation. What was working for him before Bjorn got stabbed didn’t work for him after it happened. Only he couldn’t see that, and he kept trying.”
Her explanation is interrupted as we reach the counter. Thankfully, I know the brief menu by heart because I haven’t given any thought to what I want for lunch. Not that I’m particularly hungry right now. I order the doner kebab sandwich, and Astrid gets the chicken kebab wrap. We pay for our food and move to the side to wait, so I pick up the conversation where we left off, trying to keep my voice low. “So, you’re saying he was stuck in his head.”
“Yes. And what used to work wasn’t working anymore and he got frustrated and scared. That’s why he kept lashing out.” She turns to face me. “It’s why he got on his bike and left. He was trying to fix himself, and it took longer than usual.”
“Because it was a bigger than usual event.”
“Yes. Exactly.”
I get what she’s saying, and I accept that Gunnar wasn’t being malicious or doing hurtful things on purpose, but the truth is, he hurt me anyway. “But he still left and didn’t reach out to any of us. He didn’t trust us to help him. How are you okay with that?”
She shakes her head. “You’re looking at it rationally. PTSD isn’t rational. Gunnar thought he was doing the right thing by removing himself from the triggering situation so he could get himself together. What seems like an obvious answer to us was far from obvious to him at that moment. And he kept making bad decision after bad decision until he finally calmed down enough to think things through, and then he came home.”
“Going off by himself isn’t an answer, though, and I’m not sure I could be okay with that as a coping strategy.” It seems like that’s what she’s suggesting, and part of me feels like a complete ass for not being okay with it, but the other part feels like that’s an unreasonable request to make of anyone.
Astrid smiles sympathetically. “That’s fair. It’s why you need to think things through. Being with Gunnar means accepting that there are going to be points in time where he isn’t coping well and starts to make faulty decisions. Hopefully, those instances will be few and far between. It’s been years since he had an episode, and this one was exceptional. A family member getting stabbed doesn’t normally happen to people. We’ve just been really unlucky in that regard. Being with Gunnar means being aware of his triggers and the signs that he’s not coping well. It means learning how to encourage him to get professional help when he needs it. And it probably means going with him to therapy to learn about his issues and how to be a partner to someone who lives with PTSD. He’s already going again, by the way. He sees Cass once a week, and he says it’s helping.”
“That’s good. I’m glad.” And I am. The idea of Gunnar suffering through that trauma by himself hurts my heart.
“Look, if you’re not up for the ups and downs and the therapy, it’s understandable. It’s a lot. But it’s been years since his PTSD has been this bad, and he’s actually very considerate and sweet when he isn’t dealing with triggering events. But that level of support is what he needs from a partner, and not acknowledging that is asking for disaster.”
Our order is called, and we collect our food. As we walk across the street to the MarketFront Sundeck and find an empty table, I consider everything Astrid has said. Can I be that kind of partner for Gunnar? I tried to be supportive, but he shut me out. No, I guess he didn’t. He went back to coping mechanisms that he knew. And I suppose they ultimately did work since he came back and seems to be doing better, according to Astrid. “It’s a lot to consider, but I do get what you’re saying. And I promise to give it serious thought.”
“I appreciate that. And I’m here if you have any questions.” She grips my hand and looks me in the eyes. “If you decide you can’t be what he needs, I would understand and wouldn’t hold it against you. It’s not what you thought you were getting into.” I don’t remind her that, initially, I didn’t think I was getting into anything other than a quick fake boyfriend situation. Gunnar turned out to be everything I’d been looking for. Until he wasn’t. And isn’t that a totally unfair expectation to hold him to?
There’s a lot to consider, and I have some major soul searching to do.
Over the past few days, Gunnar has texted me twice, and I’ve briefly responded to both, trying to keep the messages neutral. But again, I’m not sure how long I can keep that up. It’s been a week since Astrid and I went to lunch, and it seems like I’ve done nothing but think about everything she said. Ultimately, it comes down to forgiveness and acceptance, and I need to make a decision.
I sling my laptop bag over my shoulder, shut off my office light, and since it’s raining, I pull out my phone to call a rideshare. There’s another text from Gunnar waiting for me.
Gunnar: I miss you so much
Sighing at the screen, I’m suddenly too tired to do anything else but be truthful.
Me: I miss you too. A lot
He doesn’t text anything else, and neither do I.
