~Iceheart~
New Here
Hello, and thank you for taking the time to read this. I know it's long, but I hope to explain my entire situation here as best as I can. To (hopefully) make things easier on the reader, I have a general table of contents below. Yes, this may be a bit much, but it means that you don't exactly have to read it in order! I hope I can explain this correctly and effectively, so please bear with me!
Table of Contents:
1.) General Information
2.) The extent of my trauma
3.) Why undiagnosed?
4.) My flashbacks and symptoms
5.) Other notes on the matter
—-—-—-—-—-—
1.) General Information
Goodness, where to start... I am ~Iceheart~, and joined yesterday to see if there was anyone out there who had a similar situation, or any advice dealing with PTSD. My trauma occurred on October 2, 2012, but there is a lot of background information that is necessary for any of this to make sense. First off, I was diagnosed with a mood disorder at the age of six or seven, and forced into medication soon after. With the way I grew up, though I was loved, I learned early on about the monster that my emotions would make me. I hated myself, but knew that nobody else could see this truth, or I would be forced to face the shame and pain that ate me alive. I began to make an emotional mask, and brainwash myself into thinking I was a normal person. This changed when my mother tried to send me out of her house, because she was "tired of dealing with my mood disorder". She brought down a suitcase, and declared that I would be living with my father from now on. (They're divorced, but don't live too far from each other. I was too young when this happened to care). Everything shattered, my life would change by doing this. But when I called my father, he claimed that he "didn't have room for me" and to "call him in September". It was the end of June. My mother did take me back in, but the damage had been done. My walls had crumbled, and I had no idea who I was anymore.
This affected me greatly, and I began to realize just how deep this went. Finally, I said to my mother, "I'm depressed, and want to die." I expected understanding, and for the two of us to find a way to make things easier. The exact opposite happened. The way my mother acted only fueled fury inside me, and I ended up running my mouth about how, "I wished nothing more than to be dead and done." What she didn't know? I don't have the courage to act. Death and harm scare me beyond words. What she did later is what traumatized me, and was the ultimate betrayal.
She brought me to an ER, put me through a night of terror and anguish, and had me committed to a psych ward. A mental hospital. After finally being evaluated at the ER at one in the morning, they said to my mother, "Well, it doesn't seem like there's anything major here, but if you truly feel like she is a danger to herself, then we can take care of it." I begged and pleaded, in tears, but it did not sway my mother. "Take her." She had a look of pure sorrow in her eyes, and simply walked out of the room. I don't think I will ever fully be able to forgive her, even if she "only wanted to help me".
I spent a week at a psych facility that I will refer to as BHC. It was a living nightmare, and my definition of hell. I was forced into submission, living in more hatred for myself than ever before. I often say that, "Hell is cold, hell froze over long ago." It was literally around 40° in the building at all times. Videocameras, a flashlight check every fifteen minutes at night to make sure you were still breathing, and all of the adolescent unit was behind a chain-link box. My mother would come every day, and would storm out of the double doors in the same manner after instigating a massive fight in front of every other patient. I hated every minute, and firmly believe that I won't ever forget the worst week of my life.
—-—-—
2.) The extent of my trauma
A year and a half later, I am still petrified of the mere thought of the place. The stories I heard, the poor other trapped souls. Granted, I am well aware that the purpose of those wards are to protect you and keep you safe. However, that is not how this place worked. They essentially just kept you from society, and treated you like you were an insane child. It was their way, or you stay. You have rights as a patient (ie. Ability to refuse service, etc.), but they still had their ways. They broke me.
The frigid halls
The blank white walls
The coruscating light
The threat is real
And all I feel
Still poisons me with fright
I must hide every last bit of this from my mother. I fear she will only return me as if I'm damaged merchandise that she wants to "fix". Even if this doesn't happen, the constant threat exists. If she found out, the life I have built from nothing will be demolished. I don't need her pitiful eyes, her justifications, her questions. I will always live in fear, whether she know as or not. I'd rather not make the same mistake that got me into this mess. I've learned it's better to keep her in the dark. When faces with this choice, I could not bring myself to follow through. Even if "it might not be as bad as I think", I'm just not ready. My life in hiding continues.
