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5 Things I Do When My PTSD Is at Its Worst


Editor's Note

If you have emetophobia, or fears about throwing up, the following post could be potentially triggering. You can contact the Crisis Text Line by texting “START” to 741741.

These are the things I do because of anxiety, depression and post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). Things that others don’t understand. Things that I hope won’t make you go, “Oh,” and stop the conversation. Things I cannot share with anyone else.

1. I have said cruel and untrue things to people.

Usually the people I love the most. I have done this in the clutches of anxiety when my brain is telling me that I’m worthless and I’m in a mess because I will never be successful. I’ve said words out loud that I don’t mean because those are the words running through my head. I have hurt the people who I love the most. I’ve said things that I can’t take back, things that sit and fester in people. No amount of trying to explain that it was just my anxiety will ever make it better.

2. I have contemplated suicide, lately daily.

Everything I do is so overwhelming. It takes everything out of me to be even halfway “normal.” Every little thing is like climbing a mountain without a rope. Oh, if I could just get through the dishes. If I could just brush my teeth. If I could just change my clothes. If I could just do one thing, then maybe I could make it through. By the middle of the day it just feels like it’s not worth it. I just don’t wanna be here fighting to have some sort of semblance of normal. I don’t wanna fight anymore. I’m so tired. I’m exhausted. I just wanna not have to do this daily.

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Respond to this Mighty Member’s Thought below.

Some Feelings Hold On I’ve been in therapy for two years, I’ve made amazing breakthroughs in awareness of my realities and I work daily on accepting the effects of my abuse on my life. It doesn’t change how intensely I feel embarrassed when I talk about how PTSD affects my daily living. I feel like I’m making excuses, like I am weak. And I still feel like people think I am making it up. I have to believe this is a direct result of having a family that protected my abuser rather than me when I spoke up as a child. #PTSD #ChildhoodSexualAbuse #reallife #Shame #Acceptance #Trauma #CheckInWithMe

3. I don’t leave the house.

Like never. Like I don’t stand in front of the open door. I won’t leave the door wide open. The outside world terrifies me. I can feel it on my skin. It’s an intrusive touch. The touch of someone you don’t want. It’s all over me and I wanna run away. I wanna hide. I wanna fade away and disappear. I can’t. I can’t deal with it all. I can’t breathe. I can’t move. I’m crying, begging for mercy. Please make it stop. I just need to be in my house. I need to be locked in. Locked in. The door has to be locked at all times. I don’t hang out in my bedroom because what if I can’t hear someone from the outside trying to come in? I stay in the living room. I sleep in the living room. I live in the living room.

4. I don’t take a shower.

I’m terrified. When I take a shower it feels like I’ve just run a marathon and I have nothing left inside of me. I will cry for two days constantly after taking a shower. I’m terrified. I feel as if someone will come in and assault me. I feel as if I can’t trust anyone. I can’t take a shower with my dad or my daughter in the house. I don’t trust them. I can only take a shower if someone is sitting at the door making sure that no one will come in. Literally sitting at the door. It’s a show for me to take a shower. He’s sitting at the door. I’m checking every three minutes to make sure he’s still there. Oh, if I even think he’s left the door, I’m freaking out. I lose my shit. I’m crying and calling out for him. I can’t move. I’m frozen. All I can do is cry and beg for him to be there. He has never left but I’m scared he will every time.

5. I throw up.

Every day. At least once a day. Sounds easy, right? Just throw up and move on. Not so easy. When I’m puking I feel so vulnerable. Like I can easy be taken advantage of. Like I’m fair game for anything to happen to me. Sometimes it’s not so bad. I throw up; nice and simple, doesn’t even take two minutes. Over the trashcan I go, cause I won’t go and throw up in the restroom. Not so bad, huh? Other times, though, I spend hours, literally hours, anywhere from two to four hours, over a trashcan. Gagging, dry heaving and vomiting. It’s exhausting, humiliating and puts me on high alert. I can’t protect myself when this is happening. There’s nothing I can do to stop bad things from happening to me. Nothing. I’m at the mercy of fate, who is a cruel mistress. Fate is a bitch and I hate her.

All that being said. I pray. I pray every day. I beg God to make me better. I beg for my life back. I give thanks for all I do have. I give thanks for getting through another day. This is just a season. A season that will pass and make me a better person. I am grateful for every day, and for a chance to fight another day.

Getty image via sSplajn