My brain snapped when I was 18.
I'd come from a long line of anxiety and depression riddled family members; it was only natural that I would inherit the chemical gene and growing up in an environment where I could sense the prevailing anxiety and depression that loomed in the air shaped my natural temperament. Yet I was a happy child with a fanciful imagination, but always tinged with sadness, fear, and self-doubt.
I probably could have gone my entire life not really being too effected by my chemical imbalance. I would have had my happy days and my not so happy days. I would have been able to chalk things up to PMS, lack of sleep, or poor diet.
But then my brain snapped when I was 18.
Raped.
Verbally Abused.
Stalked.
Humiliated.
Belittled.
Threatened.
One night I thought I was going to choke to death.
But I pushed it all away. Convinced myself that I was to blame, that I should have stayed away, that it was really just a bad breakup.
For years my heart would race uncontrollably at times. I would cry without understanding what had set me off. I'd jump every time I saw men with dark crew-cut hair or glasses. I would scream if people, intentionally or accidentally, walked up behind me without my knowledge.
I just shook it off; I'd tell myself that I was a spaz, jumpy, just high strung. The doctor's have a name for that.
PTSD
It was almost 12 years ago, but sometimes there is a trigger that my subconscious picks. One moment I am fine, the next my hands begin to tremble, my pulse races, and my airways narrow making each breath a challenge.
And it's so fucking frustrating!
Iinternally berate myself:
"It was over 12 years ago! Get the fuck over it! Are you putting on a
show for attention? Why do you have to randomly make it apparent
that you aren't fully functional? Can't you knock it off?"
Intellectually, I know the mind stores memories very deep. That these uncontrollable, unintentional, involuntary reactions are part of who I am, who I have become.
I know that they are part of me, that they will always be lurking in the dark recesses of my conscious.
But I know they are not going to rule my life.
So I sit here, trembling and fighting to take a deep breath, waiting for this storm to pass. The calm will arrive eventually; I will be exhausted, needing to crawl into bed.
Jesus told the storms to calm; please Lord send that peace my way.
I'd come from a long line of anxiety and depression riddled family members; it was only natural that I would inherit the chemical gene and growing up in an environment where I could sense the prevailing anxiety and depression that loomed in the air shaped my natural temperament. Yet I was a happy child with a fanciful imagination, but always tinged with sadness, fear, and self-doubt.
I probably could have gone my entire life not really being too effected by my chemical imbalance. I would have had my happy days and my not so happy days. I would have been able to chalk things up to PMS, lack of sleep, or poor diet.
But then my brain snapped when I was 18.
Raped.
Verbally Abused.
Stalked.
Humiliated.
Belittled.
Threatened.
One night I thought I was going to choke to death.
But I pushed it all away. Convinced myself that I was to blame, that I should have stayed away, that it was really just a bad breakup.
For years my heart would race uncontrollably at times. I would cry without understanding what had set me off. I'd jump every time I saw men with dark crew-cut hair or glasses. I would scream if people, intentionally or accidentally, walked up behind me without my knowledge.
I just shook it off; I'd tell myself that I was a spaz, jumpy, just high strung. The doctor's have a name for that.
PTSD
It was almost 12 years ago, but sometimes there is a trigger that my subconscious picks. One moment I am fine, the next my hands begin to tremble, my pulse races, and my airways narrow making each breath a challenge.
And it's so fucking frustrating!
I
"It was over 12 years ago! Get the fuck over it! Are you putting on a
show for attention? Why do you have to randomly make it apparent
that you aren't fully functional? Can't you knock it off?"
Intellectually, I know the mind stores memories very deep. That these uncontrollable, unintentional, involuntary reactions are part of who I am, who I have become.
I know that they are part of me, that they will always be lurking in the dark recesses of my conscious.
But I know they are not going to rule my life.
So I sit here, trembling and fighting to take a deep breath, waiting for this storm to pass. The calm will arrive eventually; I will be exhausted, needing to crawl into bed.
Jesus told the storms to calm; please Lord send that peace my way.