—-—-—
3.) Why undiagnosed?
Well, let's just say this. Upon being told it sounded like PTSD, I freaked out a bit. "It honestly can't be that bad. It's just fear because the threat is still there... It isn't..." No matter how much I hated the thought, I became a bit curious. Took several online tests from major organizations (the only reason I am not citing them is because I am afraid my device will crash.), and they each said that it was likely that I had some form of PTSD, and that I should seek counseling. I was secretly put into trauma therapy, and decided to go from there. I was tested, and the results were interesting. Though I had experienced several of the symptoms, and the number was high enough to be classified as PTSD, I was not categorized as such simply because my "avoidance" wasn't a strong symptom. It was "such a major part" in the diagnosis, that they refused to call it PTSD. But really? If I were to try to avoid people, there would be major suspicion, and I would be found out. Plus, the way I learned to survive when I was young was to act as an extrovert almost as a distraction, and had used that of fool others and myself. So it's ingrained in me that I must surround myself with people. No matter how much I want to seclude myself sometimes, I repress it out of knowledge that that could easily be my giveaway. Do I want to say my situation is bad enough to be PTSD? No, but logic is currently pointing me there.
—-—-—
4.) My flashbacks and symptoms
It's a bit odd how things work in my case. I do have some of the classic symptoms (nightmares, panic attacks, irritability, a stronger startle mechanism than before, flashbacks, etc.) But again, missing the "seclusion" element, and a few others that are not coming to mind. Another thing, there was no threat to my life. A big piece missing, right? I may not have that, but I had a feeling of helplessness and a level of fear that keeps me immobile to this day. That was even enough for the therapist to classify as significant enough. So it really is a tough call.
My panic attacks and flashbacks are a bit odd though. For flashbacks, I see everything in front of me again, as if it's happening, but it doesn't completely consume me. I am distracted, but still self aware. It is kind of in the midst of the rest if my vision. Another thing that happens is like a twisted daydream of things that never happened, but hit close enough to home where it sometimes leaves me close to tears. It's like a nightmare, but a daydream...
I don't even know what to say for the panic attacks. A thought or a trigger, one strong enough and it will unleash a tidal wave. Racing thoughts, panic, deeper breaths (but they aren't faster). I feel a strong urge to run from wherever I am at. It makes things very hard to process, only fear. I'm not even sure what more to say about that, but I will call it panic attacks for now at least.
My triggers, too many. Sirens, ambulances, mentions of hospitals, ERs, needles, harm. Jokes or comments on death or suicide. Some poetry. Cold, bright places. It's really really bad sometimes. At least I can recognize some of them though... It leads me to ask if there's hope though. I can't answer, at this point, I can't trust anything. I will have to figure things out as they come.
—-—-—
5.) Other notes on the matter
After the hospitalization, I was numb for about four months. It just was what it was, I didn't think much about it. It wasn't pleasant, but better than the realization that greeted me around Super Bowl Sunday of 2013. That's when it struck me that I'm scared out of my wits. I don't ever want to return. The nightmares became more vivid, and things went downhill very quickly. I have been in the same (or a very similar) state since. There's no way to go back to the life I knew, that much is certain.
One thing that must be said again: I have never harmed or attempted suicide. It scares me beyond any description, especially after being in that hellhole. I don't have the guts to do so, nor do I believe I ever will. It isn't the answer. That said, I believe that everyone has the days where they loathe the fact that they are alive, and wonder if death would bring peace. That's where I have been at, rather, where I was back then. That misunderstanding changed my life, and I won't forget it.
I remember every minute of the night in the ER, and every inch of that ward. There isn't one day that goes by that I don't pay for breaking my silence. So now comes the question, is there anyone out there who can relate?
