PTSD, Anxiety, & Survivor’s Guilt

Had a panic attack today. Not the first time, but the first in a long time. Always seems to strike out of the blue.

Incapacitated, I did next to nothing and spent half the day hiding in bed.

Better, now. The day is lost, but maybe I can make up some ground tomorrow. It’s so strange. I had planned on getting a lot done today, but I woke up just flat-out feeling wrong, and that feeling lasted until around four or five in the afternoon, when I had a can of beer and a bite to eat.

Words fall short of an accurate description, but what I felt today was something akin to a sense of impending doom.

Nobody understands. I wouldn’t doubt if most people thought I was faking it. I can almost feel them rolling their eyes at me, behind my back. Hell, sometimes I can see them doing it right to my face.

Unless people can see some external sign of damage or harm, most of them will simply assume that a person is faking a panic attack, or a back injury, or the limp of a trick knee. Or menstrual cramps, too, I’d imagine….

Officially, my PTSD is based on a bloody, traumatic, deadly event that happened to me when I was thirteen. Unofficially, it’s based on a life pockmarked with hostility, violence, and several years of gross injustice from which I had no escape.

So they broke me. I’m a broken man, and nobody cares. I keep hoping that somehow I’ll put myself back together and make something of my life, or what I’ve left of it…but it just doesn’t seem to be working.

They say that optimistic people do better in life than pessimists.

Here’s to optimism.