When my mother was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, it was a big secret. Not to me, of course, but to the insurance companies. I remember how she had to hide her treatments, her hospitalizations and her actual diagnosis from going “on record” so as to avoid being labeled as “A Crazy.”

I’m not sure anyone outside of our immediate family knew about her illness.

By the time I was in high school, depression wasn’t something that people expected you to be locked in a padded room for. Hats of to Prozac!

I’ve dealt with generic, boring-ass depression on and off for years; sometimes it’s better, sometimes it’s worse, and I’ve spoken out repeatedly about how I suffered terrible antenatal depression (depression while pregnant).

Antenatal depression is not quite as well-known as postpartum depression – probably because it’s even less glamorous. I mean, who can be depressed while creating a new life INSIDE you? A new life that’s using your liver as a punching bag, giving you insomnia and causing you to pee your pants when you waddle? Not a GOOD mother.

(that was sarcasm)

When my last child, Amelia, was born in a decidedly non-picturesque freakshow carnival that ended with someone drilling into her brain, removing part of it, and then implanting a prosthetic piece of skull into her delicious wee newborn head, that things went from manageable to so beyond anything I could handle.

But she was fine! I berated myself, night after night, as I relived those horrible awful first days in a series of flashbacks.

I was forever delivering that sick baby, having her ripped from my arms and sent off for neurosurgery. I was forever offering her up like Abraham sacrificing Issac, stuck between two horrifying alternatives. In what few dreams I had, I roamed the halls of the hospital, everything stuck in freeze-frame.

Why, I chastised myself, if she had survived, was I in such a state? I couldn’t answer that.

For months following her birth and surgery, I couldn’t leave the house. My beloved roses wilted from lack of care that summer because I simply couldn’t handle even that – a task which had brought me so much joy. I couldn’t do anything. I was mired in one place. Numb. Alone.

Those were the worst days of my life.

It wasn’t for many months that it smacked me upside the head: I had Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. I wrestled with the realization.

Well, I said to myself, Aunt Becky, that sounds dumb. Fucking man-up here. Get your bitch ass off the couch and fucking do something about it. You’re not a soldier. And sweet baby Jesus, your kid survived! How dare you be so fucking whiny-pants about it?

It took a long time for me to accept that I was suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Acceptance, they say, is always the hardest part. But I finally did.

And here’s what I have to say to you, in honor of National Mental Health Month:

Having PTSD is not my fault. It’s not something I need to be ashamed of. It’s not a character flaw. It’s not a plea for sympathy. It’s not something I’m all, “would you like any cheese with that whine?” about. It’s something that is.

I am NOT ashamed to have a mental illness.

My name is Becky Sherrick Harks and I am the face of PTSD.

I-am-the-face-of-ptsd

On Band Back Together, we spend countless hours working to reduce stigmas by bringing the world stories – real stories written by real people – about mental illness, child abuse, domestic violence, substance abuse and all of the other dark places in our lives.

That is what we proudly do.

We’re celebrating National Mental Health Month by doing a stigma-busting blog carnival. We’re telling the world exactly who we are. We’re breaking down stigmas and kicking ass. Mental illness isn’t a death sentence.

Mental illness is a part of who we are. There’s no shame in being who we are. We should celebrate our flaws, embrace our differences and accept them.

It’s time to put a face to as many mental illnesses as we can.

Because stigmas? Stigmas are bullshit.

Please, I beg you Pranksters, help me kick stigmas squarely in the balls (or taco).

You can join us by posting on your own blog and linking up to Band Back Together (that’s the master link-up post) or you can write about it on Band Back Together. (Or both) Time to break down stigmas.

I am proud to be the face of PTSD.

Fuck stigmas.

Comments = full of the awesome. Like gravy. I can haz an RSS RSS feed .

75 Responses to I Am The Face of PTSD

  • Ewokmama
    Twitter: ewokmama
    says:

    I love that pic!

