078: Dealing with Traumatic Loss as an Atheist


Content Warning: This story contains some language pertaining to violent experiences that might be upsetting or triggering for some survivors. 


"Dealing with Traumatic Loss as an Atheist," Katy Hamm

So, I’m an atheist. I always have been. But in high school I went to a Christian youth group with my best friend from school, Emily. Mostly because many of the kids in the group were into the alternative music scene. We became close with a few of them, and a group of us even went to our first Warped Tour together. 

When a new group leader came along, I didn’t think much of it. I walked in wearing my black winged eyeliner, Silverstein hoodie, ripped jeans, and Avenged Sevenfold shoes as always ready to hang out with my friends. Instead I was sat down, and told that the skulls on my shoe were a sign of my sin, and that I would go to hell if I didn’t change my ways.

I left with a bitter taste for religion in my mouth, and never came back. 

On July 11th, 2008, I received a phone call from one of our friends from youth group. He asked if Emily’s parents had called me yet. I said no, and thought something might have been wrong with her mom. I told him I’d call Emily and find out what was going on. He said, “it’s Emily.” I stayed silent in confusion. “She was in a head on collision last night,” Adam said, “She didn’t make it.”

I lost focus and everything started buzzing.

Life was never going to be the same. 

After her funeral, I watched as so many found peace in God, and felt it was His decision to "bring her home." But I was angry. There was no reason for me. There was no higher power in which to look. There was just an end to a life that had been really important in mine.

I spent years grieving. My depression and anxiety spiraled out of control. I spent countless hours in therapy, suffered from panic attacks so intense I would be incapacitated any time I couldn't get in touch with a loved one. I felt a spot of emptiness in my heart that could never again be filled.

Luckily, I found my a wonderful sense of self and purpose while on my college programming board planning concerts featuring local musicians. Things were tough, but life was looking up. I found life-long friends, and someone I wanted to spend my life with in my partner Jon. We had started a clothing company together, and I was about to head into my fifth year of college.

After nine months of making things work with the distance, he left me, citing not being over his ex of 7 years. My soul felt crushed, but I still wanted him in my life - so we continued running the clothing company together, with my hopes that eventually we would be together and things would be perfect. 

Then on April 4, 2011, I received another phone call. This time it was 4:00 a.m., and I just missed answering it. “Lori Kwiatkowski,” my phone read right before the screen turned dark. I picked up the phone and began to text Jon, “why is your mother calling me?” Halfway through that message, it hit. This was THAT call. It was happening again.

No. No. No.

I called back, and I was met with my worst nightmare. Jon had been murdered. He had been stabbed in the neck by a monster of a man who lived a few houses down from their family right in front of their eyes.

There it was again. The buzzing. Everything was spinning, and I fell to the floor. 

The years following were some of the hardest years of my life. I developed Post-traumatic Stress Disorder, which was amplified after attending the trial. I feel like I remember every detail. The size and shape of the knife. The angle and place of which it entered and left his body. The sound of Jon's voice on the 911 call yelling, "he slit my throat!" The way his mother, father, and brother looked when they had to relive each horrifying moment with the monster who did it in the room. The explosion of anger I felt watching the lies and fake tears pouring out of the murderer to try and escape his punishment.

I found myself angry and frustrated daily as I was told by family and friends that Emily and Jon were in heaven meeting each other, and playing with their dogs again. That, “everything happens for a reason,” and it was their time to go. 

It SUCKS to deal with loss and trauma as an atheist. That comfort that others find in believing their loved ones are in a better place doesn’t exist. The comfort found in knowing your life is only the first adventure isn’t there. So what do you do?

Here’s what has worked (for the most part) for me.

-------

 
FUCKING BREATHE.

When you have lost someone, especially through senseless violence – you will often find yourself encountered with people who will think they are helping, but are in fact doing the exact opposite.

Maybe it’s a co-worker who says, “Oh no honey, my sister’s best friend’s cousin once knew a guy whose wife died from cancer. I feel you. So tragic.”  Or an acquaintance on Facebook who says, “Thoughts & prayers to you. She is in a better place now.”  Or even worse, a friend hits you square in the face with a big, “He’s in heaven now, and everything God does is for a reason.”

No. Your sister’s best friend’s cousin’s guy’s wife’s death from cancer is absolutely NOTHING like the murder of my partner. 

No. She isn’t in a better place. She’s in an urn because some irresponsible mess decided to get plastered before 9PM and drive home taking my best friend away from her family, friends, and a job she loved taking care of young adults with disabilities.
 
No. Everything doesn’t happen for a reason. If it did, why is this so called God giving me, and so many other marginalized folks the short end of the stick? 

Muscles tensing up. Heartbeat increasing. Hands shaking. 
 
FUCKING BREATHE ALREADY. 

You need to do this to live. 

It seems silly and simple, but concentrated breathing is the only way I kept myself from unloading a ton of anger and swear words on anyone who said these things to me. They are trying to empathize, trying to give you comfort, trying to assure you that you’ll be okay.

