I suppose it ought to be a good sign I feel home sick.
Means I am still capable of feeling sad for the best of reasons.
The city streets filled with Japanese typing i wished to have been writing about as of this very moment. Instead I’m writing to tell you where I am in life and what I am going to do next.
I finished yet another semester at university. Between finding out I was pregnant, aborting and every little disaster before and after, I somehow, and not just slightly, completed this year of study.
When you have a plan and something so unexpected and unimaginable happens, everything falls apart. You lose site and direction.
Recently researching hypnotherapy and seeing a psychologist I had never been told that the way that I am is only because of what events have happened to me.
It’s taken all these years for someone, anyone to tell me it’s not me. I wasn’t born this way.
I heard that the deepest scars and traumas follow us every day in ways we don’t even recognise completely. I am currently suffering from PTSD. And again, it’s taken at least 3 years for a professional to diagnose me.
What is PTSD? Post Traumatic Stress Disorder
Caused by multiple traumatic events in ones life causing physical, mental and emotional shut downs.
All the symptoms I thought were just “anxiety” or “depression” but in fact it was all part of something much deeper.
Certain triggers ensure my reaction, and they’re never positive.
When my home was raided and my family was apart- one moment together the next separated- you’re born to expect your parents are to be there for you no matter what. And are to put you first before anyone, any man or anything and mine weren’t. Even today when I reach out for the things I feel a family should provide I am let down.
As of recent now recognising my symptoms, when ones closest to me distance themselves, it’s as if my mind goes from 2019 back to 2015.
That fear, the anxiety. Are they coming back? What if they come back and treat me the same way my mother does? So different? Like I don’t exist anymore. Like I’m not me? And we aren’t us?
The nightmares I’ve had since before I can remember. Making me wonder if something traumatic happened to little I.
The repetitive nightmares. I’ve seen demons, the same ones visit me. Ghosts, ones from my family, the murder of people and animals. I’ve been shot dead in the head by a bow and arrow from my best friend. Protected my sister in a war zone, isolated, starving and alone. Crying and lying to her, telling her everything is going to be okay knowing that it wasn’t. My mother’s partners bashing me, spitting on me, trying to drown me.
You think sleep is a place of peace, my sleep is where my demons rest.
PTSD is suffocating at the thought you could possibly have to experience anything like that ever again.
Mine was abandonment. Sexual abuse.
When a man decided my body was his and for a long time I lost touch of my own skin and bones.
Up until recently, I had convinced myself I was a victim. Because I was so sad everyone closest to me owed me something. Maybe because I felt they’d do what happened before, all over again.
I’m trying to re train my brain from scratch, and all by myself. Lifting every bandaid off of these wounds and trying to find a real solution.
It’s so fucking hard.
I’ve been so angry and so hurt for so long.
The family members and friends who repeatedly invited me on holidays then just before taking back the offer because they don’t want me around them.
And I always thought “how could people be so cruel knowing what I’ve been through?”
1. No one really cares
2. No one really know what you went through the way that you do
3. Maybe I need to change
Although I recognise something’s are now in a place where they must be dealt with I know I never deserved any of this. Even my friends telling me I’m not good enough or that I am in a bad place. I only wish to be with people who tell me I’m everything good in their lives.
I am not depression, or anxiety, or PTSD. I’m Samara Ward, a beautiful, young, enthusiastic writer who is passionate about making a change.
I’m coming for you world, one baby step at a time.
Lord, give me wings.
Means I am still capable of feeling sad for the best of reasons.
The city streets filled with Japanese typing i wished to have been writing about as of this very moment. Instead I’m writing to tell you where I am in life and what I am going to do next.
I finished yet another semester at university. Between finding out I was pregnant, aborting and every little disaster before and after, I somehow, and not just slightly, completed this year of study.
When you have a plan and something so unexpected and unimaginable happens, everything falls apart. You lose site and direction.
Recently researching hypnotherapy and seeing a psychologist I had never been told that the way that I am is only because of what events have happened to me.
It’s taken all these years for someone, anyone to tell me it’s not me. I wasn’t born this way.
I heard that the deepest scars and traumas follow us every day in ways we don’t even recognise completely. I am currently suffering from PTSD. And again, it’s taken at least 3 years for a professional to diagnose me.
What is PTSD? Post Traumatic Stress Disorder
Caused by multiple traumatic events in ones life causing physical, mental and emotional shut downs.
All the symptoms I thought were just “anxiety” or “depression” but in fact it was all part of something much deeper.
Certain triggers ensure my reaction, and they’re never positive.
When my home was raided and my family was apart- one moment together the next separated- you’re born to expect your parents are to be there for you no matter what. And are to put you first before anyone, any man or anything and mine weren’t. Even today when I reach out for the things I feel a family should provide I am let down.
As of recent now recognising my symptoms, when ones closest to me distance themselves, it’s as if my mind goes from 2019 back to 2015.
That fear, the anxiety. Are they coming back? What if they come back and treat me the same way my mother does? So different? Like I don’t exist anymore. Like I’m not me? And we aren’t us?
The nightmares I’ve had since before I can remember. Making me wonder if something traumatic happened to little I.
The repetitive nightmares. I’ve seen demons, the same ones visit me. Ghosts, ones from my family, the murder of people and animals. I’ve been shot dead in the head by a bow and arrow from my best friend. Protected my sister in a war zone, isolated, starving and alone. Crying and lying to her, telling her everything is going to be okay knowing that it wasn’t. My mother’s partners bashing me, spitting on me, trying to drown me.
You think sleep is a place of peace, my sleep is where my demons rest.
PTSD is suffocating at the thought you could possibly have to experience anything like that ever again.
Mine was abandonment. Sexual abuse.
When a man decided my body was his and for a long time I lost touch of my own skin and bones.
Up until recently, I had convinced myself I was a victim. Because I was so sad everyone closest to me owed me something. Maybe because I felt they’d do what happened before, all over again.
I’m trying to re train my brain from scratch, and all by myself. Lifting every bandaid off of these wounds and trying to find a real solution.
It’s so fucking hard.
I’ve been so angry and so hurt for so long.
The family members and friends who repeatedly invited me on holidays then just before taking back the offer because they don’t want me around them.
And I always thought “how could people be so cruel knowing what I’ve been through?”
1. No one really cares
2. No one really know what you went through the way that you do
3. Maybe I need to change
Although I recognise something’s are now in a place where they must be dealt with I know I never deserved any of this. Even my friends telling me I’m not good enough or that I am in a bad place. I only wish to be with people who tell me I’m everything good in their lives.
I am not depression, or anxiety, or PTSD. I’m Samara Ward, a beautiful, young, enthusiastic writer who is passionate about making a change.
I’m coming for you world, one baby step at a time.
Lord, give me wings.
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