Unwilling to tell the whole truth about how PTSI affects my life, and I'm not giving a damn about that right now! | #PTSDchat
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Unwilling to tell the whole truth about how PTSI affects my life, and I’m not giving a damn about that right now!

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Saturday, May 26, 2018. 0220 Hrs.

I tiptoe around a lot of my issues, I don’t tell everyone what I’m going through, because I don’t want to get “the look” 

 

I hate the feeling that someone is feeling as if I need to be felt sorry for, I just want them to understand where I’m at when I explain it to them. Looking at me like I’m some sorry pile of wet dog crap doesn’t help me to feel better it only makes me feel a lot worse!

Of course, I don’t tell everyone about this condition, they won’t all understand, and I have no reason to think that they will since I don’t myself! How in the hell did I get this way? In steps, in levels, in leaps and bounds probably. But I can’t tell you all of them. I’ve been exposed to death in ways that would drive anyone to drink. (maybe I should’ve tried that!) I just did it cold sober, no tranquilizing additions to my situations that could have made them less intimidating and foreboding for me.

 

What the hell, I thought like they taught me to think. I was a superman-like person. I went through basic training, airborne, advanced individual training, and many other forms of schooling and training. I was standing tall and looking good and no one could tell me that someone’s death wouldn’t just wash off my back like shower water. I was a bad son of a bitch, I was remade in steel and my heart couldn’t be touched. Complete, total, and absolute bullshit! The whole of it!

 

I was tougher than I was as a civilian, but only because I knew that an entire society of like-trained people was a part of the group to which I now belonged. Before I went into the army I already had black belts and levels in several different martial arts forms, but that was not about being tough, it was about being able to learn and to gain a proficiency which could be noticed and acknowledged with a certification or a belt, sash, or the reward of a broken board or block that I had broken. All trinkets of no real value in comparison to the fact that I had progressed intellectually and physically.

 

PTSI, the bane of my life, has used up so much of the energy in my mind at times. This intruder has pervaded the sanctified territory of my very existence. This thing is tearing away at my mind, and that is the least of my worries. What I truly fear is what won’t be inside of me tomorrow because of this bastard of a disease!

 

Truthfully, I’d like to knock its teeth down its damned throat! Just waylay this freakish and impudent little piece of sh*t into a heap on the floor, but it doesn’t work that way! 

 

Killing PTSI is in fact, killing a piece of myself, and what else would this accomplish other than to make me even more corrupted inside than I am right now? I don’t want that, I want to get better, being worse is not a desire on my “to-do-list” so I stay on a path that I am hopeful will lead me to a place of at least more peace than I have right now.

 

PTSI is like a bomb going off in the vicinity of people, it causes horrifyingly perverse wounds, to those who it kills and to those who survive. My mind feels as though it looks like this: 

 

I am warped inside, filled with shrapnel, and lacerations, glass, fragments of metal, burns, and other concussion injuries that may or may not be seen.

 

Why don’t I tell you how I see PTSI in my reality, instead of trying to always say it nicely and soften the blow of my words, PTSI sucks, it hurts me, my family, my friends, and even those whom I have never met. It gives me a jolt when I realize that that strange looking person in the mirror is me, and not some f*cking stranger! I hate the me that PTSI has made me into and like it or not, I have to deal with the choice of accepting it, or rejecting myself, because I am me and PTSI is a part of me as well. Not me, but of me. Get this?

 

My mind has been exposed to a distant but effectively abusive explosion. 

 

I don’t share this with everyone, but here, if I can’t tell it truthfully, then what’s the sense in coming here?

 

Aren’t we adults here? Shouldn’t we tell the magnificently obtuse manner in which we have been assaulted, injured, and then left debilitated by this deposited asshole of a companion who is not conscious but robs me of my own, and takes away from me the feeling of being relevant and necessary to myself. This makes PTSI a real piece of sh*t for me to deal with! I will not always leave out the entire lettering of these sort of posts, because we need time to rage at this thing that is dominating our lives right now. No matter why it does what it does. It makes me feel like I am not normal anymore, and I hate it for this.

 

One day, I hope to see PTSI and all other emotional illnesses and injuries, in this place: 

 

The perpetrator always says that he didn’t mean to do it. But PTSI and emotional injuries and illnesses, never say this, so don’t forgive it, get rid of it!  

 

I don’t have a nice relationship with my emotional illness, and I refuse to act as if I do. So please, anyone with this expectation, you are going to be disappointed.

I want to help everyone, but I’m on this list myself. It’s time for me to remember this.

Peace and comfort.

 

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