![fuckyeahbicycles:
brokenandwhole:coldhearted:icanread:(by sndr)
Strangest thing. I logged onto Facebook this morning to find on my home page a link. The update was by a friend of a friend. The link was to a post on his blog. He suffers from PTSD stemming from childhood trauma. Coincidence of coincidences, I suffer from PTSD stemming from childhood trauma. I wanted to reach out to him. I thought it was important (insert enough dark humor here to make this sound not like a Dr. Phil episode please).
Anyway, this is what I wrote:
[Name redacted], I don’t know if you remember me. I met you at Throbbing Gristle - I’m [name redacted]’s friend, Cian. I suffer from PTSD, too, also stemming from childhood trauma. I don’t know if I have any words of wisdom, I just wanted to reach out, digital hug style. Cognitive therapy really helped me but that was a bounded and limited investigation. I undertook the investigation with a wonderful therapist and I set very clear goals. I basically wanted to stop stopping myself. I’m more or less okay with the occasional deep lethargy, with the not-too-often fits of complete disconnect, with the fact that many of my loved ones don’t understand me at all. But I just want to do one thing in life and I don’t want to stop myself from doing that… So cognitive really helped in that regard but I hear what you’re saying in terms of its overall usefulness. I don’t want to be defined as a survivor and all that bullshit. These are the facts, though: Our survival skills have been on high alert since we were young. I can survive but I don’t know if I’ll ever thrive. I guess we just try to find the people who can help us build the tools that we need? I don’t know.I don’t really have much access to my past, the trauma wall is still up, though, with a few cracks in it. I’m okay with that. I’m okay with it coming down some day. I’m okay overall with likely being alone. I’m a fucking handful, I understand. I’m shaking as I type this. I’ve muttered random names and words that are swirling around my head again and again and again, and played off like I was breaking into some snippet of song or a distant melody line. Whatever, I’m a weirdo, I always will be, I’m okay with that.If you ever want to get a drink (alcohol and I are like this) and just chat, let me know. We don’t have to talk about anything in particular, we don’t have to hold hands and cry. We can just be two dudes who might understand something of the weight behind certain words and phrases each other speaks… I can tell you about the time that my college psychologist finished listening to me after I spilled all, took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes, and defeatedly said “I didn’t think it would be *that* much.” Hilarity abounds!@[Name redacted] I can’t speak for [name redacted] but in my own experience and observation of others, people suffering from PTSD resulting from childhood abuse are often incredibly open and upfront with their condition and their various scars. I think it stems from having some development halted abruptly while still a child. There’s often no armor. That sounds great in some sense but it’s really not. Sometimes the only way I’ve managed to get by is to be so disarmingly open and honest to the point of making everyone else extremely uncomfortable. That’s really the only weapon in the arsenal. Trying to divine the motives of others is an exercise in futility. My ability to reality test was for a long time virtually nonexistent, I had to depend on a few select others to interpret situations for me. With the inability to form a single barrier and an interior life as orderly as a Jackson Pollock painting, the only way to get love is to be so open, so unguarded, so completely laid bare for all to see. We’re in some odd emotional territory when vulnerability is often one’s greatest strength.
Suffice to say it’s been a weird morning. The above photo was the first one on my dashboard, I didn’t want to pick it really to accompany this entry but it doesn’t seem that I have choice. Fun, fun.
Edit: sorry, Tumblrs, probably none of you wanted to read this. I mainly posted it for my non-Tumblr friends, the ones who know and love the complete wreck that I am…](http://30.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_krbgg63RDR1qzr04eo1_500.jpg)
Strangest thing. I logged onto Facebook this morning to find on my home page a link. The update was by a friend of a friend. The link was to a post on his blog. He suffers from PTSD stemming from childhood trauma. Coincidence of coincidences, I suffer from PTSD stemming from childhood trauma. I wanted to reach out to him. I thought it was important (insert enough dark humor here to make this sound not like a Dr. Phil episode please).
Anyway, this is what I wrote:
[Name redacted], I don’t know if you remember me. I met you at Throbbing Gristle - I’m [name redacted]’s friend, Cian. I suffer from PTSD, too, also stemming from childhood trauma. I don’t know if I have any words of wisdom, I just wanted to reach out, digital hug style.
Cognitive therapy really helped me but that was a bounded and limited investigation. I undertook the investigation with a wonderful therapist and I set very clear goals. I basically wanted to stop stopping myself. I’m more or less okay with the occasional deep lethargy, with the not-too-often fits of complete disconnect, with the fact that many of my loved ones don’t understand me at all. But I just want to do one thing in life and I don’t want to stop myself from doing that…
So cognitive really helped in that regard but I hear what you’re saying in terms of its overall usefulness. I don’t want to be defined as a survivor and all that bullshit. These are the facts, though: Our survival skills have been on high alert since we were young. I can survive but I don’t know if I’ll ever thrive. I guess we just try to find the people who can help us build the tools that we need? I don’t know.
I don’t really have much access to my past, the trauma wall is still up, though, with a few cracks in it. I’m okay with that. I’m okay with it coming down some day. I’m okay overall with likely being alone. I’m a fucking handful, I understand. I’m shaking as I type this. I’ve muttered random names and words that are swirling around my head again and again and again, and played off like I was breaking into some snippet of song or a distant melody line. Whatever, I’m a weirdo, I always will be, I’m okay with that.
If you ever want to get a drink (alcohol and I are like this) and just chat, let me know. We don’t have to talk about anything in particular, we don’t have to hold hands and cry. We can just be two dudes who might understand something of the weight behind certain words and phrases each other speaks… I can tell you about the time that my college psychologist finished listening to me after I spilled all, took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes, and defeatedly said “I didn’t think it would be *that* much.” Hilarity abounds!
@[Name redacted] I can’t speak for [name redacted] but in my own experience and observation of others, people suffering from PTSD resulting from childhood abuse are often incredibly open and upfront with their condition and their various scars. I think it stems from having some development halted abruptly while still a child. There’s often no armor. That sounds great in some sense but it’s really not. Sometimes the only way I’ve managed to get by is to be so disarmingly open and honest to the point of making everyone else extremely uncomfortable. That’s really the only weapon in the arsenal. Trying to divine the motives of others is an exercise in futility. My ability to reality test was for a long time virtually nonexistent, I had to depend on a few select others to interpret situations for me. With the inability to form a single barrier and an interior life as orderly as a Jackson Pollock painting, the only way to get love is to be so open, so unguarded, so completely laid bare for all to see.
We’re in some odd emotional territory when vulnerability is often one’s greatest strength.
Suffice to say it’s been a weird morning. The above photo was the first one on my dashboard, I didn’t want to pick it really to accompany this entry but it doesn’t seem that I have choice. Fun, fun.
Edit: sorry, Tumblrs, probably none of you wanted to read this. I mainly posted it for my non-Tumblr friends, the ones who know and love the complete wreck that I am…
