Dear Diary Day: My Journal Entry About PTSD, TSA, and My Service Dog Onyx Who Helped Me Through It (June 10, 2013)

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The June 10, 2013 Journal Entry

Just got done getting over a full-blown panic attack after going through TSA and being treated like a criminal because my hands came back positive. For what, I don’t know. As soon as it was determined that my hands were positive, all of them were treating me differently and in a very authoritative way.

It triggered me immediately because I was being told what to do and detained. My anxiety started kicking in, and I just wanted to get it over with. They would not proceed until I calmed down, but I couldn’t calm down. Everything they did made my PTSD worse.

First, it started with telling me to sit down while they searched all my stuff. Then this guy got in my face to tell me what was going to happen. I told him to back off because I have PTSD and he was triggering me. He became more aggressive.

I told him I didn’t care what was going to happen—just to make it happen—because I was getting a really bad panic attack. I told him I was very offended that I served my country and was being treated in this manner.

He told me that he had also served this country for 22 years, and he couldn’t believe a retiree would act this way, despite the fact that I was panicking and had a service dog for a reason.

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After they searched all my shit, they then asked me to go into an enclosed room so they could pat me down. I told them I didn’t feel comfortable and I would take all my clothes off right then and there if that was what they needed so I could go.

He told me that he did not want me to take my clothes off, as if I sickened him and was some disgusting ugly girl. He totally reminded me of the rapists/assaulters in the military who used to control me, give me a hard time if I didn’t comply, then belittle me.

I told him he was probably one of the many rapists in the military and to get away from me. He kept getting more hostile, so by now I was in a full-blown panic attack.

Then they called two women to come and escort me to an enclosed room so they could do a pat-down. My anxiety and panic erupted in the small, enclosed room, and I really did not want to be touched after what the retired military guy did to me.

As I was panicking, they would not conduct the search and held me in there until I calmed down. I couldn’t. So they dragged it out, acting like I was being uncooperative. Instead, I was asking them to proceed so I could get out of that small, enclosed room.

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Because I was panicking and they wouldn’t proceed, I got a little aggravated and said to them, “Just pat me down already.” They would not.

I said, “What do you want? You want me to take off my clothes so we can get on with this?” I ripped off my shirt and threw it.

They left the room to get a cop. They came back, and I had to work through the anxiety to do it exactly how they wanted. But I was crying the whole time. I couldn’t catch my breath.

I finally calmed down enough so they could proceed with the pat-down. I asked one of the ladies not to talk to me with an authoritative voice. She complied.

The other one was trying to calm me down and told me to use the dog, but I couldn’t at that point. I was already too far gone, and I just wanted to get out of that room.

So I did what she said so she could pat my entire body down—boobs, crotch, and everything. My hands were positive for what? They never did tell me.

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Then, after clearing me, they told me they needed to search my stuff again because they stepped out of the room when I ripped my shirt off. I told them I had nothing to hide and to just get it over with.

I kept getting told that I needed to calm down, but a full-blown panic attack had already started, and I couldn’t stop it. I also could not stop crying.

So after getting assaulted physically and my entire body touched and patted down, I still couldn’t leave because they had to search all my shit again. This time, they even opened my wallet and everything. I felt so violated in every way.

One chick was trying to be nice, but the other rapist and other woman were rude, authoritative, and just triggering. I asked them not to get in my face or use an authoritative voice and said it would help my PTSD. They didn’t care.

The woman who patted me down was fairly decent, but by this time, I hated them all. All I wanted was for them to do what they had to do so that I could go.

I did not do well with being detained in any way. Them taking my freedom of movement and dragging it out because I had anxiety and was panicking was not appropriate. But they had to be in control.

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I needed some form of control back. They kept telling me that they could not proceed unless I calmed down, but I couldn’t because I was being controlled.

People were authoritative. They detained me, searched all my stuff, and held me in an enclosed space so they could pat me down. She touched my private areas, and I was just dying inside. I could not calm down.

I wish I could have, but everything they did was triggering my PTSD. I just wanted to run so badly. I just wanted it to be over with.

The more I asked them to just do what they had to do, the more they resisted. Everything had to be on their terms. It was horribly oppressive and triggering.

I am definitely going to complain. They should also accommodate our disability. I had nothing to hide, and I made that very clear, but it felt like a sick game to me.

They got off on the control, which is the very thing that sets off my PTSD. TSA—Total Sexual Assault—needs to be educated about the effects and their impact on someone with PTSD.

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I am hoping to not only complain but to educate them. I think I will tweet my story to the DHS.gov folks, as well as my senators/reps.

I was crying the whole time they were conducting their business and hyperventilating. Then some nice lady asked me if I was okay and got me water so I could take my anxiety pills.

She understood the PTSD and shared with me that she was a U.S. Air Force nurse. She was so sweet and very helpful.

I was hyperventilating so badly that when I put the pill in my mouth, it got sucked down my throat. Thank God it didn’t go down the wrong tube. That would have been another disaster.

I just sat there, breathed, and cried. I also turned to Onyx to help me feel less alone and hugged her. She sat on my lap on the floor and really did help.

It was incredible. I couldn’t stop crying until I finally got on the plane, away from that location, and the anxiety pill kicked in. Thank God I had them.

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I just could not control this panic attack. It was totally out of my control. TSA only made the whole situation worse.

And this is not the first time I have heard this, but I had no idea that it was true. I am not going to fly again for quite some time.

Piece-of-shit equipment finds my hands positive. WTF? Positive for what? They could at least tell me that much.

Oh well, they didn’t realize who they were messing with. I wish I could think straight enough to get their names, but I couldn’t even think. I was out of it—disassociating.

I wasn’t sure how to use Onyx aside from loving her, kissing her, and petting her. She definitely helped make me feel less alone. I probably would have had a complete meltdown if she was not there.

Thank God for service dogs. Someday, the American public will understand how debilitating this stupid crap is. What’s even worse is that it’s from military rape. And everything they did made me feel like I was right back in the place with my attackers.

Original Journal Entry:

I’m noting this on the plane not only as a matter of record, but also as a coping strategy. It is definitely helping.

Now I am exhausted from going into a heightened state of panic. Listening to tunes to help me shut out the outside world. Beatles. I love them so much. So relaxing. Wish I had some Floyd too.

And I am too exhausted to talk to anyone. I just want to get home so badly. I just want my safety zone in Maine—my four walls that protect me.

Just looking at Onyx makes my heart happy and makes me feel better. She is definitely a service dog for a reason. And she knows now when I get upset. It’s hard to explain how she just gets it, but she does. It’s an amazing thing!

The TSA thing would have been worse had Onyx not been there. Although I wasn’t in a position to use her because I was being controlled, it was still nice having her.

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One lady told me to use the dog, but I couldn’t seem to pull myself together enough to do that until I was able to escape the situation. Then I utilized her fully, and she sat on Mom’s lap.

It was great. Just looking at her now on the plane gives me comfort. I will be very happy to be in my house tonight and in my own bed, where I feel completely safe.

All because some POS equipment found my hands “positive.” Positive for what? That is the big question. Ridiculous.

This country is really beginning to suck! WTF is wrong with this picture? Wasn’t TSA supposed to be for criminals, not retired military and innocent Americans?

I can’t stand the fact that I served my country honorably and get treated like a regular Joe Schmoe criminal.

Pathetic.

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Jennifer and Lee

Our Love, Our Freedom, Our Story