Hey, everyone. I don’t really know why I’m writing this. A large part of
my brain is screaming for me not to because it fears that my family will
somehow find this and realise that it’s me. But I have to say something
under the cover of a username. I...
View more
Hey, everyone. I don’t really know why I’m writing this. A large part of
my brain is screaming for me not to because it fears that my family will
somehow find this and realise that it’s me. But I have to say something
under the cover of a username. It took me over half an hour to hit the
post button, my heart was pounding. I am afraid because I’ve never told
them that I was assaulted over a decade ago (seven years old? Eight?
Either one) and I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to. After many
years, I was able to tell a very close friend of mine. I feel that’s a
healthy step in the right direction, but I’ve never been able to
verbalise or even hint at it to a psychologist. When I’ve seen a
professional, it’s right there, in my mind. ‘I was assaulted when I was
a child’. It’s right there, and sometimes it even manages to reach the
back of my throat, but it gets trapped there. I don’t know why. I feel
like I should be over it by now. I feel like I should be able to say,
hey, it’s in the past, I’m an adult now. And for the most part, I don’t
think about it, it’s not on my mind. I can go months and months without
the memory appearing and my stomach twisting in anger because I should
have done something instead of freezing like I did. But something
triggers it and it reminds me, and I feel sick all over again, and like
I just want to run up to the first person I see and tell them. I find
men approaching me when I’m alone is something that both sets off my
anxiety and my desire to fight if necessary. They could just be asking
the time and I’d still have that reaction. Sometimes I wish they would
try something, just so I could be justified in hurting them. There is an
anger, very much alive in me. Then there’s things like being told I
should get a pap smear because that’s important, but the thought of it
makes me panic internally. I don’t want someone touching me, I don’t
want to be exposed like that. It is important for my health, but I don’t
want to. I am sick of these triggers and sick of being afraid and sick
of keeping it locked inside where it chips away at me, surely sometimes
without my knowledge. Maybe now that I’ve told you, it won’t get stuck
anymore. Maybe I wrote this, disregarding the screaming of my brain,
because I want my family to find out. Is that selfish of me? They’re
good people, of course, and I’m sure they’d find a way to blame
themselves. Is it selfish of me? I don’t know. I’m not sure. I hope not.
I just don’t want to be sick anymore.
PTSD for Medical and First Responders