    Now I have “Rock Me Like a Hurricane” in my head. Not exactly sure why…

    • Bonnie Goodnature says:

      What a wonderful website!!! I was nearly murdered 5 1/2 years ago and suffered with PTSD ever since. Thank God for Counselors, Zoloft and Welbutrin. Civilians just don’t understand. I now have the best job of my life to help other people recovering from mental illness. Check out your states to see if they have a Peer Specialist Program.
      I am recovering!!!!!

  • Nancy P says:

    I continue to be inspired by you Aunt Becky. :)

  • I LOVE this. And I am planning on writing about this tomorrow. Well not just PTSD, but everything that makes me, me for National Mental Health Month. I will probably just copy and paste it to BBT, since linking is far beyond anything I know how to do ha ha, I am far to technologically stupid for it.

    Thanks for sharing, and I am glad to have found you and the Band!

  • Nicole Welkener says:

    I am so thankful for Band Back Together and for this post. It helps reiterate what I believe and support.

  • Jana A says:

    Yeehaw! YAY MENTAL ILLNESS STIGMAS getting kicked in the taco. I imagine she’s a girl because she’s totally a bitch.

  • Jessica says:

    Thanks for inspiring me to write the post for the Band that’s been floating in my head for months

  • Tershbango says:

    AWESOMESAUCE! Love this post, B.

    I have battled depression and anxiety as long as I can remember, and for every step forward in general acceptance, there are still plenty of asshats who judge people for having mental issues. There’s tons and tons of evidence to support the fact that these ‘disorders’ are generally chemical and people are simply wired for certain struggles.

    Big hug to you for speaking out. :)

  • BOOM SHAKA LAKA.

    BOOM… SHAKA… LAKA.

  • Dr. O says:

    This is fabulous. I wrote about my own experience with PPD a few months ago on my own blog (http://thetightropeblog.wordpress.com/2011/01/25/how-did-i-know/). Luckily I had a supportive husband who helped me get help. I was too embarrassed and buried in my depression to seek help myself.

    Thank you so much for writing about your journey, and for the Band Together site. I plan to upload my older post, or possibly a new one, in the VERY near future. The more vocal we are about mental illness, the sooner people will get treated, and the decreased stigma it will carry.

    “Fuck stimas.” Right on.

    • Your Aunt Becky
      Twitter: mommywantsvodka
      says:

      Stigmas are BULLSHIT. We need to get together, BAND back together (if I may) and break them down. I look forward to reading everything you write. So glad to know you.

  • Tershbango says:

    I rarely link-drop, but it’s interesting that your post today was about mental illness. My post today was, as well, though not PSTD. It was about self-injuring and the thought processes behind it.

    http://tershbango.blogspot.com/2011/05/dear-readers.html

    If you’re interested, I’d be honored to hear your thoughts. :)

  • Megan says:

    Thanks for posting this. I too suffer from PTSD after witnessing my mothers murder 5 years ago. I thought I was crazy! As time passed and a number of good things happened to me, people thought I should be getting over it, moving on, and “counting my blessings.” they don’t understand the grip PTSD can have on people.

  • Megan says:

    Thanks for posting this. I too suffer from PTSD after witnessing my mothers murder 5 years ago. I thought I was crazy! As time passed and a number of good things happened to me, people thought I should be getting over it, moving on, and “counting my blessings.” they don’t understand the grip PTSD can have on people.

  • Anna says:

    I’ve already written about some of this, and even posted on BBT about it, so I don’t know that I’ll re-up. However, you kick ass and stigmas can suck my ass.

    XOXO, The Face of Anxiety and Chronic Depression

  • You are one of the bravest, most honest people I have ever run a crossed, and that is saying a lot! Thank you for doing what you do, and giving a voice to so many. (I am totally not kissing your ass, I really mean that.)

  • Erin says:

    Fuck stigmas is right! I don’t suffer from mental illness but I know many people who do…people like you who are brave are just say FUCK YOU in it’s face. More people need to do that…both the people who suffer and the people who are there to support them.

