Well my first attempt at this was somewhat incorrect as I had explained my life more as a story.
The real fact is that I have been suffering from PTSD, OCD and depression for almost a year, and have only been diagnosed with the illnesses a few days ago. So slowly, bit by bit I was feeling like I was losing my mind. I was getting angry at the smallest things, like a shoe not placed in the shoe rack correctly or the curtain not being straight.
I started to push my family away because I thought they were the problem. The PTSD started for me about a year ago at church “which I do not normally go to”. We were asked to do a simple exercise of faith and when it was my turn, memories of sexual abuse came flooding back.
And then from there on things only became worse, as other memories that had been locked away in Pandora’s Box were now starting to seep through the open lid. You see my childhood was unlike any other and to tell my story would only shock you with disbelief.
From the age of five I lived with my gang member father and was exposed to the gang life as we live in the head quarters. Then from about eleven I joined in as this had become the normal way of life. But now twenty five years later the screams have returned, the blood stained hands that I cannot wash off. The visions of bodies left battered and bruised almost lifeless.
This is what I am dealing with today
The real fact is that I have been suffering from PTSD, OCD and depression for almost a year, and have only been diagnosed with the illnesses a few days ago. So slowly, bit by bit I was feeling like I was losing my mind. I was getting angry at the smallest things, like a shoe not placed in the shoe rack correctly or the curtain not being straight.
I started to push my family away because I thought they were the problem. The PTSD started for me about a year ago at church “which I do not normally go to”. We were asked to do a simple exercise of faith and when it was my turn, memories of sexual abuse came flooding back.
And then from there on things only became worse, as other memories that had been locked away in Pandora’s Box were now starting to seep through the open lid. You see my childhood was unlike any other and to tell my story would only shock you with disbelief.
From the age of five I lived with my gang member father and was exposed to the gang life as we live in the head quarters. Then from about eleven I joined in as this had become the normal way of life. But now twenty five years later the screams have returned, the blood stained hands that I cannot wash off. The visions of bodies left battered and bruised almost lifeless.
This is what I am dealing with today
