Hi,
I have PTSD. I've tried to deny it for years, saying that my childhood wasn't bad enough, that my brother made it through just fine, that my experience doesn't compare whatsoever to a person who has been to war or was brutally raped. I still think these things.
But I can't deny that something happened, even if I can't remember most of it. I can't deny that I'm being triggered, that I'm not sleeping, wanting so badly to cut and be destructive and implode my life some nights, that I'm not eating. Can't deny that I have no sense of self, no self-worth, that I cling to anyone who dares come close and when they can't handle it or disappoint, it kills me.
I can't deny that my therapist was right. It's not borderline, it's not bipolar.
But it's not nearly as bad as it has been. I've had two years, two good years where I've had a handful of rare incidents. There's been no dissociation, no passive suicidal ideology, no psychosis and no extreme or ultradian mood swings. No medications except xanax that I've been using so sparingly. No cutting for...two and a half years now. Though I'm slipping I'm not taking a nosedive.
There are reasons for slipping -- moving, breaking up with my boyfriend of six years, living alone, feeling isolated, the start of the school year. Many reasons. Many stresses, none of which I can avoid.
I've been leaning on my friends, my few friends, but it's taking a toll. Most haven't ever experienced me at my worst, much less had their own brushes with more than depression. I don't tell them much, certainly don't tell them everything, but they're distancing themselves. The ones in town don't always invite me out; sometimes I see a twinge of fear in their eyes when I come around the corner. One in the state...I did not judge her well enough. I thought she could handle it but the little I've told her is too much and she's stopped listening, started giving orders. Instead of hearing that I had a good day or that I'm only upset because the ex (who works with me) was being an ass, that it was only one triggering incident, she hears "HELP ME!" and feels she must. She demands I lighten my load, let her take more responsibility with a joint project. She demands I go see someone, "fix" myself.
I have misjudged greatly. I can already feel myself pulling back, back. Hiding. Placating. Re-masking myself.
I don't know what to do. Obviously my friends can't be my confidants. But I don't know of any therapy or therapist that will work on coping mechanisms and covering wounds instead of ripping off bandages, exposing everything. Maybe if I remembered they would, but now...no. The worst of everything was while I was in therapy, being triggered. A session wouldn't effect me for a few hours, it would effect me for days, sometimes a week. When the sessions are weekly, that's one continuous slice of hell. I can't afford that slide down to dissociation and suicidal thoughts and losing myself again. I need to finish this degree, I need to be able to write -- I can't crawl in on myself when I have only two more semesters and so much depending on me to finish and move on.
I also can't afford the copays on my insurance -- I'm on a shoestring anyway and just got on food stamps yesterday. The school has counseling that's only $8, but they're used to homesickness and stress, not "Hi, I have PTSD from a severely f*cked up family life. Here's my 30+ page record from my last therapist highlighting what I remember. Feel like helping me? Oh, and would you mind refilling this xanax script? I'm almost out after two years of rationing because I was too terrified to find another shrink..."
So, that's where I'm at and somewhat who I am, I guess. Ask any questions you'd like.
I have PTSD. I've tried to deny it for years, saying that my childhood wasn't bad enough, that my brother made it through just fine, that my experience doesn't compare whatsoever to a person who has been to war or was brutally raped. I still think these things.
But I can't deny that something happened, even if I can't remember most of it. I can't deny that I'm being triggered, that I'm not sleeping, wanting so badly to cut and be destructive and implode my life some nights, that I'm not eating. Can't deny that I have no sense of self, no self-worth, that I cling to anyone who dares come close and when they can't handle it or disappoint, it kills me.
I can't deny that my therapist was right. It's not borderline, it's not bipolar.
But it's not nearly as bad as it has been. I've had two years, two good years where I've had a handful of rare incidents. There's been no dissociation, no passive suicidal ideology, no psychosis and no extreme or ultradian mood swings. No medications except xanax that I've been using so sparingly. No cutting for...two and a half years now. Though I'm slipping I'm not taking a nosedive.
There are reasons for slipping -- moving, breaking up with my boyfriend of six years, living alone, feeling isolated, the start of the school year. Many reasons. Many stresses, none of which I can avoid.
I've been leaning on my friends, my few friends, but it's taking a toll. Most haven't ever experienced me at my worst, much less had their own brushes with more than depression. I don't tell them much, certainly don't tell them everything, but they're distancing themselves. The ones in town don't always invite me out; sometimes I see a twinge of fear in their eyes when I come around the corner. One in the state...I did not judge her well enough. I thought she could handle it but the little I've told her is too much and she's stopped listening, started giving orders. Instead of hearing that I had a good day or that I'm only upset because the ex (who works with me) was being an ass, that it was only one triggering incident, she hears "HELP ME!" and feels she must. She demands I lighten my load, let her take more responsibility with a joint project. She demands I go see someone, "fix" myself.
I have misjudged greatly. I can already feel myself pulling back, back. Hiding. Placating. Re-masking myself.
I don't know what to do. Obviously my friends can't be my confidants. But I don't know of any therapy or therapist that will work on coping mechanisms and covering wounds instead of ripping off bandages, exposing everything. Maybe if I remembered they would, but now...no. The worst of everything was while I was in therapy, being triggered. A session wouldn't effect me for a few hours, it would effect me for days, sometimes a week. When the sessions are weekly, that's one continuous slice of hell. I can't afford that slide down to dissociation and suicidal thoughts and losing myself again. I need to finish this degree, I need to be able to write -- I can't crawl in on myself when I have only two more semesters and so much depending on me to finish and move on.
I also can't afford the copays on my insurance -- I'm on a shoestring anyway and just got on food stamps yesterday. The school has counseling that's only $8, but they're used to homesickness and stress, not "Hi, I have PTSD from a severely f*cked up family life. Here's my 30+ page record from my last therapist highlighting what I remember. Feel like helping me? Oh, and would you mind refilling this xanax script? I'm almost out after two years of rationing because I was too terrified to find another shrink..."
So, that's where I'm at and somewhat who I am, I guess. Ask any questions you'd like.
