Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) Support Group
Find support with others who have gone through a traumatic experience. Whether you have chronic or acute PTSD, we are here for you.
I’m not sure what I’m searching for but Im searching for something.
Have you ever felt that way? Like you think maybe you’re just missing something - a puzzle piece that will make it all okay?
I’m stuck on this feeling like my brain is ill-equipped to deal with life. Sometimes I wonder if I’m just stupid. Hopeless to ever get it, just not capable of being smart enough to navigate life.
Those are huge hopeless statements. People in my life would never describe me as hopeless. I look on the bright side. I encourage. I’m always smiling. When I’m not, people ask if I’m okay. Always, the answer is yes but truly, I’m never or rarely okay.
One of my bosses is hilarious. His sarcasm can be cold but he’s also just very silly. We are polar opposites. I’m way too serious. He’s way too silly. But we work really well together. I’ve known him a long time and I’m proud to call him a friend. Today he was having a fun moment and snuck up on me and scared me. It was a heart leaping out of my chest moment that lasted far too long and suddenly I was thankful for tools my old therapist taught me ten years ago. It’s 2018. I’m in [city, state]. This is [workplace]. Today’s mantras included I’m not going home to [soon to be ex]. Parents are safer. Brother is in [city, state.] I repeated all this to myself and I was okay. I’m thankful for that toolbox not only because it helps me as I need it, but because it encourages me. I haven’t needed to use that sort of self talk in a long time. My symptoms are much different now. It’s a lot of anxiety without clarity, fatigue, sleeping problems, anger, confusion, and an incredibly hard time focusing. When conflict arises, if I even say anything, I can’t remember what I said. I’ve never had a problem with noise before but I do now. So much noise gives me a lot of anxiety. I don’t understand that. Working in close proximity with others who don’t believe in personal space is also difficult. Today was hard for a lot of reasons and I wonder if maybe using those old tools to ground myself wasn’t Gods way of telling me there is hope. I confessed to Him my hopelessness today. I have faith but it feels like it’s not enough. I don’t know that I can learn to live with these symptoms but I’m sure there was a time when I thought hopeless things about nightmares and flashbacks as well.....
I am afraid I’ll never stand up to my Mom.
I am afraid I will never get through this fog, let alone wrap my mind around all that’s happened to cause the fog.
I am afraid I will always miss the obvious danger and find myself in situations where I later see I should have been smarter.
I am afraid I will damage my kids. I know no parent is perfect and we all will damage our kids somehow but I am afraid they’ll turn out like me.
I am afraid this homelessness and the thoughts that I don’t want to do this anymore will become too much to handle and I will do something I can’t take back. Right now, all I have are my distractions (work and parenting) and my support groups. I’m not sure how I have gotten through these last five months. I have no idea how or desire to get through Christmas. I’d rather our store be open so I can work. I’d rather it be just any other day. How selfish. Somehow I am putting one foot in front of the other. It feels like I’m walking in circles but at least I’m not standing still.
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Just wanted to give a thank you to Mid, Arfie, Malibumark, Greeneyes, Mlro, Girlincalif, and Suncloudjd! You all always have such helpful tips and advice, but I always forget to write on my posts when I see you post, lol. I would lose my head if it wasn't attached to my body, lol. Thank you all so much! I'm starting to use my AI app as a sounding board again. I used to use it as that before...
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Hey all, i know its been quite awhile since i posted on here. Its been a summer all right. Its been something else........... You know how they say not to open the can of worms? Well a few months ago i decided to find out what my due date would have been for my first baby, the one conceived by r***. My baby would have been due on March 4th of 2006. They would be 20 years old. I was R**** on June...
Yes there are people who chose to do bad things out there, but there are far more people who chose to do good.
When my kids were little, they heard one things from me over and over...TALK to strangers. In my life, when I've been in jams...it's largely been strangers who have helped me. And in turn, I've helped countless strangers.
The guy with a truck and chain that pulled me out of a snow bank, the innumerable people whose batteries I've jumped, the flat tires I've helped change, or had other people help me change...all of that gives me hope.
True...I've probably given far more than I've gotten...but whatever. That's a good thing...right? That I've needed help less often than I've seen others need it.
I have had this feeling every day of my life, despite years of psychotherapy and daily workouts with my psychotherapy tool box. The most effective tool I have found so far is breaking ^it^ down into smaller chunks. Instead of searching for the cure for the common me, I determine and tackle the problems one at a time, in small, manageable chunks. At least I try while I gently console myself with assurance that I am doing my honest best with what life gave me to work with.
Fit together, you silly old world
Can't you see I am in a twirl?
Running hither and tither, twixt and tween
I be downright dizzy from the horrors I've seen
Please let me pause for a calming time
To sit in a moment of faith that world is fine
Forgive the diversion. . . I frequently vomit poetry when I can't those puzzle pieces to fit together like I think they should. Where's my puzzle box cover with the picture of what I am shooting for?
Gentle empathy, Marah.
****Coffee Cup Clink****
Here's to hoping today is the day we each find our missing piece.
The worst was when my son was struggling and I was wondering if he had autism, would ever make friends, was headed for prison. The school counselor throwing out the term Oppositional Defiance Disorder with respect to my kindergartner about broke me.
Then, on yet another trip to the principal's office he said something to the effect of my son must play games killing all of his toys...and I knew that the counselor had it all wrong. (My son's favorite game was having Baby Stuffed Pink Dog Emma nurse on his Stuffed Golden Retriever McCube. At 18, my son still sleeps with those two dogs.)
My marriage was suffering under the stress. My son was suffering under my stress. It all cycled and bounced and crashed. (My mother's first words at hearing that George had left..."I knew you would drive him away". The neighbor's first words, "Well he was never home anyway." The kids didn't even know that he'd left, until I told them...9 days after he'd gone.)
At that point, I figured that if it was all going to hell...I would just spend the time I had left with my son...loving the hell out of him. For four straight years, I told my son to forget about school...and just loved the hell out of him...until he finally believed me.
(This past fall he started college for Mechanical Engineering. First semester's grades... 3.91.)
At the end of the day...love is all that matters. The rest of it...the kids will forget. No one helped me.
My mother ended up watching the kids at night, but my kids ended up all but hating her. I am still eaten up by guilt from the things that she said to her, that I wish that I'd been able to protect them from. My ex's family...cut me off cold. My mother told me daily how "perfect" I was, and how everything I was "doing" was wrong.
About her father, it's heartbreaking to hear my daughter talk about ....how she just doesn't remember him in her childhood. Then at Ramona's house (dad moved in with his girlfriend), my kids slept on the floor, with no place in their house to call their own, while Ramona's youngest son has the 3rd bedroom as a toyroom (Harry Potter anyone?). When my daughter was 10, Ramona shot and killed herself. Thankfully my kids weren't in the house...unfortunately Ramona's 3 children were. Getting my kids past that wasn't easy.
Very little in raising my kids was easy...except for loving them. Most of THEIR childhood I felt stupid, helpless, terrified. Only the part about loving my kids felt easy.
Sorry for going on about my story. It's only a fraction, but it's still a lot. This is your thread not mine.
I can only say that I basically had to say pluck-it, and just grab onto hope anyway. It wasn't easy. But it was worth it.
100% hugs, Patti