Again, I apologize for the length, and thank anyone for taking the time to read any of this. Thanks for not giving up on my massive, daunting wall of text. And to everyone, here's to healing~
Table of Contents:
1.) General Information
2.) The extent of my trauma
3.) Why undiagnosed?
4.) My flashbacks and symptoms
5.) Other notes on the matter
—-—-—-—-—-—
1.) General Information
Goodness, where to start... I am ~Iceheart~, and joined yesterday to see if there was anyone out there who had a similar situation, or any advice dealing with PTSD. My trauma occurred on October 2, 2012, but there is a lot of background information that is necessary for any of this to make sense. First off, I was diagnosed with a mood disorder at the age of six or seven, and forced into medication soon after. With the way I grew up, though I was loved, I learned early on about the monster that my emotions would make me. I hated myself, but knew that nobody else could see this truth, or I would be forced to face the shame and pain that ate me alive. I began to make an emotional mask, and brainwash myself into thinking I was a normal person. This changed when my mother tried to send me out of her house, because she was "tired of dealing with my mood disorder". She brought down a suitcase, and declared that I would be living with my father from now on. (They're divorced, but don't live too far from each other. I was too young when this happened to care). Everything shattered, my life would change by doing this. But when I called my father, he claimed that he "didn't have room for me" and to "call him in September". It was the end of June. My mother did take me back in, but the damage had been done. My walls had crumbled, and I had no idea who I was anymore.
This affected me greatly, and I began to realize just how deep this went. Finally, I said to my mother, "I'm depressed, and want to die." I expected understanding, and for the two of us to find a way to make things easier. The exact opposite happened. The way my mother acted only fueled fury inside me, and I ended up running my mouth about how, "I wished nothing more than to be dead and done." What she didn't know? I don't have the courage to act. Death and harm scare me beyond words. What she did later is what traumatized me, and was the ultimate betrayal.
She brought me to an ER, put me through a night of terror and anguish, and had me committed to a psych ward. A mental hospital. After finally being evaluated at the ER at one in the morning, they said to my mother, "Well, it doesn't seem like there's anything major here, but if you truly feel like she is a danger to herself, then we can take care of it." I begged and pleaded, in tears, but it did not sway my mother. "Take her." She had a look of pure sorrow in her eyes, and simply walked out of the room. I don't think I will ever fully be able to forgive her, even if she "only wanted to help me".
I spent a week at a psych facility that I will refer to as BHC. It was a living nightmare, and my definition of hell. I was forced into submission, living in more hatred for myself than ever before. I often say that, "Hell is cold, hell froze over long ago." It was literally around 40° in the building at all times. Videocameras, a flashlight check every fifteen minutes at night to make sure you were still breathing, and all of the adolescent unit was behind a chain-link box. My mother would come every day, and would storm out of the double doors in the same manner after instigating a massive fight in front of every other patient. I hated every minute, and firmly believe that I won't ever forget the worst week of my life.
—-—-—
2.) The extent of my trauma
A year and a half later, I am still petrified of the mere thought of the place. The stories I heard, the poor other trapped souls. Granted, I am well aware that the purpose of those wards are to protect you and keep you safe. However, that is not how this place worked. They essentially just kept you from society, and treated you like you were an insane child. It was their way, or you stay. You have rights as a patient (ie. Ability to refuse service, etc.), but they still had their ways. They broke me.
The frigid halls
The blank white walls
The coruscating light
The threat is real
And all I feel
Still poisons me with fright
I must hide every last bit of this from my mother. I fear she will only return me as if I'm damaged merchandise that she wants to "fix". Even if this doesn't happen, the constant threat exists. If she found out, the life I have built from nothing will be demolished. I don't need her pitiful eyes, her justifications, her questions. I will always live in fear, whether she know as or not. I'd rather not make the same mistake that got me into this mess. I've learned it's better to keep her in the dark. When faces with this choice, I could not bring myself to follow through. Even if "it might not be as bad as I think", I'm just not ready. My life in hiding continues.
