I originally wanted this to be my very first post, however, I had no idea how to start or even what to include but I feel like this post is a crucial one for this blog SO I'm just going to wing it and post whatever pours out of my brain. *fingers crossed its not a huge jumbled mess*
I have been diagnosed with PTSD, Depression, and Anxiety. They have been constant companions since childhood. My PTSD stems from some childhood trauma, a trauma I experienced in college as well as trauma from the birth of my littlest boy.
I always knew I was a little different as a child. I was very outgoing and enjoyed being around people. I loved making people laugh and have a good time, I was a huge people pleaser so I always put on an act and I would pretend to be someone I thought they would want to be around. I never got along with my mother and I was always trying to impress my father. I would make up these wild elaborate stories in the hopes that it would make people like me and want to have me around. I would live in this little fantasy world where I was popular, loved and felt important. I made up these little stories of what my fantasy life was and that was the life I put forward. As I got older and had more control of my life I stopped having to put on an act and I was able to control how my life works.
"Complex PTSD is specific to severe, repetitive trauma that typically happens in childhood - most often abuse" (from
While I developed CPTSD as a child, trauma has popped up a few times. In college, I was lucky and lived in the dorms with roommates that I had a great relationship with. One night however while we were hanging out in one of my roommate's bedroom her boyfriend came storming in tossed one of our guy friends across the room and pulled a knife on him. one of my roommates called the cops and I was terrified. Ever since this incident I've been on high alert and aware of my surroundings. Yes, I'm that crazy lady that checks her back seat for crazy ax murderers, and I'm the person always scanning the room for exits and watching for suspicious behavior.
Right after graduating from college my parents separated and my sister and I were living in our family home. I took a HORRIBLE job so I could help pay bills and get food. It all became too much and I decided to speak with my doctor at the time about why I was crying all the time, couldn't get out of bed, wanted to just not exist (which has been a common theme my entire life) and I ate all the time just to feel something other than numbness and sadness. This was the first time I was put on anti-depressants, thank god I was on my father's health insurance at the time. I noticed that at first I was feeling better because I was finally getting help but when I was about 3 weeks on my medication I started having some thoughts about accidentally harming myself. For example I would be cooking supper and the thought of 'what if I accidentally cut my hand off' would just push its way into my head and I would take extra steps to keep it from happening. Eventually, around the 8 week mark, my medication balanced out and I was feeling a bit better. My doctor at the time, was quite reassuring that I was just suffering from situational depression and eventually it would pass. She was wrong though.
I think Im going to end this post here before it gets entirely too long and boring. I will be back to continue the rest of it next week. I will have another different post later this week.
(picture of me at the gym with a filter to lighten the mood, the eyes are looking a little creepy though)