I guess I've been suffering from it for as long as I can remember, either because it started so early or I just can't remember being any other way. My family and general childhood were the cause. Alcoholic, rage-oholic father, uncaring, narcissistic mother, psychotic older brother, similarly affected twin sister. Moved to a new state at the age of 8, and did so missing my 4 top front teeth. I was an instant and easy target for bullies, and remained a target until high school, where I just blended in and kept my head down, but that only solved part of the problem.
By then the damage was long since done and I was numb, angry, and unable to function like a normal person. I've had all of the classic symptoms since then, but only started to realize what they were and what the cause was until after I saw a psychiatrist in college. She basically diagnosed me, but I wouldn't let her make it official since that would have excluded me from the kind of military work I was preparing myself for at the time. I think it's lucky that a knee injury sank that ship at harbor, though at the time you can probably imagine how it felt to have the one plan you had to get away suddenly destroyed. I still had hope of getting back in, even for years afterwards, even after suffering yet more injuries (mysterious ones at that!). But I have finally given up on that and no longer find myself constrained by what the truth might reveal. Up until a few days ago, only my most trusted friend, who I am eternally grateful for, ever knew the extent of my worst injuries. He knew my family better than most, so he had a keen sense of what I meant when I used vague words to protect myself.
When I told my mother, she asked what the cause was, and I said "my childhood", and she just looked away and continued watching her TV shows, like I wasn't even there. Par for the course. I told my father today after he asked me if I was "angry at something". How could I ever begin to fully answer that? But I told him why I behaved the way I did, that I had PTSD, that it was because of him and my childhood. He said "you complain too much", and refused to believe it, like he refused to believe any problem I ever had growing up. The result is that I feel more distant than ever from my parents despite being in their house again, for the moment.
That will change as I transition back to the life I established overseas, thousands of miles away from them and everything that reminds me of them. I'm thinking of completely cutting off ties with them once and for all, finally closing the book on my old life. Not sure how wise that course of action is, but I wonder if they would even notice.
Anyway, thanks for reading.
By then the damage was long since done and I was numb, angry, and unable to function like a normal person. I've had all of the classic symptoms since then, but only started to realize what they were and what the cause was until after I saw a psychiatrist in college. She basically diagnosed me, but I wouldn't let her make it official since that would have excluded me from the kind of military work I was preparing myself for at the time. I think it's lucky that a knee injury sank that ship at harbor, though at the time you can probably imagine how it felt to have the one plan you had to get away suddenly destroyed. I still had hope of getting back in, even for years afterwards, even after suffering yet more injuries (mysterious ones at that!). But I have finally given up on that and no longer find myself constrained by what the truth might reveal. Up until a few days ago, only my most trusted friend, who I am eternally grateful for, ever knew the extent of my worst injuries. He knew my family better than most, so he had a keen sense of what I meant when I used vague words to protect myself.
When I told my mother, she asked what the cause was, and I said "my childhood", and she just looked away and continued watching her TV shows, like I wasn't even there. Par for the course. I told my father today after he asked me if I was "angry at something". How could I ever begin to fully answer that? But I told him why I behaved the way I did, that I had PTSD, that it was because of him and my childhood. He said "you complain too much", and refused to believe it, like he refused to believe any problem I ever had growing up. The result is that I feel more distant than ever from my parents despite being in their house again, for the moment.
That will change as I transition back to the life I established overseas, thousands of miles away from them and everything that reminds me of them. I'm thinking of completely cutting off ties with them once and for all, finally closing the book on my old life. Not sure how wise that course of action is, but I wonder if they would even notice.
Anyway, thanks for reading.
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