  • rox says:

    OMG doesn’t help I’ve got some seriously womanly PMS emotions going on but this made me have tears!! I heart you lady. Keep kicking ass. And balls. And.. tacos… (ouch!) wahahaha

  • Suniverse says:

    Love this.

    Love you.

    Love,

    The Face of Antenatal Depression, Post Partum Depression, Crippling Anxiety and Panic Attacks.

    AKA
    Fun Party Girl

  • Pingback: Mental Health Month Blog Party 2011 – Round Up | Your Mind Your Body

  • Roxanne says:

    Very Nice. Very Brave. Very Cool.

  • Joules says:

    You are the motherfucking ROCKSTAR of mental illness!

    This from the face of boring ass run of the mill Major Depression Disorder, Recurrent since the days before Prozac was a thing. I was given Thorazine, Lithium and fucking Haldol. At age 15. Hmm, I feel a mentally ill post coming on.

    And dude? You have EARNED that phoenix.

  • Hokgardner says:

    I’m in the midst if a pretty crippling depression right now, and I needed to read something like this. And now I’m going over to your other site for a look around.

  • Hokgardner says:

    I’m in the midst if a pretty crippling depression right now, and I needed to read something like this. And now I’m going over to your other site for a look around.

  • Dana Hanni says:

    Jesus in a row boat Woman! Just when I think you can’t be more inspiring, there you go! Indeed Fuck stigmas!

  • Frelle says:

    I love you. So much. The end. Thank you for sharing again and for providing the linkup and for being the driving force behind The Band.

  • jennifer says:

    You got it straight sister! I would write more but I am in the middle of PMS depression. It just exacerbates it for mne and I can barely function.

  • Mrs Wonder says:

    I heard me in your post. I have never been diagnosed, but I definitely had some depression/PTSD after my son’s birth, which wasn’t traumatic, save an nwanted cesarean. But yet I still get a knot in my stomach thinking about the hospital.
    No matter the experience, anyone can have problems from it, and it’s important to talk about it- mine wasn’t the worst experience there was, but I still needed support, and because i knew it wasn’t as bad as some’s (the818.com, for example) I fought thinking there was a problem bigger than mine than weakness.
    Thanka again for this post!

  • Congrats on that great post. I too have moodswings and am bipolar and Prozac has been imperative. Good for you…

  • Congrats on that great post. I too have moodswings and am bipolar and Prozac has been imperative. Good for you…

  • Kristin
    Twitter: dragondream
    says:

    You fucking ROCK Aunt Becky! I love you, PTSD and all!

  • And this is why I love you.
    So many people feel alone. They shouldn’t. None of us should.
    Need to go look into Band Back Together now. Spread the word, sister.

  • Vinobaby says:

    I dare ANYONE to admit there is no part of them offkilter. I don’t know a single fucking sane Mother, and less than a handful that are not “stabilized” by some drug. Mine just happens to be wine. It’s cheaper than Prozac on our crappy insurance plan.

    You are strong
    You are INVINCIBLE
    You are WOMAN…

    Now go have a drink.
    Cheers.
    VB

  • Kailen says:

    I’ve been depressed for about as long as I can remember, medication manages it pretty well right now.

    I also get migraines frequently, and I take topamax for that. Eff stigmas! I’m not crazy because my brain’s a little tweaked.

    Ps we should be internet BFFs. <3

  • Pete In Az says:

    dam…

    Thank you.

    I wish I could say that.

    Maybe some day.

  • Dolores says:

    I suffer in silence and have even been ashamed of my PTSD needing to explain to Dr’s why u take the meds u do… Having to explain to people why I just “can’t” … It’s been a rough few years… Thank you so much for making this site! You can count on me for submissions … I know here I am safe… Because we are all the same.

