Living With PTSD

Living with PTSD is an ongoing, never-ending uphill battle. Some of us deal with it by compartmentalizing our traumas, putting them into a box and throwing away the key. Yet that
key never gets thrown very far. It somehow finds its way back into our back pockets. Our
traumas dwell deep within us. They manifest in our dreams, where we relive them in shocking
realism, waking up screaming and drenched in sweat. Sometimes we blame ourselves, and try to
end it by acting out in ways we never would have if these events didn’t happen. We suffer
through depression, panic attacks, and anxiety. Psychotic breaks. The memories often emerge at
times when we should feel happy. Many of us can’t take the pain and think of suicide, and too
many of us succeed in carrying it out.

It just never fucking goes away. Personally, I’ve been hospitalized, been in 12 step groups for 20
years (and no, I don’t have 20 years sober), therapy, psychiatry, medications, and the list goes on
and on. In an attempt to heal myself, after years of introspection, I’ve tried to come to terms with
my past by writing about it. In doing so, I pushed my memories to the front and center. The
demons and monsters that I carried with me like a ball and chain slowly ebbed as I penned my
story, but now that it’s been written, I find myself more and more often in a state of panic and
fear. Hyper vigilance of my surroundings any time I’m outside. Wondering if the man
approaching me as I walk through a parking lot is going to hurt me.

Yet here I sit today, in the muck of it again. It hasn’t gone away, the PTSD. It’s a life sentence. I
can come to terms with my truth, but the terror of it persists. I’m scared. Scared that I’ll never rid
myself of the beasts who robbed me of my self worth and value.

To them, I say, “Fuck You”. I’m telling my story, how it happened. It’s not pretty, or for the faint
of heart. It’s as guttural as the pit I’m feeling in my stomach as I try to get through today.

I guess what I’m trying to say here is don’t judge your insides with anyone else’s outsides. You
never know what a smiling, filtered picture on Facebook has going on inside them.

Prayers to my fellow survivors.

You are not alone.