A friend who I consider a brother called me “so sensitive.” He meant well, and he’s the strongest person I know. Unfortunately, I can’t be strong.
I have PTSD. Several times over.
It began at the age of 11, when I witnessed a terrible a horrific act of violence. It was cruel and brutal and left me permanently changed. What was worse is it was the day I learned my parents could not shield me. They wanted to, but they were just as helpless.
I still can’t talk about it. I want to but it’s scarred over so that when I do talk about it, I feel ill for days.
- Then other events piled on.
- Bullied in school.
- My mother’s illness.
- Full on mental breakdown by 12
- More bullying.
- Partner abuse.
- Suicide attempt
- Sexual predatory behavior by a teacher at my Yeshiva.
And things I can’t talk about. Not yet. Maybe someday. It will come out eventually, once I can get the courage to let the world know.
But what I can say that the years between the ages of 11–18, I had maybe 10 happy days.
18–20, I started healing.
And then I nearly died several times.
Like watching my home washed away in Hurricane Sandy, and nearly losing my parents as the water washed them away. I still remember that crash of glass and the whoosh of the water and my mother screaming. Wow. Just writing about it takes me back.
And then my year in Israel.
And then the Chelsea bombings.
Yup. Full on PTSD.
My PTSD makes me extremely nervous.
Things can put me back in the prison cell of memory and the torture chamber of fear.
Crashing glass makes me scared. I go back to that moment of nearly losing my parents.
Men yelling makes me very scared. I’m always convinced I’m doing something wrong. It makes me apologize over and over, because I’m afraid someone will hurt me if I make them angry. I annoy my friends when I do it, and I don’t know how to explain to them, I do it automatically because my PTSD is always bubbling under the surface, making me associate a raised voice with “they’re going to hit you.” And they won’t hit me, especially not over the phone, but I can’t stop that terror.
Men in uniform terrify me. And yes, this is from a woman who has lots of friends and family in the US and Israeli military, and one of her best friends is a cop. Honestly, as much as I love them, I have a subconscious terror that they will abuse their power on me. And it shames me. But given the act of violence (which, before anyone asks, happened in the US) it makes sense.
My high school terrifies me. Passing it on the train makes me want to vomit.
I’m screwed up.
Combined with my sensory issues, I’m really screwed up. When the perfect storm of PTSD and sensory issues happen, I go into a state where I can’t recognize what is real and what is not. I go into the dark tunnel and I have to talk myself out of it.
I wish I wasn’t screwed up.
But I’m getting better.
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