  • Dolores says:

    I suffer in silence and have even been ashamed of my PTSD needing to explain to Dr’s why u take the meds u do… Having to explain to people why I just “can’t” … It’s been a rough few years… Thank you so much for making this site! You can count on me for submissions … I know here I am safe… Because we are all the same.

  • Alexis
    Twitter: theangelalexistwitter.com
    says:

    I shared some of this, but I’m not sure which details I shared, but a guy stole one of my research papers and submitted it as his own. It was entirely too difficult a case fro the braintrust of mu school administration to sort, cinsidering he was a struggling c student, could profess no knowledge of the topic, and i had submitted the paper a year earlier.
    When it was finally resolved aftr a full school day of investigation, the thug, texted his girfried when I was finallly allowed to visit the bathroom. His gf and her friend trapped me in the bathroom and beat me up slightly, including stepping with her full weight on a partially healed fracture, undoing some of the healing. The thug appeared a few minutes later. He exposed hismelf with the apparent attempt of putting his organ in one of two places but lost his erection when I vomited. siced he couldnn’t do what he had planned with his sex organ, he kicked me in the flank and crothc and stepped on my no-longer healing fracture. A security guard walked in. Otherwise I don’t kow how it would have ended.

    I’m at least not having prom nightmares, but I still have “being trapped in school restrooms and attacked” nightmares.

    I am being treated at an in-patient facility. Right now I’m there about half the time.

    When does it get better? When do nightmares and flashbacks stop?

    By the way, I survived the prom OK. I just stayed for two hours. I went to an after-prom part at my house with about twnety other people afterward. It wasn’t all the stuff of dreams, but neither was it the stuff of nightmares. I’m still glad I went, especially since nothing went wrong, because wondering would have been worse. The guy who broke off our prom date last year was there as well. He flipped me off when no one was looking, but he has no power to harm me with lame ans unoriginal gestures.

    When does it go away?

    Alexis

    • katrina says:

      Oh Alexis, I feel so bad for you. I hope you pressed charges against your assailants. (we keep hearing how schools are taking ‘bullying’ more seriously). These are adult crimes and they need to pay the consequences for assault and attemted rape.

      Don’t give up. I believe with counseling and support you can overcome this horrible experience. I think, you were put into a position where you were powerless, (not your fault), and your nightmares and flashbacks are a reflection of that fear and powerlessness. TAKE IT BACK!! YOU have the power. They had the power when you were trapped in the bathroom, but they do NOT have it anymore. Take it back! Those thugs are idiots, a waste of space and breath. But you are an intelligent, beautiful young woman with a wonderful life ahead of you. I wish you all the best.

  • Alexis
    Twitter: theangelalexistwitter.com
    says:

    I shared some of this, but I’m not sure which details I shared, but a guy stole one of my research papers and submitted it as his own. It was entirely too difficult a case fro the braintrust of mu school administration to sort, cinsidering he was a struggling c student, could profess no knowledge of the topic, and i had submitted the paper a year earlier.
    When it was finally resolved aftr a full school day of investigation, the thug, texted his girfried when I was finallly allowed to visit the bathroom. His gf and her friend trapped me in the bathroom and beat me up slightly, including stepping with her full weight on a partially healed fracture, undoing some of the healing. The thug appeared a few minutes later. He exposed hismelf with the apparent attempt of putting his organ in one of two places but lost his erection when I vomited. siced he couldnn’t do what he had planned with his sex organ, he kicked me in the flank and crothc and stepped on my no-longer healing fracture. A security guard walked in. Otherwise I don’t kow how it would have ended.

    I’m at least not having prom nightmares, but I still have “being trapped in school restrooms and attacked” nightmares.

    I am being treated at an in-patient facility. Right now I’m there about half the time.

    When does it get better? When do nightmares and flashbacks stop?

    By the way, I survived the prom OK. I just stayed for two hours. I went to an after-prom part at my house with about twnety other people afterward. It wasn’t all the stuff of dreams, but neither was it the stuff of nightmares. I’m still glad I went, especially since nothing went wrong, because wondering would have been worse. The guy who broke off our prom date last year was there as well. He flipped me off when no one was looking, but he has no power to harm me with lame ans unoriginal gestures.

