12 Hours in PTSD

Thursday 19th May 11pm to Friday 20th May 11am

*Trigger warning: suicide*

Nightmare after nightmare after nightmare. I’m there, trapped, these people tearing me apart (mentally), intentionally hurting me, punishing me, being cruel to me – no escape- no end. FEAR. TERROR. CONFUSION. SELF-HATRED. PAIN. SHAME. PANIC. šŸ‘ˆthat, or šŸ‘‰ Nothing at all; numb; not there.

No escape from this. It’s now. It could happen again. It will happen again. I CANNOT GO THROUGH THAT AGAIN. Not this unshakable brainwashing that all my thoughts/feelings/perceptions aren’t real, that all healthcare professionals will eventually hurt me so terribly, confirming that I must die (and that they’re betting on me doing so). I can hear his voice, smell his aftershave, feel the terror driven into my heart by his ‘clip-clopping’ designer shoes. The tricks. The trials. The manipulation. The isolation of me. The betrayal.Ā  The deep, dark damage that I’m only starting to understand the depths.

More nightmares, more and more. This time of those agonising close-to-successful attempts to end my life. The unexplainable pain in the long minutes before loss of consciousness and my heart stopping. The experiences of waking up post- and during-CPR. Things that are probably too ghastly to subject anyone to having to know. The horrifically cruel punishment levied by the consultant because of these ‘bad behaviours’, hours after I was being brought back to life and checked for brain function. Looping right back to where we started in this post.

Even when it’s time to get up, these experiences still shake me to my core – it’s not then, it’s NOW – and I can’t move. Frozen, hyperalert, listening, panicking, feeling it all in uncontrollable waves with bursts of sound overwhelming me.

Downstairs, finally. Terrified. ‘He’ is with me. I am trapped in this torment – and, when I make it back into the present,Ā  IĀ  sure that this will all happen again. I feel it. I feel it all. It is now, it is then, it will be the future. There is nothing but these twisting loops of torment. I can’t breathe. Something is round my throat and my brain is losing oxygen – the PAIN, the SOUND, the PRESSURE, the PANIC, t he DESPERATION – dear lord, please let it work.Ā  But…that was then. Wasn’t it? Is this telling me that there’s no escape? Has this particular clump of trauma Ā (which I’m now reliably informed is Trauma with a capital T) meant that all roads to getting past it are blocked because those very roads are a key part of the trauma.

I dissolve into uncontrollable, ugly sobbing.Ā  I can just feel it: it is happening again; it will happen again. I am trapped. Powerless. Terrified. This is too risky. I can’t do this all again. I’m so broken.


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