Sometimes it feels like my bones are all that remains of me. Taking away the constant suffering and pain that comes with PTSD and that’s about all that would be left.
My mind is affected, the way I think, my emotional response is different, my physical responses are different. I think the only thing he didn’t break was my bones. And I’m surprised he didn’t.
Though he made me watch as he broke the ribs of my only friend at the time, a dog. Made me watch as that dog died a horrific death. A punishment, he said.
Everything about me is tainted by what he did.
It’s not easy, being like this. It’s a struggle every day. Many people don’t understand what it’s like to constantly be afraid, to always feel on edge, like something is going to jump out of the darkness and eat you alive.
That’s exactly what it’s like. All. The. Time. Having a reprieve — any reprieve — is better than nothing.
Even though he is dead and cannot
come after me, I think, deep down,
I will always be afraid.
I’m far from healed, I’m far from being able to function in society. But I keep trying.
If you’re suffering from PTSD like me, you’re not alone. You’re never alone. Don’t forget that.
© Sarah Doughty