"there are wounds that never show on the body that are deeper and more hurtful than anything that bleeds." laurell hamilton
tonight the stress has been all my fault. i sat down to watch a movie about which i knew nothing. one of the characters had PTSD and i should have turned it off right then but i was half an hour in before this character walked on. his pain became mine and mine his. as i watched him patrol his empty, fenced-in yard, lose himself in far-away memories and disconnect from the man he used to be i started to feel all the troubling signs of a panic attack: i couldn't sit still, my breath became shallow and my chest began to ache.
terrifying. the whole thing--PTSD, anxiety, agoraphobia--is so hard to explain. the only way i know how to describe it is that i am unable to trust my own thoughts. i suppose one of the reasons that i am so afraid to be out of the house is that i can't trust my feelings; of safety or of danger. everything feels dangerous and yet i am so disconnected from my own feelings that i'm not sure i can gauge my surroundings in any real way. it's just easier to stay home. easier to have a short list of "safe, pre-approved places" and a long list of "unsafe, scary places."
i don't have any enemies, but if i did, i wouldn't wish PTSD on them. it is painful and exhausting and misunderstood and plain hard!
grace and peace
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