the ptsd
"…a nervous system doesn’t understand the difference between a dream, a memory, and the present.”
I wake myself up with kicking and screaming: “no,” “why,” “don’t,” “please.” My sheets are drenched and cold, even through the oversized tee. My hands are shaking and my head is buzzing. I’m not going back to sleep tonight. The fear lasts so long after I wake up, and it takes time for the body and mind to catch up with the reality: she’s not here, he’s not here, that wasn’t real, Mie, you’re safe now. My mind appreciates the self-comfort, yet a nervous system doesn't understand the difference between a dream, a memory, and the present. I try to catch my consciousness that’s darting around above me and put her back inside my body.
Being awake is no easier. There are negative, ruminating thoughts constantly, and the internal bullying is incessant. I look over my shoulder on the 10-minute walk that I drag myself out of bed for each day to curb the depression, and jump at a stranger closing a car door. Why do I feel angry, as if they slammed it to purposefully unnerve me? I tried to stop myself, but it’s too heavy today: I’m gonna get a drink(s…) to subdue (temporarily) this terror. The cashier at the corner store is wearing a cross facial expression, and I’m having trouble deciphering the emotion behind it. Why is he so mad at me? No, he doesn’t even know me, that’s silly. Let’s go home and get back into bed. It’s hard today, to ignore the emptiness in my chest and anger that I will never get an apology for. Not that it would change anything anyways.
A heart can’t be unbroken, words can’t be unsaid, actions can’t be undone. The remnants of the people who did it to me make every day feel like the dreadfully quiet moment before a jumpscare in a horror film. I fear safety, doubt my truth, and grow increasingly frustrated with my mind that runs like an old semi with little to no diesel all day. PTSD is an extended nightmare. I’d like for it to go away forever, but what were supposed to be my safe spaces told me I’m a doomed and disoriented drag. Regrettably, the persecution didn’t end with the abuse I received from my mother while living with her until 2021, no. It just changed. The tribes into which I subsequently assimilated caused irreversible damage, too. This November of 2025 I am 22 years old, and it is the first time I have taken a breath in my entire life. It’s ironic because currently I’m recovering while living in a Transitional Living Program after experiencing homelessness for the second time in the past 4 years; I am jobless for the first time since I was 14, and I am battling what one mental health professional describes as “one of the worst cases of PTSD and child abuse” that she has seen in her entire career. Yet, I am experiencing the most peace and joy I ever have, in my entire life. It took over two decades but now, no one abusive has control over my basic needs. I wanted to leave and give up this life so badly that I’ve begged God to just take it away countless times. I thank Him for not granting me that wish. Now, I am finally free! I love it!! Life has just begun.
My previous experiences deceptively shaped my worst fear: I am unlovable and unlikeable. That was exhausting as a lifestyle because my happiness was rooted in others. Not fair to anyone, most importantly (I’ve come to realize recently), not fair to me.
But isn’t that human?
We’re the definition of social creatures. There was an in-between that I just discovered,l and I’m envious of those who grew up knowing it.
I’d wonder (subconsciously, mostly): how can I not be ruled by the opinions of others but also not be so, so very alone? Where is that space? I felt utter devastation, confusion, fear, sorrow. Questioning: Is the point of life to be happy? To be fulfilled? Nice? Faithful?
I think it is to learn.