—-—-—
3.) Why undiagnosed?
Well, let's just say this. Upon being told it sounded like PTSD, I freaked out a bit. "It honestly can't be that bad. It's just fear because the threat is still there... It isn't..." No matter how much I hated the thought, I became a bit curious. Took several online tests from major organizations (the only reason I am not citing them is because I am afraid my device will crash.), and they each said that it was likely that I had some form of PTSD, and that I should seek counseling. I was secretly put into trauma therapy, and decided to go from there. I was tested, and the results were interesting. Though I had experienced several of the symptoms, and the number was high enough to be classified as PTSD, I was not categorized as such simply because my "avoidance" wasn't a strong symptom. It was "such a major part" in the diagnosis, that they refused to call it PTSD. But really? If I were to try to avoid people, there would be major suspicion, and I would be found out. Plus, the way I learned to survive when I was young was to act as an extrovert almost as a distraction, and had used that of fool others and myself. So it's ingrained in me that I must surround myself with people. No matter how much I want to seclude myself sometimes, I repress it out of knowledge that that could easily be my giveaway. Do I want to say my situation is bad enough to be PTSD? No, but logic is currently pointing me there.
—-—-—
4.) My flashbacks and symptoms
It's a bit odd how things work in my case. I do have some of the classic symptoms (nightmares, panic attacks, irritability, a stronger startle mechanism than before, flashbacks, etc.) But again, missing the "seclusion" element, and a few others that are not coming to mind. Another thing, there was no threat to my life. A big piece missing, right? I may not have that, but I had a feeling of helplessness and a level of fear that keeps me immobile to this day. That was even enough for the therapist to classify as significant enough. So it really is a tough call.
My panic attacks and flashbacks are a bit odd though. For flashbacks, I see everything in front of me again, as if it's happening, but it doesn't completely consume me. I am distracted, but still self aware. It is kind of in the midst of the rest if my vision. Another thing that happens is like a twisted daydream of things that never happened, but hit close enough to home where it sometimes leaves me close to tears. It's like a nightmare, but a daydream...
I don't even know what to say for the panic attacks. A thought or a trigger, one strong enough and it will unleash a tidal wave. Racing thoughts, panic, deeper breaths (but they aren't faster). I feel a strong urge to run from wherever I am at. It makes things very hard to process, only fear. I'm not even sure what more to say about that, but I will call it panic attacks for now at least.
My triggers, too many. Sirens, ambulances, mentions of hospitals, ERs, needles, harm. Jokes or comments on death or suicide. Some poetry. Cold, bright places. It's really really bad sometimes. At least I can recognize some of them though... It leads me to ask if there's hope though. I can't answer, at this point, I can't trust anything. I will have to figure things out as they come.
—-—-—
5.) Other notes on the matter
After the hospitalization, I was numb for about four months. It just was what it was, I didn't think much about it. It wasn't pleasant, but better than the realization that greeted me around Super Bowl Sunday of 2013. That's when it struck me that I'm scared out of my wits. I don't ever want to return. The nightmares became more vivid, and things went downhill very quickly. I have been in the same (or a very similar) state since. There's no way to go back to the life I knew, that much is certain.
One thing that must be said again: I have never harmed or attempted suicide. It scares me beyond any description, especially after being in that hellhole. I don't have the guts to do so, nor do I believe I ever will. It isn't the answer. That said, I believe that everyone has the days where they loathe the fact that they are alive, and wonder if death would bring peace. That's where I have been at, rather, where I was back then. That misunderstanding changed my life, and I won't forget it.
I remember every minute of the night in the ER, and every inch of that ward. There isn't one day that goes by that I don't pay for breaking my silence. So now comes the question, is there anyone out there who can relate?
Again, I apologize for the length, and thank anyone for taking the time to read any of this. Thanks for not giving up on my massive, daunting wall of text. And to everyone, here's to healing~
