I recently told my boyfriend about my PTSD and I was so worried that he would think badly of me. It really stressed me out. When I told him he asked me what it was because he didn't know. When you think about this illness you think about crazy people; who shoot up the post office. But here I am, this seemingly normal person, that he knows as the woman he loves and I have this illness. If I had never told him that I have PTSD he probably wouldn't of known. So I tell him this and his reply is “okay.” Just like that. I went nights of not sleeping and he just says, “okay.” I left it at that. He’s my mister wonderful.
I think the one thing that people should know is that this illness can be controlled with time, patients, self love, understanding, and education. It took me a long time just to admit to myself that I had this illness because I didn't see it as relating to me. I had the symptoms but I didn't want the label. I've since learned to accept it and in turn learned to live with it. I think the hardest part is thinking about what other people think of you. You feel sort of cut off from the world and different. That’s how I felt; different. I was changed by my ordeal (being raped) and I've never quite been able to feel whole or normal then to be diagnosed with PTSD just made me feel like I was damaged, beyond repair. That’s a hard thing to admit to yourself but that’s how I felt at the time. I felt like I would always be broken.
You can have a normal life with this illness. I do have set backs but I usually get through them. I fall some times and it’s hard to pick myself up but then I think do I want to stay here, in this depressed state, and usually that’s when the fight kicks in. You have to know yourself and know how this illness affects you, have a plan ahead of time for those bad days, and learn to enjoy the good days. I know when I’m going into a depressive state; so I have a plan of action already for what I’m going to do.
I do have good days. I’m so grateful that I’m alive to see those because there are so many woman that were raped and didn't live to tell their stories, who will never have good days ever again. Plus I've been fortunate enough to have some wonderful people in my life that picked me up when I couldn't pick myself up and gave me a kick in the ass when I really needed it. I’m very grateful for them.
I wish I could tell you that at the end of this you will be cured of this terrible illness but no such luck. I can tell you that you can have better days. You just have to take those baby steps like going for a walk outside, going to lunch with a friend, or just doing some thing that you love.
Music was my catalyst and it was what helped me to get out of my depression. You would not believe it but I use to not talk to people, I didn't go shopping or to visit friends. At one time in my life I didn't have any friends. I went to work and back home. At my worst I couldn't get out of bed. Life was passing me by and I wasn't living at all. I was hiding away, just waiting to die. I decided that I wanted to live a good life (a happy life) and that I wanted love in my life. My desire is what started my transformation.
PTSD is an illness not a death sentence; so you’re not doomed. You can live a happy, normal life and still have this illness. You just have to figure out what works for you in controlling your symptoms. Just remember that you are going to have some bad days. When you do have those bad days love yourself hard and tell yourself that it’s okay to be human.
Below is a poem I wrote about PTSD:
LIVING WITH P.T.S.D
I dated misery and for a time or two
He would comfort me
Within his Arms I sheltered the storm
To the world Outside
I was an array of calm
Hatred lingered on my lips
A sweet taste with a bitter tip
And a time or two he would slip
And Spill Out onto the ground below
Discovery frightened me
For I dared not show
The world my pain
The world my shame
The world my sorrow
I put on my best game face
A little smile, a little teeth
Wide eyed, and pink cheeks I pinched
There goes my glory
All encased within this shell
Who knows and can they see me
Here I stand. Still living with P.T.S.D.
July 2005
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