How Survivors Define PTSD
People who struggle with PTSD know best what it’s like to live with it from the inside out. On this page and also live on air on our radio show, YOUR LIFE AFTER TRAUMA, they describe in their own words life in the PTSD fog:
I am unable to accept and process what has happened.
PTSD is all about being STUCK. Stuck in the moment of horror, unable to move past it. The feeling is very much like being trapped in a nightmare, unable to wake up; or like a computer that’s “frozen” and incapable of functioning.
A ‘fracture’ in your experience of life, caused by a traumatic event. This fracture is caused in your mind, by you (and no one else). It’s a response for attempting to cope with what happened. But unfortunately, it’s an ill-informed response. And it’s one that makes you feel like something is being done ‘to you’ instead of what’s really going on, which is that your own mind is causing you to re-live your trauma over and over again.
A sense of being STUCK in the trauma, like being in a nightmare and unable to wake up.
Feeling physically and emotionally exhausted, depleted by trauma.
Easily overwhelmed by life, often unable to function, even at performing simple tasks, like a bogged-down or “frozen” computer .
Unbearable emotional pain, i.e.: debilitating depression, overwhelming, paralyzing anxiety, and terrifying rages that may induce fear of “becoming like the abuser.”
A sense of having no personal identity.
Psychological and physical symptoms, such as an extreme Startle Reflex, Recurring Nightmares, Flashbacks, Phobias, and Disturbed Sleep Patterns.
PTSD is, in a nutshell, not being able to differentiate in your mind the past, present and future.
In the present, people, situations, smells and noises merge and trigger into those things from the past.
Being stuck in a fog..and sometimes even like sinking into a dark abyss.
Describing PTSD for me, is like trying to claw my way up and out of the deep hole that I have fallen into. I get so far and then something will happen. I will witness a similar tragedy, I hear sirens, or helicopters, drive by an accident, etc., and I slowly slide right back down into the hole. I then realize that I am safe there and don’t really want to leave.
My experience of PTSD is complete exhaustion, easily overwhelmed by “normal” life and getting through a day. I find that I am angry at most people now because I can’t stand this pervasive sense of entitlement that society seems to have and the selfishness that goes with it. I never felt this way before the traumatic event. I used to be compassionate, understanding and selfless. Now I am hateful, disgusted and intolerant. I feel like I don’t care anymore about anyone but my own immediate family. This is not who I used to be and not who I want to be. I feel as if something pure has been taken from me.
PTSD is like being frozen in the moment the trauma happened. You can not break the cycle. Sleep is impossible, and I became an agoraphobic. I can only hope one day to not relive what happened to me.
Complex PTSD is as close to death as you can possibly imagine; you actually believe you’re not going to make it. It’s like something bigger than the universe stole your identity and soul and your left as a shell, stuck on repeat that beats you down further. Horror. You lose yourself and fight every moment to get her back until you realize she’s gone, you have to create a new life, a new identity. It’s years of soul-depleting loss and then years of soul-nourishing work and patience. Then you realize PTSD is a GIFT for a broken soul, because you become a whole soul. After the despair comes a GREAT FAITH, and you see the world with new eyes. You count your blessings every day and most importantly–you live in and for the moment.
PTSD, to me, is like running away from a bad guy in a dark forest and jumping into the bushes to hide. After the man is gone and you are ready to get out of the bushes, you realize that the bush is full of thorns and is stuck in your clothes and hair and you just can’t escape.
I feel like I am stuck on a roller coaster. Sometimes the ride is smooth and most of the time its rough, too fast, scary and out of control. I can not get off this ride.
PTSD for me is trying to escape a dark power dwelling around me. Then when I am able to step into the light one small thing slows me down. When the darkness catches back up to me I feel like “Why try to escape again?” It’s such a part of me, I don’t even know how to live without it.
I imagine that in my amygldyla, the deepest part of the brain, a highjacker, who has successfully severed communication to the rest of my mind, leaving me in the blinding hell of only FIGHT, FRIGHT or FREEZE. Every part of my body FEELS this message down to smallest hairs covering my skin that have become thousands of little eyes and ears -constantly scanning the environment – translating every “normal” sound and movement into a threat to my life.
PTSD to me is an echo that seems to follow me wherever I go. It is a solitude that embraces my everyday. A battle that at times I think it is over until I realize it is effecting me again in yet a different way. It is as though the person I once was has vanished and those that surround me do not understand where I have gone. Clouded by misunderstandings, frustration, and a battle that I want to win. Daily life can be a challenge and one day I know that in the end the battle will be worth the journey.
PTSD is like being loaded down with fear, anger, distrust and hypervigilance. Being hypervigilant is the norm, and sleep is non-existent without medicine (in my case). Shell-shocked is a good way to describe it. Reliving movies in my mind of abusive moments, or dreaming of bad things happening to me. Being afraid of just about anything, having no trust, feeling angry over just about everything.
The world is a hostile, scary place to many of us with PTSD. I spend most of my time at home, where I’m safe and nobody is judging me. I’d love to have friends but as I get older, they are few and far between so I stopped socializing.
There is a delicate porcelain figure. It is not the beautiful kind you see on a shelf, it is ugly beyond description. The slightest wind will knock it over and break it forever. So it is locked inside a great double-walled brick box. It must never see or be seen. It therefor will not experience pain of any kind. Nor will it, however, experience anything. Not love, affection, the wind in her hair, nothing. To protect this creature is the one and only goal.In spite of being protected from breakage, it is, in fact, already destroyed. And dead.
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(Photos: Blue Out, vat_i_can, The Mighty Jimbo)