The above was me… who I was and how I viewed my life.
Before being crashed into PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) in 2011.
What you see next is what it feels like to be in PTSD, unable to see past it to when you will be back to yourself.
You feel like that dog looking out the window, like the black dogs William Styron wrote of, like the outlined woman with nothing inside the outlines, like a being who can watch and observe but with limitations on stimulations, time and expression like never before. Everything takes so much more energy than ever before.
The truth is, you may never be back to yourself.
You may have to invent a whole new you.
It is like being held inside a box you want out of but you didn’t put yourself there so you can’t find the key to getting out. So you keep yourself protected, carry yourself with the same character, scruples, integrity and intelligence you always had. It’s just that your coping skills are so compromised that staying home, keeping everything inside where no one can hurt you with it, attack your vulnerability and courage to share as if you are somehow, at fault and to blame for the PTSD nevermind for wanting only rightness and goodness.
My eyes pain daily from crying even though I almost cannot cry any more. Two years of tears was enough for any rusty tug to sail on. Yet, I flounder.
These collages surprised me, as did the little box, all made in courses on recovering from PTSD. I thought the black represented the worst was over, showed where I had been driven by a relentless chain of trauma after loss after loss after trauma. The pink was where I was headed. I thought. I hoped.
The truth is, I am not even close to the pink collage… not even close. I am more between the black collage and just keeping myself safe, protecting my emotions and fragility by keeping the lid on the box I made. If I let myself out, I will only be hurt again anyway… better to stay away from those with ulterior motives, hidden agendas and no kind heart.
I am safer that way, I have found.
As soon as we let love in, we become so vulnerable that any indiscretion or judgmentalness smacks us down, back into full blown PTSD.
Why can’t everyone just want purity, goodness and kindness and actually walk/live that instead of just say it… talk is cheap. Not walking your talk is even cheaper.
Hoping to finish the book on this one day. Just sharing what I can for now so you know I am still here. There really is no after. Not for me. Not yet. If ever. I am between the black depths and the box of safety at any given moment. Thank goodness for social media that “shows” something else for my all long distance relatives. This is also why I dislike social media, what you SEE is NOT real. It never is. It’s all a projection, all about image and meism. But it does serve a purpose for some things as above. Couldn’t very well share this on “Crackbook” where everyone jumps to tell you not to share your private business on there whilst sharing their private bodily business openly like nobody’s business. Writers will get me. So will those who have walked the mental and emotional trauma road.
See you soon!
- Abused Children May Get Unique Form of PTSD (jwbrookslaw.wordpress.com)
- Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder affects 800,000 Australians, new research suggests (abc.net.au)
- What Is Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (wiki.mozilla.org)
- PTSD – 3 Steps to Mastering its Effects. (childhoodtraumarecovery.com)
- PTSD and the effect on DNA Part 1 (veteranstoday.com)