    When does it go away?

    Alexis

  • Kerra Dawn says:

    Thank you so much for posting this. It brought me to tears.

    I was diagnosed with PTSD a few months ago, and at the time I didn’t realize it but I was suffering from the pregnancy depression with my youngest.
    My PTSD streams from my mother and my child hood. Some days are good some days, I smell smarties (yes, the candy) and I’m a big fucking slobbering mess.I feel like an asshole saying that I have PTSD, especially in this day when it’s a common mental disease associated with the war.The only combat I have ever seen was fighting with my mother over how to spend our rent money…drugs or a place to live.
    I once use to look back on my life and was like yeah I had a hard fucking life..so what? It made me the strong independent woman I am today. Nowadays, I am that woman on occasion.

  • You’re a rockstar, and a rather pretty one at that.

    People should realize mental illness is that, an illness. It’s not the crazies or imagined. Yes, fuck the stigmas, kick them up the balls. Good on you for writing this. *high five*

  • I am so utterly in love with your attitude on this!

  • Lou says:

    Thank you for this. The more awareness about PTSD, in vets, but also in people who have had other kinds of trauma, the more healthy our society can become as a whole.

  • Julie says:

    I would argue that PTSD is not a mental illness at all. It is an (understandable) reaction to something horrific that has happened. If you are abused, beaten, raped, or watch your newborn baby go through neurosurgery…how can you come through that the same person you were before…impossible. Let’s take the mental illness label off PTSD. If you can have these things happen to you and still continue on as if nothing happened, then I think we have a problem.

    I do think we need to take the stigma away from other mental illnesses…because it is not that person’s fault. You wouldn’t blame someone who got Multiple Sclerosis…why blame someone for their depression or bi polar disorder. Here’s to some serious taco kicking!

  • Pop says:

    I’m kicking postpartum depression in the nuts for dads.

    You rock, Aunty Becky!

  • Pingback: Postpartum Depression – A Guide for Dad’s « Go, Pop, Go!

  • leanne says:

    Thank you, Becky. For inspiring me and so many others to write our stories. To step into the light and show our true selves. Love you.

    I, too, am the face of PTSD.

  • John says:

    Great, great post, Becky.

    My PTSD issues were not nearly as graphic. I fell about 10 feet at my mother’s house, breaking my elbow (well, I fucked myself up but good, but the elbow is really the only lasting injury). A few months after the incident, I was, for all intents and purposes, recovered.

    Then the dreams started.

    I’d be on a wall, and see a friend start to fall. Or I’d be on an airplane & something would happen and a friend would start getting sucked out of the plane. We’d be on a cliff & the rocks would start to give away. The worst ones were hot air balloon dreams where we’d be looking out over the horizon & a friend would look over the edge a bit too far and start to go over. I’d reach out my arm to help him with my injured arm, but a sudden pain would force me to flinch & I’d watch him fall. Over and over again. I’d wake up in a cold sweat, screaming. Sometimes I went months between dreams, sometimes I’d have 2-3 of these dreams a night. I hated going to sleep.

    After a LOT of counselling, we were able to find that I had most of these dreams whenever I had an incident that I wasn’t in control during the day. Often, it had nothing to do with my arm . . . for example, there was a time that I spun out on black ice. I didn’t get hurt, nothing got hurt, but there was a very real moment that I had zero control over what was happening to me. That triggered the dreams for a solid week.

    My counselor was able to help me recognize when something bad started brewing in my head. I’d assign it a name. I’d visualize a part of my brain that Fred or Felix or Arnold resided. I’d tell Fred or Felix or Arnold that he had to go away.

    I still do have the dreams when something big happens – where they sky falls and I can’t do anything about it, but they’re nowhere near as bad as they were.

