Lola Nocheprieta
Diamond Member
You know you have PTSD (and yet are apparently competent and can "fake good" with relative ease):
When the Greek Chorus in your head drowns out other people irl.
When you start to agree with the Greek Chorus's comments about who you are, what you're supposed to be doing (ie, who you should be serving), and your role/lot in life.
When the memories are more real than this present moment, and so you start panicking during meditation.
When the hypervigilance of your surrounding extends to yourself (am I making enough eye contact? Does my smile look forced? Are my shoulders up around my ears? When was the last time I took a breath? Did I blink recently? Am I looking in the right general vicinity, and is it time to nod yet? Is my prosody well-modulated? Do I appear fake or authentic? How can I be sure? Can anyone tell I'm fighting hard not to dissociate???)
When even trained therapists can't tell that you are no longer there.
When you turn around and walk right back out of the shoe store because you saw a long-handled shoe horn and the whistling sound it made 35-odd years ago when your father brought it down on your backside hurts your ears.
When the Greek Chorus in your head drowns out other people irl.
When you start to agree with the Greek Chorus's comments about who you are, what you're supposed to be doing (ie, who you should be serving), and your role/lot in life.
When the memories are more real than this present moment, and so you start panicking during meditation.
When the hypervigilance of your surrounding extends to yourself (am I making enough eye contact? Does my smile look forced? Are my shoulders up around my ears? When was the last time I took a breath? Did I blink recently? Am I looking in the right general vicinity, and is it time to nod yet? Is my prosody well-modulated? Do I appear fake or authentic? How can I be sure? Can anyone tell I'm fighting hard not to dissociate???)
When even trained therapists can't tell that you are no longer there.
When you turn around and walk right back out of the shoe store because you saw a long-handled shoe horn and the whistling sound it made 35-odd years ago when your father brought it down on your backside hurts your ears.