They aren’t doing any of those things, and may very well be actively hurting you by trying.

Just breathe, and if and when you find it in yourself - share with that person how those things affect you. They will most likely understand.

 
Stop asking yourself “What If” questions

Yes. They are tempting. I’ve spent my fair share of time with them.
 
What if he hadn’t broken up with me? He would still be alive. He wouldn’t have been coming home from her house. He wouldn’t have been out that late. He probably would have been across the state with me.

What if he had just stayed in the house when he called the police? He’d still be alive.  His family wouldn’t have had to see their son killed in front of them. I wouldn’t have the ringing in my ear of his voice on the 911 call.

What if they hadn’t given up their big dog just a few days earlier? He would still be alive. The dog could have attacked the guy. He could have saved him.
 
What if I had been there? He’d still be alive. I would have convinced him to not interact with the guy. I could have told him to stay inside the house.  I could have saved him.
 
What if he was still alive?

What if.

 
Give up your what ifs. Don’t let them haunt you. It just causes more pain, more flashbacks, more panic. 

Maybe each time you find yourself thinking, “What if…” – instead, think of one thing the person you lost was really passionate about, and share that thing with someone. Think of something that made you smile each time you were with them. 

One thing I like to think about is  when Jon and I would listen to The Devil Wears Prada's Zombie EP, and each time the music paused for the "Oh my god, they're everywhere," line, he would instead yell, "Oh my god, Pokémon cards," while miming a motion for making it rain. Makes me smile every time.
 

Cry all the cries.

Self-explanatory. Don’t hold back those tears. Even if you have to be the weird kid crying on the train, or in the bathroom, or on the sidewalk, or in the park, or under your desk at work, or in class, or in an elevator, or at the printer when you can’t get it to work, or any number of other places I have found myself crying over the years. 

I know there is stigma with certain identities about showing sadness, depression, and anxiety. Do your best to not worry about what others think. Crying is good for you. 

I’m with you. You’re not alone. 


Therapy.

If you are lucky enough to have access and funding to go to therapy, go. I'm not going to lie, it sucks sometimes, because you’re reliving moments of your past you would rather keep buried, but doing so can help you process and have lasting benefits. 

There is a type of therapy called EMDR. I swear it is witchcraft, because it did wonders for my PTSD. I was only able to go once, but it helped immensely. I held these two vibrating things in my hand as I retold the traumatic event I wanted help reprocessing. My therapist would alternate the vibrations frequency and intensity throughout the story, and I guess it somehow helps rewire what parts of your brain fire when you recall that memory. Or something along those lines. I’m not a therapist. 

Either way. It can help.

Stigma is stupid. If you think you’re weaker because you go to therapy or take medication for your mental health, I’m happy to tell you that you’re wrong. It takes a strong person to take control of their health. This shit isn’t easy! Let’s be real, continuing to live after experiencing trauma is one of the strongest things you can do. 

And if you don’t have access to a therapist. Talk it out with someone. Find resources online for survivors of trauma. Never stop searching for something that could help improve your life.


Advocate for others.

Triggers are THE WORST. Those words, phrases or actions that send you spiraling into panic attacks, flashbacks, and tears. Those things that rip all the light from your eyes, and the energy from your body.

Don’t be silent. Don’t suffer to keep others comfortable. Tell those who use your triggers what they do to you. Anyone who cares about you as a person will quickly change their behavior. You’d be surprised at how willing people are to change, especially when they were doing something they didn’t even know was harmful.

Now that you’ve got the power to advocate for yourself, do it for others. Make the world a safer place for those who have experienced trauma. 

When you don’t believe in a higher power, karma, the good of the human race, or anything else; believe in yourself.

I believe in you.


-------


Things are honestly still tough. July is such a hard month for me with Jon’s birthday, the anniversary of losing Emily, and Emily’s birthday. It’s been years, but I still cry thinking about how Emily and I will never draw comic book notes to each other again, or how Jon and I will never smile at each other again. Or how neither will ever get to see their niece/nephew is as they grow up. 

In my victim impact statement for Jon’s trial, I wrote, “I feel as though I’ve had my one chance at lifelong happiness taken from me.” For years, I thought that was true. 

I’m really thankful it wasn’t. I’ve worked my butt off to make sure it didn’t. I made sure I surrounded myself with genuinely caring human beings. I’ve found a partner in someone who makes me a better person, and will never ever pressure me to do something I don’t want to. I made sure I landed a job that felt less like a job, and more like a calling. I made sure I discovered myself, and learned to be comfortable in my identities. I made sure to stay creative, and find an outlet for my expression. I've made sure to accept and embrace my mental health.

Happiness in the wake of trauma is not easy, but I promise it is worth it.
You are resilient. You are worthy.


katy breathe.jpg

About the art:

Nevan made this piece of art for Katy using massive amounts of sorcery and probably a computer because the man is an absolute wizard. No one truly understands the source of his craft, but we know that when he shares his magic with the world, we are meant to stare and take it in with awe and not question the methods by which it was created.

This image reads, "Breathe," which Nevan says was a reminder he needed more so now than ever. If you remember, he shared his coming out story last month. And he joined our artist team shortly thereafter. Since sharing the story, his life has been a bit chaotic, so Nevan said that this piece was actually incredibly therapeutic to create because needs this reminder when his brain gets all tangled up in itself.

And as you can tell from reading Katy's story, this is a perfect reminder for Katy as well.

- Craig & Nevan

001: The Path to Recovery


Trigger Warning: This post contains information about sexual assault and/or violence which may be triggering to some survivors.

"The Path to Recovery," Kristen Perry

As an undergraduate, I was very involved. I joined hall council, and then became an RA for the next three years. I participated in the National Student Exchange program, and I always got involved in campus wide events. I loved everything about my undergraduate career, except for the shadow that followed me. That shadow was my date rape.

I had been on and off with a guy for about a year, and we came to the decision that we should just stay friends and stop trying to be anything more. As soon as we made that decision, my life changed. I went to hang out at his apartment one night with his friend, and we started to drink. The next thing I remembered was waking up practically naked on the bed the next morning. Neither one of them said one word to me when they drove me back to my place.

I texted his friend asking him to tell me what happened, but he said he didn’t know. When I asked the guy, he began making jokes and asking how much I had to drink. When I asked him if we had sex, he took a long time to respond, but he finally answered yes.

Fast-forward a year and a half to my senior year-my third year as an RA. Our training changed a little bit, and they added two extra sexual assault sessions to the agenda. As I was sitting through a Sexual Assault Nurse Examiner presentation, my worst fear hit me: the person she described in her survivor presentation was me.My life shattered. My last year of college turned into a huge blur of counseling sessions, completing sand tray therapy, and taking medication for anxiety and nightmares.

I was mad at myself because I didn’t know it happened. I couldn’t remember that night, he said we had sex, and yet, my brain didn’t process that I had been sexually assaulted even after years of RA training. I still struggle with this concept, and I am learning to forgive myself. As professionals, we need to know that not only is the attack never the survivor’s fault, but they are not responsible for the aftermath either.

This is Kristen's PechaKucha talk, titled, "The Little Red Bird," which she presented at the ACPA Convention in March 2016. The talk includes information about sexual assault, campus response and recommendations to humanize the compliance process.

I am still, and probably always will be recovering, but I know that I can use my experience to empower others. At the end of my senior year, I started the Clothesline Project at my school, which addresses all types of violence towards women. It was a small program, but I left it in the hands of returning RAs to make it greater in the future.

What happened to me was terrible; I can’t even say rape out loud without bursting into tears. I want to say that I’m glad it happened to me instead of someone who doesn’t know how to ask for help, but that’s terrible too. Sexual assault happens too often, and society tells survivors that it’s their fault and that they’re wrong to ask for help or report it. I’m one of the lucky few that didn’t receive backlash for asking for help. I didn’t choose to report it, and I don’t regret that decision.

Many colleges are educating students about sexual assault, but what if they don’t know how to ask for help? What if they do ask, but the school sweeps it under the rug, or creates uproar when they try to report it? How can we ensure that survivors feel safe and protected instead of vulnerable and ridiculed?

Kristen Perry presenting her PechaKucha talk at the 2016 ACPA Convention. This was the first time Kristen spoke publicly about her experience with sexual violence.

Kristen Perry presenting her PechaKucha talk at the 2016 ACPA Convention. This was the first time Kristen spoke publicly about her experience with sexual violence.

I am now across the country starting a College Student Personnel graduate program. I have an assistantship as a hall director, and I couldn’t be more excited. I am at this point in my life because of the endless support I had from professional staff, friends, and fellow RAs. Not many people know details, but they know that I went through a traumatic experience, and all of them walked through my recovery with me.

I don’t want survivors to travel down that path alone. The path to recovery is scary, dark, and sometimes seems like it’ll never end. As professionals, we need to walk with them until they can see the light and they don’t need us by their side anymore.

I will probably never know what happened to me that night, but I do know that my life has changed, and I want to walk someone else down the path of recovery.


About the art:

This is Kristen's little red bird that helped her through her survival.

This is Kristen's little red bird that helped her through her survival.

When Katy and I first met Kristen, we knew we needed to collaborate. We watched her practice her PK talk earlier in the evening and it brought both of us to tears. I immediately told Kristen I would paint literally anything she wanted. This interaction is actually what inspired us to create this project.

The red bird from her PK talk, was, of course a necessity, and since Katy is the person I go to for creating replication of pieces, I knew I needed their help!

Katy definitely came through in the clutch, creating a gorgeous rendition of Kristen's red bird. I took the quote as seen in Kristen's PK talk and painted the words above and below the bird to give the piece some necessary balance. All in all, this initial piece for the project looks and feels exactly as it should.

The painting is loving, fierce, and brave--all words i would use to perfectly describe Kristen's resilience as a survivor.

Thank you, Kristen.

-Craig.