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On PTSD at Four A.M.

June 7, 2014

I’m tired of people being scared of me.

PTSD is a lot of things, anger probably being the most dominant that others see. Anger is safe. You don’t have to feel feelings. You don’t have to get hurt.

A lot of people avoid me, treat me like a ticking time bomb that’s about to explode. Given my history, I can’t blame them.

But I am so fucking lonely.

Outside the fact that my physical health regularly causes me to isolate, I battle a lot with feeling unwanted. My emotions aren’t normal. I’m screwed up. I’m a mess. Why would anyone want to be around this?

i don’t reach out, because vulnerability gets you hurt. There is NOTHING in the world that hurts more than the resounding silence to a cry for help. And I get it on a regular basis.

Of all things that have given me breakthroughs, I never thought an anger management class would be one. In black and white, the paper in front of me stated that a source of anger can be unmet needs.

This, of course, made me ANGRY.

Until I fled crying.

My life is helping others. I support. I care for. I fundraise. I burn myself out trying to make their worlds better.

The reason I don’t kill myself is because of the people who need me and it makes me disgusted with myself.

Some days, a lot of days, I feel like the only thing I am is what others need me to be.

I don’t want to hurt people. Contrary to popular belief, I don’t like being angry. I do it because I feel I have to. Someone has to be the badguy. And how I really feel, no one wants to handle.

The first time I was sexually assaulted, I was twelve and it was by another female. I can’t remember most of that day. Given my history since then, I’m a mess. I trust no one. I’ve been abused and manipulated and abandoned for being vulnerable. No one wants me.

I can save everyone except for me.

A few months ago, the Navy ripped my heart out. Whatever the intention, they told me that by needing mental health treatment, I was a defect and needed to be punished. They DID punish me.

Then they abandoned me. “Everyone is scared of you, because you’re angry.” Dude, I’m lying on the ground bleeding to death, because I had everything ripped away from me, then was told I deserved it, and being emotional proved them right. Fuck you. Of course I’m angry.

I lost everything.

I contemplated self-harm and suicide daily. I tried to kill myself. I avoided work and systematically shut down. I felt like they wanted me to crack.

My fiancé ended our engagement. Unwantable. Not good enough.

I’m fundamentally flawed. The anger keeps the tears away. The anger keeps anyone from hurting me more.

I feel like a wild cat, wounded and backed in a corner. Don’t touch me. Just let me nurse my wounds and die in peace.

Don’t hurt me anymore.

I need patience. I need support. I need to be held. I need to know that other people want me, even though I’m a fucked up monster.

I need people to stop looking at me with fear and pity. Goddamnit. I am not weak. But I am. I hate the weakness.

I am trying so hard to fix me, to do what the doctors say, to take the meds, follow the process, get better…but it keeps blowing up in my face. How am I supposed to get better if the system keeps failing me?

What the hell is “better” anyways? Everyone wants you to go back to who you were before, bur that person is dead. Every day is waking up, looking in the mirror and not recognition yourself. So you pretend, to make everyone happy, while you’re falling apart inside, while the nightmares eat you, while the monsters slowly win. Eventually you’ll snap and lash out and no one will catch you. They don’t want YOU, they just want what they built you to be.

I want to stop failing. This is not an invitation to tell me I’m not, because I am. I scare my son. I can’t be a good mom. I can’t work. I can’t human. I don’t want to leave my bed. I hide on the internet because it’s the only way people stay with me. Everyone is at a distance. Safer.

I don’t know what to do anymore.

It is so easy for someone on the outside to say “just let people in.” Dude, people suck. They hurt you. They only want you for what they can get out of you.

I’m fucking tired of planning, of trying, of begging.

I’m so tired.

Until Next Time,



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