PTSD

"PTSD, are you sure?"

I nod with uncertainty, at the woman across from me, although I had a formal diagnosis under my wing.

There are common misconceptions when it comes to Post Traumatic Stress disorder. Many comments from many people have left me feeling somewhat like a fraud. But I am not.

The key word in this is TRAUMA. And Trauma can be anything, ranging from serving in the army, to being neglected by your parents, and having to care for yourself as a child. You could be suffering from PTSD in a range of ways; you could be scared of an environment, such as the battlefield in Afghanistan (which, I will hold my hands up, I know nothing about), you could be scared by a group of people, by a situation such as a car crash, by a person, such as a rapist or abuser. Every experience, is a valid one.

PTSD is an illness that can occur after ANY traumatic event, whether you have experienced something yourself, or whether you have witnessed something happening to another. The way I explain it is in the sense of filing cabinets. You have many files in your brain; memories, and experiences. PTSD is where your brain cannot necessarily comprehend a trigger, and may not be able to process it normally like another, maybe more normal memory. And that is how many people with this illness can feel like they are reliving a particularly horrible past event; because it hasn't been sorted and filed properly, and so sticks out like a sore thumb. And more often than not, this has made me feel like I stick out too.

When I was first diagnosed, I remember turning to my uncle and saying, "Trauma? I haven't had any trauma," because I too was under the impression that because I hadn't served in armed forces, I couldn't possibly have the warriors illness. I had ignored the signs. I had ignored the vivid flashbacks, and passed them off as an annoyingly good imagination. I had overlooked the feeling of dissociation that often came with certain smells, sounds, and feelings. I had abandoned my own validity. He shot me a confused look, stopped me in my tracks, and made a list.

Physical abuse - Check

Sexual abuse - Check

Grooming - Check

Rape - Check

Neglect - Check

Witnessing violence - Check

Any one of these things could have given me PTSD, or symptoms of; and I had experienced them all. And it took me a good while to get help, widely because I had the wrong impression of PTSD from the start. I have learned that in order to get help, you need to understand the basis of what you are needing help with—and this means not ruling out anything, and keeping an open mind. After six years of therapy, I started to open up completely, knowing no bounds to my recovery slur. I'd tell the doctor all they needed to know, in order to get a formal diagnosis that I didn't even realise could ever be true to me. And that's when my recovery really started; six years in to therapy, only as I began to unravel the trauma scars that I was left with.

You see, uncovering your truth is scary within itself. It is terrifying, trying to come to terms with such darkness within yourself, under no control. To take that risk of getting pulled so far into that dark cave, that you feel you may never come out again. It may seem that taking someone with you to explore your festering corners is unfair, on them, uncomfortable, and even more terrifying than discovering it on your own. Because that means letting someone knock down those walls, only to see who you really are, and what you are struggling with. But really—and it took me years upon years to trust someone enough to let them in—they are just a back up flashlight. There may be times where your own flash light stops working, and you'll think "Everything has given up on me, and so I will give up on everything." You'll need clarity in the dark, but you'll have no source of light coming from yourself. So you will need someone else, to hold another flashlight for you. To shine light on that darkness, and burn it alive with gold.

I want everyone to know that there is no shame in asking for help, only resilience.