So, I had no idea that what I have been suffering with since at least as young as 11 years old is cPTSD. I have seen a number of therapists and psychiatrists beginning at age 23 and now I am 53. I told each provider about growing up being the only sober one in my childhood home. I did not know when I started out that there have been numerous small t's and some large scale T's because every effing therapist I told these things to essentially glossed them over. Like because no one was hitting me or actually molesting me (see touching) that what I went through did not classify as anything that might lead to PTSD. Instead, I was diagnosed with Cyclothymia, then Bipolar Disorder, Major Depressive Disorder, Anxiety Disorder, and finally about 2 years ago I met with a therapist who affirmed that I have cPTSD. Mind you, I am a LCSW, and I could not see how my experiences came close to my clients with trauma. Except they do. I have minimized and wrestled with this same shit for so long and still there is more.
I listened to a podcast in which Pete Walker was interviewed this week and I bought his book Complex PTSD: From Surviving to Thriving. I honestly still could not really see how my experiences fit the diagnostic criterion until I read the first couple of chapters of his book. I saw the same assessment questions in an entirely new way. Like the blinders are finally off.
Last year I was on a few different dating apps and was meeting random strangers for sex. I had done this so many times in my life, I didn't realize it was risky. I mean that seriously. I figured I had never been hurt so why not keep doing it. And last October I was raped. I tried to keep working full-time and made it until late July. And I finally had to stop. I was not recovering and kept feeling worse. So, here we are in the middle of the pandemic and I am working from home. The only people I engage with are online therapy clients and a couple of employees at a yoga studio.
So, while I am feeling kind of ok, I am anything but right. I am exhausted and eating a lot. I haven't heard from any of the people I consider friends in weeks. I don't reach out to them because they were also coworkers and I don't want to hear anything about the job I just left. I live alone so I could probably hide out in my house for as long as I want and not one person would come check on me. This is the one area of my recovery work that has yet to let go. I constantly feel alone and lonely even if I try to engage with people. I feel awkward and scared when I'm invited to go anywhere. I've got a million reasons why I don't want to hang out with the people who offer. And on it goes.
I read voraciously and listen to lots of podcasts and TED. I listen and hope one will finally say what I think is true. I cannot hope that one day I will be able to sustain a friendship or a romantic partnered relationship. I will go through life as the one on the outside looking in no matter how much work I do. I tell myself I am defective and that because I don't know why I repel people or at least don't draw them to me, I am stuck in this hell until I am finally allowed to die. I am afraid of a botched suicide so I don't do anything. But I don't care to live either.
After the sexual assault I was finally able to tell myself I have a legitimate reason to have PTSD. Like all the other shit didn't count. I am working because I need money but what I crave is oblivion. Maybe live in a daze but I don't want to f*ck up my brain with drugs. Instead, I inhale carbs and go to the gym or a yoga class. I'm laughing at how ridiculous that sounds.
I listened to a podcast in which Pete Walker was interviewed this week and I bought his book Complex PTSD: From Surviving to Thriving. I honestly still could not really see how my experiences fit the diagnostic criterion until I read the first couple of chapters of his book. I saw the same assessment questions in an entirely new way. Like the blinders are finally off.
Last year I was on a few different dating apps and was meeting random strangers for sex. I had done this so many times in my life, I didn't realize it was risky. I mean that seriously. I figured I had never been hurt so why not keep doing it. And last October I was raped. I tried to keep working full-time and made it until late July. And I finally had to stop. I was not recovering and kept feeling worse. So, here we are in the middle of the pandemic and I am working from home. The only people I engage with are online therapy clients and a couple of employees at a yoga studio.
So, while I am feeling kind of ok, I am anything but right. I am exhausted and eating a lot. I haven't heard from any of the people I consider friends in weeks. I don't reach out to them because they were also coworkers and I don't want to hear anything about the job I just left. I live alone so I could probably hide out in my house for as long as I want and not one person would come check on me. This is the one area of my recovery work that has yet to let go. I constantly feel alone and lonely even if I try to engage with people. I feel awkward and scared when I'm invited to go anywhere. I've got a million reasons why I don't want to hang out with the people who offer. And on it goes.
I read voraciously and listen to lots of podcasts and TED. I listen and hope one will finally say what I think is true. I cannot hope that one day I will be able to sustain a friendship or a romantic partnered relationship. I will go through life as the one on the outside looking in no matter how much work I do. I tell myself I am defective and that because I don't know why I repel people or at least don't draw them to me, I am stuck in this hell until I am finally allowed to die. I am afraid of a botched suicide so I don't do anything. But I don't care to live either.
After the sexual assault I was finally able to tell myself I have a legitimate reason to have PTSD. Like all the other shit didn't count. I am working because I need money but what I crave is oblivion. Maybe live in a daze but I don't want to f*ck up my brain with drugs. Instead, I inhale carbs and go to the gym or a yoga class. I'm laughing at how ridiculous that sounds.