I have been wrestling my Shadow, and I lose frequently. My pain is a monster. You cannot see it. I wish you could. It has teeth that chew on my head, claws that dig into my hands and feet, and a tail that lashes my body. I look and frequently can behave like there is no battle going on. I am a veteran of this war. But sometimes I am overwhelmed. The monster has me beat. And I try to do my beat to get by, but I know I am vulnerable. I know the pain is crippling me and I'm just trying to get home.
Now if someone reproaches me while I'm losing to a monster, I can become a monster myself. Flight isn't possible, so fight kicks in. My Shadow can take over at this point. My will is so weak from the struggle, my normal, rational self slips. I don't like it. I don't want what's going to happen next to happen. But it happens anyway: I get lippy. I get loud. I curse like the sailor my parents raised me to be (nod to the U.S. Navy). I fight back. Because I have not survived this long by rolling over and giving up.
I've lost count of how many times I: "should have been in a coma," "should not have been able to be up and walking around," "should have been dead." I am a warrior. And this war does not end. This is not Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. This is Current Trauma Stress Disorder. Don't be fooled by my smile. When I'm not smiling, please give me space. Otherwise I will snap at you, and it's not pretty.
You do not know the battles I have had to fight to get what should have rightfully been mine from the beginning. Not business battles, though I've have my fair share of economic strife. Not traffic battles that people needlessly wage on the roads each day (never thinking a car is a deadly weapon, by the way). Not career battles, though I myself still long to be in that fight. I battle with my pain. I battle my nerves that fire of random sensations at random moments. I battle chronic nausea, gastropharesis, and random choking for no reason. I battle migraines that would end you, as they ended my full-time career. This war never stops.
Some days are better than others. Even the beast sleeps sometimes. But I have to take a martini-glass-full of medications each day to get even the tiniest respite. On a scale of 1 to 10, I don't count any pain below a 5. If it's only 5, it's time to take care of all the chores I've been neglecting and run errands while I can. But I have to be very careful not to wake the beast, so I cannot do too much. These days come maybe 2-3 times per month right now. With more medication, I may be able to get it up to 4, or (Heavens, please!) 5 times per week. But that's another battle I'm fighting.
I don't get to live life like most people. My invisible monster makes it difficult to explain my situation to others. I make chronic pain look awesome. And why shouldnt I take advantage of the luck I have left? Yeah, there's a downside: people don't believe I'm as sick as I say. But what's my other option? Sitting in a wheelchair when I can very well walk myself? That's lying and manipulation. I don't brook with that. I will not beg for sympathy when I don't need it. And when I do, it's only because I'm in crisis.
That's why it's not PTSD for me, it's CTSD. This is real. This is now. I'm more amazing than you know.
Now if someone reproaches me while I'm losing to a monster, I can become a monster myself. Flight isn't possible, so fight kicks in. My Shadow can take over at this point. My will is so weak from the struggle, my normal, rational self slips. I don't like it. I don't want what's going to happen next to happen. But it happens anyway: I get lippy. I get loud. I curse like the sailor my parents raised me to be (nod to the U.S. Navy). I fight back. Because I have not survived this long by rolling over and giving up.
I've lost count of how many times I: "should have been in a coma," "should not have been able to be up and walking around," "should have been dead." I am a warrior. And this war does not end. This is not Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. This is Current Trauma Stress Disorder. Don't be fooled by my smile. When I'm not smiling, please give me space. Otherwise I will snap at you, and it's not pretty.
You do not know the battles I have had to fight to get what should have rightfully been mine from the beginning. Not business battles, though I've have my fair share of economic strife. Not traffic battles that people needlessly wage on the roads each day (never thinking a car is a deadly weapon, by the way). Not career battles, though I myself still long to be in that fight. I battle with my pain. I battle my nerves that fire of random sensations at random moments. I battle chronic nausea, gastropharesis, and random choking for no reason. I battle migraines that would end you, as they ended my full-time career. This war never stops.
Some days are better than others. Even the beast sleeps sometimes. But I have to take a martini-glass-full of medications each day to get even the tiniest respite. On a scale of 1 to 10, I don't count any pain below a 5. If it's only 5, it's time to take care of all the chores I've been neglecting and run errands while I can. But I have to be very careful not to wake the beast, so I cannot do too much. These days come maybe 2-3 times per month right now. With more medication, I may be able to get it up to 4, or (Heavens, please!) 5 times per week. But that's another battle I'm fighting.
I don't get to live life like most people. My invisible monster makes it difficult to explain my situation to others. I make chronic pain look awesome. And why shouldnt I take advantage of the luck I have left? Yeah, there's a downside: people don't believe I'm as sick as I say. But what's my other option? Sitting in a wheelchair when I can very well walk myself? That's lying and manipulation. I don't brook with that. I will not beg for sympathy when I don't need it. And when I do, it's only because I'm in crisis.
That's why it's not PTSD for me, it's CTSD. This is real. This is now. I'm more amazing than you know.
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