Cell Phone PTSD

On Saturday, Steve diagnosed me with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, or PTSD, which is found among people who experienced distressing or traumatic situations. PTSD is often diagnosed in veterans, as wartime events and situations can have lasting psychological effects. Effects of PTSD include depression, fits of anger, insomnia and jumping at loud noises, to name a few. My symptoms are manifested in the obsession I have with my cell phone.

I'm not trying to make light of real PTSD, but I have gotten into quite a neurotic pattern of behavior regarding the phone.

While Steve was deployed, I didn't know when he would be able to call. During the first several months of his deployment, it was often a week or two in between phone calls, and he usually only had a brief window of time in which to talk. He might call while I was at work or asleep, so I had to have the phone nearby. Also, since I didn't live close his Army base (we were only engaged at this time), I had no way of getting information. I would sometimes receive an email that someone from Steve's company had been wounded, but that the family had not been contacted yet, so they wouldn't give out names. At those times all the company families kept their phones close at hand.

During Steve's 15-month deployment, my phone was constantly at my side. I never turned it off. I carried it around the gym with me and left the volume on high if I was in the shower. I was extremely blessed to have understanding employers who allowed me to bring my phone to meetings and take my lunch break at odd hours so that I could talk to Steve if he called. One time I got halfway to work, checked for my phone, and remembered I'd left it on the sink (I kept it where I could see it light up while drying my hair). I knew I'd be late if I went back, but I turned around. I had to have it with me.

Every time the phone rang, I jumped a mile. If it rang, I answered it. I took every call from unknown or restricted numbers, in case it was Steve or someone who might be calling to say he'd been hurt. I would imagine I'd hear it ringing even when it wasn't.

Even though Steve's been home for a year and a half, I'm only beginning to recover from my obsessive cell phone behavior. As we got into the car on Saturday, I bragged to him how I'd left my phone there while cheering him on in the triathlon. He shook his head. "I think you have PTSD," he said, as I checked my phone to make sure I hadn't missed any calls.

"No I don't," I replied, but then leaned over to check if there were any voicemails on his phone.