giddyupjenjen
New Here
Hello.
I lived with and cared for my grandparents following an accident which resulted in my grandmother's neck being broken. My cousin lives in their home, as well, and is an active, raging drug addict and dealer. He is physically, mentally, emotionally, and financially abusive.
My grandparents are aware of this, and they protect him, both by denying his addiction and attempting to hide his violence from their family and community. I discovered that secret, among others, the hard way during my time in their home. I did everything I could to help my grandparents, to keep them safe. And then, to get out of their house alive.
And now, I am. Alive, that is--or some version of it. But completely different than I was just a year ago, when I entered their home. I don't think the same, behave the same. For the first time in my life, I can't control the expression on my face, can't stop shaking, sweating. My memories are foggy--at times, gone altogether. I sleep sometimes; sometimes, not. I go emotionally numb for weeks at a time. I am angry. Very, very angry. And sad in a way that seems as permanent a part of me as does my mind.
I have not lost my laughter, my conscience, my ability to love, and I am thankful for not having been robbed of those. I was hyper-vigilant before my experience last year; It operates at a level that, in itself, is frightening to me now. I am aware of everything--every thing--all sounds, expressions, fluctuations, lights, words, body movements, locations, thoughts, heart beats. Mind and heart race constantly.
I moved 3,000 miles away when I left my grandparents' home, and recently, I moved back to be near my loved ones. I was diagnosed while living across the country. I have researched PTSD, sought therapy for PTSD, refused medication for PTSD (as it seemed to worsen the depression without touching the anxiety at all).
I feel mentally weak much of the time, unable to control my thoughts, emotions, and physical responses, at the mercy of this thing my brain is doing to ensure its own survival. The look in the eyes of those who remember someone else is excruciating. My assurance to them that "everything will be okay" sounds empty, ridiculous. I feel responsible for this, guilty, though cognitively, I understand what must be the truth.
I am removed--from the world, from myself. Some form of me continues to exist, but it is alien. Do you relate?
I lived with and cared for my grandparents following an accident which resulted in my grandmother's neck being broken. My cousin lives in their home, as well, and is an active, raging drug addict and dealer. He is physically, mentally, emotionally, and financially abusive.
My grandparents are aware of this, and they protect him, both by denying his addiction and attempting to hide his violence from their family and community. I discovered that secret, among others, the hard way during my time in their home. I did everything I could to help my grandparents, to keep them safe. And then, to get out of their house alive.
And now, I am. Alive, that is--or some version of it. But completely different than I was just a year ago, when I entered their home. I don't think the same, behave the same. For the first time in my life, I can't control the expression on my face, can't stop shaking, sweating. My memories are foggy--at times, gone altogether. I sleep sometimes; sometimes, not. I go emotionally numb for weeks at a time. I am angry. Very, very angry. And sad in a way that seems as permanent a part of me as does my mind.
I have not lost my laughter, my conscience, my ability to love, and I am thankful for not having been robbed of those. I was hyper-vigilant before my experience last year; It operates at a level that, in itself, is frightening to me now. I am aware of everything--every thing--all sounds, expressions, fluctuations, lights, words, body movements, locations, thoughts, heart beats. Mind and heart race constantly.
I moved 3,000 miles away when I left my grandparents' home, and recently, I moved back to be near my loved ones. I was diagnosed while living across the country. I have researched PTSD, sought therapy for PTSD, refused medication for PTSD (as it seemed to worsen the depression without touching the anxiety at all).
I feel mentally weak much of the time, unable to control my thoughts, emotions, and physical responses, at the mercy of this thing my brain is doing to ensure its own survival. The look in the eyes of those who remember someone else is excruciating. My assurance to them that "everything will be okay" sounds empty, ridiculous. I feel responsible for this, guilty, though cognitively, I understand what must be the truth.
I am removed--from the world, from myself. Some form of me continues to exist, but it is alien. Do you relate?
