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Terrorized by Fear

By on January 18, 2017
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By Sophia Losinski

Do you remember where you were the day John F Kennedy died?

Or do you perhaps remember what you were doing on September 11th at the moment the planes struck the Twin Towers in New York City?

What about April 15th, 2013 – at precisely 2:49 p.m.? Nothing coming to mind? I will always remember that date and time.

On April 15th, 2013 I was in Boston, Massachusetts. My husband was running in the 117th marathon, and I, his loving wife was there to cheer him on. Little did I know what the coming hours would bring.

The day began beautifully. My husband’s aged father and I made our way to Hopkinton where the race begins. There, amongst thousands of people, we stood. Our hearts beat wildly as we saw our loved one round the corner towards the start line. He was primed to battle the 42.2 kilometres on his journey to Boylston Street.

My father-in-law and I made our way to the stands that were located at the finish line. And there we waited, with baited breath for the moment our sweetheart made his way across the famous finish line. That never happened. He was but five short blocks away when terror struck.

We were directly across from the first explosion – a mere thirty feet. Initially, we were unclear about what happened but within seconds knew something horrible had taken place. Never before had I heard such sounds – the sounds of screams, crying, and sirens. We had no choice but to move. But where to go? Boston was not my home, not my city. And where was my husband?

Shock set in quickly and the tears flooded my face, blinding my sight. My heart raced, my palms sweated, and I felt utterly and completely lost. Cell service was temporarily disabled, and I had no way of reaching my husband. My initial calls went unanswered.

Finally, a text. He was okay. We hurriedly made our way through the chaotic streets, passing people along the way who were dazed, confused and frantic. I will never forget the moment when I saw my husband. My feet couldn’t carry me fast enough.

IMG_3405He, along with thousands of runners, was displaced and in shock from the drastic change in their body temperature. He stood before me, draped in an oversized plastic garbage bag, shaking. Simultaneously, tears streamed down both of our faces. He was okay; I was okay. We three were okay. Or so I had thought.

The rest of that afternoon and evening progressed in a kind of out of body kind of experience. Nothing seemed real. How could anything this horrible have happened – to us?

We made our way back to our hotel and sat mesmerized in the dining hall, where CNN News was looping on the TV, recapping the horrid and tragic events of the day. Scenes of death, dismemberment, and fear were being played over and over again. I wanted to go home.

Security was heightened everywhere. Boston Police greeted us as we made our way to the lounge area for our flight home. They searched our cameras in the hopes of finding something that might incriminate the attackers. I was also informed that the FBI would be making contact with me. What was happening to my life?

The days that followed our arrival back home to Toronto were surreal. In a strange and dissociated kind of way, I trudged along as if nothing happened. I returned to the office and threw myself into my job. The distractions didn’t work for long.

I was petrified to leave my house. My usual subway ride into the city was wrought with anxiety. Every backpack had me on high alert. Confined spaces and crowds of people sent me into a panic. I was spiralling out of control.

A sleepless night filled with recollections of terror kept me up. Anger seeped out of every pore of my being. I was losing me. The joyful, hopeful, happy, peaceful and trusting me was evaporating.

Post-Traumatic Stress was setting in and beating the vibrant life right out of me.

I needed help. I needed support. I needed love – lots of it. Asking for it was very hard for me. I had been other people’s rock. I had been the go-to girl who fixes everything for everyone else. But I was now the one who was broken – helpless – vulnerable – weak.

The world I that I had been viewing through my rose coloured, unicorn trimmed, rainbow decorated glasses was gone. My vision was dimming. The planet appeared dark, dismal, and hopeless. Where had the love and peace I believed in gone to?

Nothing would change if I didn’t find the courage to face my fears. I took three months off of work to heal. During that time I participated in all kinds of therapy. I spoke to psychologists, I painted my pain onto pieces of canvas, I journaled, I blogged, and I found myself asking friends and family for their love, patience and understanding.

Eventually, the dark clouds of pessimism parted, and the light of love began to shine more brightly in my life. The healing was well under way, and I knew that with concerted effort and self-love that I would eventually make my way out of what had become my dungeon of devastation.

Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder is no laughing matter. Being broken in Boston was the most frightening thing I had ever experienced. It also became one of the greatest gifts of my life.

It taught me resilience in a way that I had never known. It taught me humility. It taught me gratitude. And it taught me the power of living in each and every moment.

Unknown-1We went back to Boston in April of 2014. My husband needed to cross the finish line, and I wanted to be there when he did. Waiting for him on that sunny afternoon brought up all kinds of anxiety. But it didn’t beat me. I didn’t leave. I didn’t run away.

Life is full of unexpected moments, and there is no way of predicting when that may happen. If it does, we don’t have to suffer in silence. Seeking help is not a sign of weakness. It is, in fact, one of the most courageous things you can and will ever do for yourself.

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image1Sophia Losinski is a best-selling author and Certified PNRT Therapist. She loves assisting people in living joyful and productive lives. Her inspirational quotes, known as “Sophisms” have touched people’s lives around the world. Sophia lives in Toronto where she spends time with her beloved friends and family. Check out her fabulous books, including her latest, It’s Me, Soph – a memoir and Into My Wings – a novel

Website:   www.sophie-losinski.com
Facebook:    https://www.facebook.com/itsmesophwriter
Twitter:   @SLosinskiAuthor /  @Stencilgal
Instagram:  itsmesophauthor

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