I was diagnosed with PTSD when I was a child.
In the 7th grade I wrote a poem that gained the attention of my middle school's librarian. It was about suicide. The librarian, she grabbed the school counselor and the counselor grabbed the district psychologist. Insert action movie power ballad; "Public school round table Go!" Forgive me if I sound dismissive, they were doing their job. A credit to the Clinton administration, taking a village and all that, but this wasn't my first experience with psychology.
A few years earlier, when I was nine, I was raped by an older boy in my apartment complex. A school video told me to tell a counselor so I did, and that landed me in the smelly office of a "Christian Psychiatrist".
I am attracted to men. I have been since five years old. I bring this up because I think the "Christian Psychiatrist" could see it. He told my mother that I was "over sexualizing", that I was a "deviant that had manipulated an older boy" to "express activities I knew to be shameful". He told her I was a "sodomite".
I heard the whole thing through the door and I didn't know what most of it meant but I grew up in the church so I knew that last part (sodomite=hell) and I knew how angry my mom was when she came out of his office. I shouldn't assume but sometimes it's easier to think he was dealing with his own internalized homophobia.
My mom never took me back to the guy, but we never really addressed the experience either.
When the middle school round table started I had already come to several big conclusions:
An evil thing lives inside me called a sodomite;
Jesus would save me if I prayed enough;
Some people could see the monster and everyone calls it a new and more hurtful name.
I hated the monster and worked very hard to kill it, I prayed insistently, I joined every youth group I could, I read the Bible every day and had just finished it cover to cover for the fourth time when the round table taught me a new word: Homosexual.
The round table taught me many things. They saw that I loved reading and gave me books to help me understand. They said I have PTSD, another monster I didn't quite understand, and when I read the books I learned about the brain, how memories are formed, how trauma can effect the process, but it all looked like lies.
Displayed beside the shimmering gold trimmed pages of red letters, sainted figures and divine inspiration the textbooks and science had no soul. Words like electrochemical seemed mechanic, lifeless and mundane. There was no hope in this new world. No redemption. I could never heal I could only adapt. So instead I resisted. I dove deeper into my faith. I was praying away the gay, I would pray away the PTSD too. I am sure we can all guess how that went.
I got lucky. I've always loved to write and perform so I opted out of traditional high school for Art School.
It was there I met people who are perfectly flawed. It was there I learned that my monsters aren't entirely who I am and I began to envision something better.
My junior year I met this kid. I was an assistant to a youth pastor at my church. I was still trying to pray away the gay but I had learned to hate the sin (not the sinner). This kid was struggling in a way I intimately recognized. He had been caught fooling around with another boy in the congregation and the church was in full witch-hunt mode. Something about that kids misery broke me and I couldn't hide anymore. I left the church, I came out of the closet and went into therapy.
Julie Andrews as sister Maria says "Let's start at the very beginning, it's a very good place to start" but the beginning can be hard place to find. Hopefully I haven't lost you getting there.
It's been almost twenty years since my first diagnosis of PTSD. I started this path seeking mystical redemption, some miraculous cure. Some where I've learned that for me, adaptation might just be the biggest miracle of all.
Now I am an advocate, activist, and self proclaimed "radical consumer" (Credit to NAMI) I believe that no one is broken, that we are all just adapting. My "symptoms" are strong but most of the time my will is stronger. I believe in coping strategies, knowing yourself first, applauding your own achievements and setting personal boundaries. I try to understand that often what we see as a weakness can be a hidden strength. I am passionate about educating the world about what I call variation but has recently become recognized as neuro-diversity. I still resist the labels of "ill" and "maladaptive" but I'm learning to take pride in the unique perspective I bring to the table.
If your still reading this a "congratulations?" might be in order but I hope you'll settle for a sincere"Hello!" Infinite Blessings! Hope to see you out there!
In the 7th grade I wrote a poem that gained the attention of my middle school's librarian. It was about suicide. The librarian, she grabbed the school counselor and the counselor grabbed the district psychologist. Insert action movie power ballad; "Public school round table Go!" Forgive me if I sound dismissive, they were doing their job. A credit to the Clinton administration, taking a village and all that, but this wasn't my first experience with psychology.
A few years earlier, when I was nine, I was raped by an older boy in my apartment complex. A school video told me to tell a counselor so I did, and that landed me in the smelly office of a "Christian Psychiatrist".
I am attracted to men. I have been since five years old. I bring this up because I think the "Christian Psychiatrist" could see it. He told my mother that I was "over sexualizing", that I was a "deviant that had manipulated an older boy" to "express activities I knew to be shameful". He told her I was a "sodomite".
I heard the whole thing through the door and I didn't know what most of it meant but I grew up in the church so I knew that last part (sodomite=hell) and I knew how angry my mom was when she came out of his office. I shouldn't assume but sometimes it's easier to think he was dealing with his own internalized homophobia.
My mom never took me back to the guy, but we never really addressed the experience either.
When the middle school round table started I had already come to several big conclusions:
An evil thing lives inside me called a sodomite;
Jesus would save me if I prayed enough;
Some people could see the monster and everyone calls it a new and more hurtful name.
I hated the monster and worked very hard to kill it, I prayed insistently, I joined every youth group I could, I read the Bible every day and had just finished it cover to cover for the fourth time when the round table taught me a new word: Homosexual.
The round table taught me many things. They saw that I loved reading and gave me books to help me understand. They said I have PTSD, another monster I didn't quite understand, and when I read the books I learned about the brain, how memories are formed, how trauma can effect the process, but it all looked like lies.
Displayed beside the shimmering gold trimmed pages of red letters, sainted figures and divine inspiration the textbooks and science had no soul. Words like electrochemical seemed mechanic, lifeless and mundane. There was no hope in this new world. No redemption. I could never heal I could only adapt. So instead I resisted. I dove deeper into my faith. I was praying away the gay, I would pray away the PTSD too. I am sure we can all guess how that went.
I got lucky. I've always loved to write and perform so I opted out of traditional high school for Art School.
It was there I met people who are perfectly flawed. It was there I learned that my monsters aren't entirely who I am and I began to envision something better.
My junior year I met this kid. I was an assistant to a youth pastor at my church. I was still trying to pray away the gay but I had learned to hate the sin (not the sinner). This kid was struggling in a way I intimately recognized. He had been caught fooling around with another boy in the congregation and the church was in full witch-hunt mode. Something about that kids misery broke me and I couldn't hide anymore. I left the church, I came out of the closet and went into therapy.
Julie Andrews as sister Maria says "Let's start at the very beginning, it's a very good place to start" but the beginning can be hard place to find. Hopefully I haven't lost you getting there.
It's been almost twenty years since my first diagnosis of PTSD. I started this path seeking mystical redemption, some miraculous cure. Some where I've learned that for me, adaptation might just be the biggest miracle of all.
Now I am an advocate, activist, and self proclaimed "radical consumer" (Credit to NAMI) I believe that no one is broken, that we are all just adapting. My "symptoms" are strong but most of the time my will is stronger. I believe in coping strategies, knowing yourself first, applauding your own achievements and setting personal boundaries. I try to understand that often what we see as a weakness can be a hidden strength. I am passionate about educating the world about what I call variation but has recently become recognized as neuro-diversity. I still resist the labels of "ill" and "maladaptive" but I'm learning to take pride in the unique perspective I bring to the table.
If your still reading this a "congratulations?" might be in order but I hope you'll settle for a sincere"Hello!" Infinite Blessings! Hope to see you out there!