Yesterday, I had another one of those episodes where everything was somewhat okay. Then, without warning, everything went wrong and for me, it wasn’t just one little incident. It felt like a ton of bricks landing on me. I used to think that there was no rhyme or reason to it. I really wanted to believe that. It was so much easier to believe that everything was all my fault, but for me to keep having this happen even into my fifties makes me think that it is something else.
It goes by several different names, but I have known for a long time that I suffer from some type of PTSD. When I have one of these episodes, the reason I feel so devastated is I don’t feel just that one incident. It triggers all the incidents.
I grew up in a house where I was constantly worried and afraid because I never knew how someone was going to react. An episode where everything was somewhat okay and then everything going wrong without warning happened to me all the time when I was a child, a teenager, and then a young adult. Even after I got married, they still continued to happen; they just happened less because I had less contact with my family. Each time, it happened it just shook the foundations of my world because without my really understanding it, I was learning that I wasn’t safe anywhere especially at home. I was finding out that the people who were closest to me were the people that were hurting me the most. The problem was that I couldn’t face that truth. So, I bottled it up deep inside and tried to believe that it was me. That’s what my family told me anyway. I wasn’t good enough and caused problems; it was all my fault.
Then one day, when I really needed my family, I turned to them, and it happened again. Except this time all I did was tell them that a long time ago someone hurt me. Instead of supporting me, they got mad and asked how I could hurt them so much. I was devastated. I felt alone and like I didn’t want to live. It felt like there was no future for me because I really felt like I couldn’t do anything right. My pain was worthless. In fact, it was more than worthless because it caused distress to others. The only way I made through that period was knowing that God had a plan for me, and I had to have faith in that plan. He knew better what my life was about than I did.
It is just that now, whenever I am going along in my life and everything goes wrong, my PTSD kicks into high gear. Every feeling I felt that day, every worry, every thought of self-loathing, and every depressed feeling comes back as if it had just happened. The only thing that seems to help is time and faith. I know in my heart that my life is in God’s hands and His plan for me is more important that the PTSD. I know that I can rely on His strength to help me and I struggle with the reaction to this episode.
I just wish that I could find a way to stop reliving that day over and over again.
My faith saved me. May God’s peace reside in all of our hearts.
