rjtransient
Gold Member
Hey all. I'm 23, I'm a university student, and I was diagnosed with c-PTSD at age 19, long after the symptoms arose. This is the first Internet message board I've posted on in... three years, I suppose, but I really like the atmosphere here, so I decided to take the risk.
I'll sketch out the basics of why I'm here. Feel free skip through. I grew up in the classic dysfunctional family -- bipolar mother, father with anger issues. Intermittent Explosive Disorder minus the "intermittent". One of my siblings has been estranged from my parents for a decade. Only recently have I managed to move away, and I'm still dealing with the aftermath of 22 years of abuse.
I've always been a pretty upbeat, active person, so I always had plenty of interests and hobbies to throw myself into and friends to do things with, and I managed well enough, I guess. Until I hit seventeen. I don't remember the exact timeline, but somewhere in that period I was kicked out of the house, had to drop out of high school, took up correspondence courses, and finished my diploma while grasping for any job or government assistance or degree program that would get me away from my family, period. When my mother eventually took me back in, I started staying awake at night when the house was quiet and sleeping in late.
Music was therapy. I joined message boards. I entered into my first long-term relationship with someone from the UK. Long story short, we chatted for about a year before he visited Canada, and after one more meeting, I took a plane to the UK to spend Christmas with the boyfriend and his family. Those first two weeks were the best of my life. I was happy. I looked forward to the future. I could envision the future. As he put it, "Your black cloud is gone." We even discussed the possibility of marriage. I was that desperate to jump on a chance, any chance, to sever ties with my parents.
Well. Two weeks into December the car crash happened. It was at night en route to London. He ended up in the intensive care ward and had to have pins put into his leg, and I was miraculously mostly unharmed. I spent Christmas with his parents, driving back and forth to the hospital.
When I returned to Canada he gradually stopped contacting me. The relationship just... died away, after all those anticipatory months. I was becoming increasingly depressed and hostile. My mother was becoming increasingly hostile. My friends gave up on me the second time I found myself at a women's shelter downtown.
I was diagnosed with depression, anxiety, and PTSD at age 19. Looking back to my high school years, I remember periods of running on anger and adrenaline and feeling that life had become unreal. I never want to find myself in that state again. But I know I will.
I became leery of message boards. The people I'd been contacting online were hostile, sarcastic, and perfectionistic, which had been fine with me a year earlier when I was still a defensive and aggressive teenager, but now their rants were triggering panic attacks.
So I got the hell off that train and ended up alone. I took up distance running. Compulsively, often going over fourteen miles at a time, until I somehow managed to injure my left knee. I took up hiking. I taught myself calculus and chemistry. I won a merit scholarship to my first choice university.
Aaaannnd... it's been a roller coaster ride. Most nights I don't sleep. I'm used to the serial nightmares featuring people and events I'd really rather erase from memory. I'm constantly on edge. It doesn't help that someone from my past has actually been stalking me. It's not the first time, but this particular person has been the most persistent. I had to make myself invisible. Now I've given up trying to hide.
I live day to day. I don't know where I'll be a year from now or even a month from now. I'm not nearly as trusting or naive as I used to be because I've seen what even the most superficially charming and well-spoken people are capable of behind closed doors. Forget counsellors. I've found music, books, and information on PTSD to be more helpful than any GP or therapist I've spoken to as of yet. (Fear-induced dissociation does not equal psychosis!) Heh. It's very good to be here, and I'll try to ignore the social phobia long enough to stick around. :smile:
I'll sketch out the basics of why I'm here. Feel free skip through. I grew up in the classic dysfunctional family -- bipolar mother, father with anger issues. Intermittent Explosive Disorder minus the "intermittent". One of my siblings has been estranged from my parents for a decade. Only recently have I managed to move away, and I'm still dealing with the aftermath of 22 years of abuse.
I've always been a pretty upbeat, active person, so I always had plenty of interests and hobbies to throw myself into and friends to do things with, and I managed well enough, I guess. Until I hit seventeen. I don't remember the exact timeline, but somewhere in that period I was kicked out of the house, had to drop out of high school, took up correspondence courses, and finished my diploma while grasping for any job or government assistance or degree program that would get me away from my family, period. When my mother eventually took me back in, I started staying awake at night when the house was quiet and sleeping in late.
Music was therapy. I joined message boards. I entered into my first long-term relationship with someone from the UK. Long story short, we chatted for about a year before he visited Canada, and after one more meeting, I took a plane to the UK to spend Christmas with the boyfriend and his family. Those first two weeks were the best of my life. I was happy. I looked forward to the future. I could envision the future. As he put it, "Your black cloud is gone." We even discussed the possibility of marriage. I was that desperate to jump on a chance, any chance, to sever ties with my parents.
Well. Two weeks into December the car crash happened. It was at night en route to London. He ended up in the intensive care ward and had to have pins put into his leg, and I was miraculously mostly unharmed. I spent Christmas with his parents, driving back and forth to the hospital.
When I returned to Canada he gradually stopped contacting me. The relationship just... died away, after all those anticipatory months. I was becoming increasingly depressed and hostile. My mother was becoming increasingly hostile. My friends gave up on me the second time I found myself at a women's shelter downtown.
I was diagnosed with depression, anxiety, and PTSD at age 19. Looking back to my high school years, I remember periods of running on anger and adrenaline and feeling that life had become unreal. I never want to find myself in that state again. But I know I will.
I became leery of message boards. The people I'd been contacting online were hostile, sarcastic, and perfectionistic, which had been fine with me a year earlier when I was still a defensive and aggressive teenager, but now their rants were triggering panic attacks.
So I got the hell off that train and ended up alone. I took up distance running. Compulsively, often going over fourteen miles at a time, until I somehow managed to injure my left knee. I took up hiking. I taught myself calculus and chemistry. I won a merit scholarship to my first choice university.
Aaaannnd... it's been a roller coaster ride. Most nights I don't sleep. I'm used to the serial nightmares featuring people and events I'd really rather erase from memory. I'm constantly on edge. It doesn't help that someone from my past has actually been stalking me. It's not the first time, but this particular person has been the most persistent. I had to make myself invisible. Now I've given up trying to hide.
I live day to day. I don't know where I'll be a year from now or even a month from now. I'm not nearly as trusting or naive as I used to be because I've seen what even the most superficially charming and well-spoken people are capable of behind closed doors. Forget counsellors. I've found music, books, and information on PTSD to be more helpful than any GP or therapist I've spoken to as of yet. (Fear-induced dissociation does not equal psychosis!) Heh. It's very good to be here, and I'll try to ignore the social phobia long enough to stick around. :smile:
