Disorder

My days have been plagued with disorder. I'm starting to see that this isn't a new thing: that I have always felt extremely anxious, on the brink of a panic attack – actually having panic attacks… always. While living with my parents, I used to have panic attacks. There was one particularly painful moment in my life when I had a panic attack every single day. Sometimes I would even black out randomly – although, that may have partially been encouraged by my eating disorder. I think somewhere in the back of my head, hidden in a little treasure box which itself was stowed away in a safe place waiting for me to open it when I felt safe, when I left my parents, that I knew something was wrong. I had to have felt the confusion, fear, terror. None of my friends shared with me snapshots of the darkness, fears of heart attack, sweating profusely, hyperventilation, and cutting for some kind of release. My experiences seemed unique. Hm, then again, I never told anyone either. Ah, who knows anymore!

Perhaps I knew somewhere in my mind that all these disorders mixing and exploding was the product of something atrocious. But when such things like panic attacks become a daily activity, it’s as though their existence is taken for granted, completely accepted and understood as normal. To add to this familial history of one betrayal after another is the sexual abuse I’ve endured since I was 16 years old. Behold! Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and it's taking over my fucking life.

I hate acknowledging this, the fact that I actually have PTSD and that it’s consuming my life. I don’t want it to. I’m fighting it, but it’s much too strong. How can I fight it when I’m still not even sure what’s causing it? All I’ve been able to discern is that I’m triggered when a man expresses sexual interest in me, when a man is violent – verbally and/or physically, when my privacy is invaded, when I try not to think about anything, when I’m alone, when I’m around people, when I’m walking in the street, when I’m alone in my room…It seems to me that almost everything encourages my heart rate to increase in fear and eventually I must prepare to hide myself in the unfortunate event that I might actually have a panic attack.

And so many people I know tell me, “Angelica, don’t let your abusers win. Don’t let their petty actions control your life like this.” Such statements only make me feel so much worse, especially when the anxiety, the panic attacks, the hypervigilance, insecurity, the flashbacks all decide to do their thing regardless of what I want. My responses are out of control! I'm not letting anyone do anything!  But I am fighting, and I most definitely don’t want them to win! Obviously I don’t like feeling this shit. And I will never, ever let anyone control me.

Honestly, it feels to me like I’m doing all the rights things by avoiding whatever triggers me. I push my already tiny and shrinking comfort zone whenever I can. Whenever I go out and my anxiety doesn’t consume me, I feel accomplished. I pay attention to the little and the big steps I take. I’m doing the best I fucking can!

The more I work, however, the more difficult the process becomes. I discover more questions and still no answers. I discover more roadblocks, more huge-fucking-normous walls to climb. I’m stumbling through an inner struggle to understand where my abused self ends and my real self begins. Are they two different people or are they one in the same? Is the answer to incorporate them or keep them separate? Does my abuse have to define me? I really don’t want it to. It hurts too fucking much! I don’t want to be defined by my scars. What does it mean to take pride in my scars? How do I deal with their presence? Is it possible that I can think about them too much/too little?

What the hell is this healing stuff all about anyway? What exactly do I need to heal and how do I do it? I understand that what happened to me wasn’t my fault now. That I never deserved such treatment. That I deserve better. I love myself, goddamnit! And this is mainly why it hurts! I’m out of control – if someone decides to abuse me, WTF CAN I DO?! Sure, I can fight back but what good does it do? I’m going to be honest with myself and y’all, if someone attacks me again I’ll probably curl up into a ball and have a million panic attacks on the spot. I’d like to believe that I would kill the motherfucker, but I doubt that would happen and I doubt it would help much.

What else drives me nuts is that the abuse I’ve endured isn’t a rare occurrence: My experiences are NORMAL. I don’t feel safe or in control. I feel vulnerable and powerless.

In my head I keep asking myself two questions:
How can I have a disorder when I feel like one of the only sane people left on this earth?
How am I classified with various disorders when the world around me seems to be crumbling?