  • Amanda says:

    My mom was also Bipolar, and suffered more from the stigma probably than the disease.

    The stigma caused a loneliness that even mental illness couldn’t create.

    I take my prozac with pride, and people can suck it if they expect me to feel silly about it.

  • Aimee says:

    As someone that just came to terms with the realization I have PPD (and that it reared its ugly head a full year after my son was born), this post is timely for me. I think you are the most kick-ass face of PTSD, dammit.

  • I am preggers right now and dealing w/ depression. I’ve dealt with it before, but you’re right–when you’re pregnant/creating life? You’re not supposed to be all sad & shit. People don’t get it. Fortunately people like YOU get it. Get me.

    So thank you, Aunt Becky. You rock my socks off!

    xoxox

    • Your Aunt Becky
      Twitter: mommywantsvodka
      says:

      Prenatal depression sucks a fat one. I’d love it if you wrote about it for Band Back Together sometime. The more we talk about it, the more people we reach.

      Hang in there. HANG in there.

  • Melissa says:

    I finally broke last month. Like REALLY broke. Was in the hospital for 2 weeks, am continuing an IOP for the next 3 weeks (got one week under my belt) and will be submitting something to BBT soon. Turns out I have Bi Polar with severe generalized anxiety disorder to boot. I am scared to go back to work in July. I want to tell everyone the truth. I am not ashamed, in fact I was happy to finally have a NAME to what the fuck was wrong with me for so long. BUT, do I trust the people I work for and with not to look at me differently? Not so much.

  • Satan says:

    exactly this!!

    i am really open about being bipolar, and i admit it frequently in conversation if it’s topical, such as “and i reacted like this, because i am bipolar and i was having a MOMENT, and anyway…”

    you should see some of the looks i get from people, whether strangers or friends. it’s like they are completely reevaluating either their perceptions of mental disorders, or whether they really want to know me.

    i have no intention of being all shut-mouth about bipolar, now or in the future. but yeah, admitting it openly can cause a lot of problems.

    so i’m glad there are a lot of other people out there doing the same thing as me – refusing to kowtow to the stupid stigmas.

    • Your Aunt Becky
      Twitter: mommywantsvodka
      says:

      Trust me. If I told people I had PTSD, they’d be all, “WTF?” But I’m tired of being quiet about it, you know? Who gains by my silence? Someone else being comfortable?

      Fuck that.

      Cheers to your Bipolar Disorder. Perhaps it can have lunch with my PTSD.

      • Satan says:

        we can so get our disorders together to have lunch! even if it’s on skype, and i’m eating four pounds of candy instead of “lunch.” my lunch today was a grape slushie. and obviously, it was purple flavored. : ]

        • karen says:

          Oh, I’m in on this part of the party. I was never silent about my mental health issues … I was a full blown (and not about The Weight) bulimic in my teens and early 20s. Some of it stemmed from chronic bullying visited upon me as a kid and teen, other was shit-poor anger-ridden parenting by two people who really can’t see the world beyond each of themselves. It would now, some 20 years since I was therapised (my word! Check it!), be considered a PTSD person — check this Psychology Today article out: http://tinyurl.com/4dq5kmz.

          I put myself into the local psych ward for 7 weeks of treatment, and chased any help I could find, and have never, ever been silent. Because, well. Why the heck should I?! (I was silent for the first 20 years of my life, and instead, I shoved my feelings down (binging) and got rid of them by throwing everything up again (purging). Silence is pretty much a slow death for me.

          I once worked in Hong Kong for a “fashion”/”society magazine … I was as open there as anywhere else and one day a totally gay guy who pretended we all thought he was straight told me to keep it to myself, that my words would hurt me because people would see me as flawed. Um … hello?!! I am totally flawed, and that is the best bitchin’ thing about me!

          Just saying …

  • Beth
    Twitter: star_momma
    says:

    I have nothing productive to add except that if I wasn’t already having my husband’s baby (I know, boringly traditional, right?), I’d have yours.

    But first I wanna not be pregnant so I can get back on my damn meds. Priorities.

  • this post is awesome! and you are, too!! thanks for sharing this and you know, the whole band back together site, too!!

  • Kyddryn says:

    But…I’m mentally ill EVERY month…

    No, really. WHen I say I’m nuttier than a Claxton fruitcake? Not kidding. When we lined up at the crazy bufet, I asked for a double helping of the variety plate.

    I stopped giving a damn what anyone else thought about my crazy a long time ago.. They’re just jealous because they have to comb their hair when they go out in public.

    I’ve written about it before…if I can wrest myself away from my wee daughter and/or my complete self-absorption, maybe I’ll figure out a way to link the danged posts. Don’t hold yer breath, though…being whackadoo sure is time consuming (yes, I use offensive words and phrases to refer to my mental illness. It’s like gays taking back the word “fag”, and anyway, if I couldn’t laugh at my crazy, I’d just cry, and how boring is that??).

    Shade and Sweetwater,
    K

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  • David L says:

    My doc tried to tell me for a couple years I had PTSD, I went through a traumatic process of seeing my stepfather die, losing my job caring for him as he died while taking care of my type one diabetic with dementia (which meant me monitoring her Blood sugars and dosing her insulin. I often could not sleep to insure I had not killed here with too much insulin

    So I refused the meds, I told the doc yes I was stressed, yes I am having trouble sleeping and getting back to normal but that had to do more with schedules than a mental disease, two docs disagreed. I ended up telling my story to a priest, crying a little bit reliving the hell and in the end he said “you did the best you could do” and “God loves you” and wala back to normal. My head and thoughts have never been clearer, I don’t have to pay for the meds, and I don’t seem to have any of the problems my PTSD military buddies have, the guys who killed man women and children in combat (collateral damage not intentional).

    I don’t for a minute think PTSD is not real I just think it has become a catch all for temporary depression, anxiety, and just plain people without copping skills. Maybe Pharma wants Docs diagnosing PTSD to sell medication.

    I wish you the best!

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  • Sara says:

    This made me feel so much better I got so happy I cried <3

  • heather feather like the weather says:

    Hey. I suffered for almost FOREVER.. i finally got diagsnosed with ptsd from military sexual trauma…now that I was diagnosed 1 year ago (im 37), i am finally realizing that something DID happen to me..that changed everything about me…jeez so now I have meds and try to remember my kids’ lives are better with me alive then dead:)….i feel like i understand what has happened to me..but i try to decrease my meds and them i get a huge slap in the face that i have ptsd…and go..ummm ya.. my face is the face of ptsd. Everytime i reach out to someone new…its like BLAM..a huge smack in the face that “normal ” people dont want me around…:) which if i was on my proper dosage of meds..then i wouldnt of even considered approaching that person to begin witb…:) ;). I really do thank my lucky stars for medication…holy! Speaking of which…time to take my meds, however the REAL dose….because wtf…hehehe…hi. im the faceof ptsd

  • heather feather like the weather says:

    Hey. I suffered for almost FOREVER.. i finally got diagsnosed with ptsd from military sexual trauma…now that I was diagnosed 1 year ago (im 37),..(it happened from 18-22 years old) i am finally realizing that something DID happen to me..that changed everything about me…jeez so now I have meds and try to remember my kids’ lives are better with me alive then dead:)….i feel like i understand what has happened to me..but i try to decrease my meds and them i get a huge slap in the face that i have ptsd…and go..ummm ya.. my face is the face of ptsd. Everytime i reach out to someone new…its like BLAM..a huge smack in the face that “normal ” people dont want me around…:) which if i was on my proper dosage of meds..then i wouldnt of even considered approaching that person to begin witb…:) ;). I really do thank my lucky stars for medication…holy! Speaking of which…time to take my meds, however the REAL dose….because wtf…hehehe…hi. im the faceof ptsd

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