I know, I am very easily frightened. If you did not know that, I don't know where you've been. To every one of you who knows, you are highly entertained by this. Yes, I understand, my screams and facial expressions and power jumps can be quite hilarious. If you scare me on accident, I do take that into consideration, trust me. I am rarely angry with people who scare me on accident.
But I don't find it funny.
And I haven't expressed this well to any of you.
And I'm sorry for that.
But what many of you don't realize that behind my defiant, gasping demands that you never scare me like that again, I'm hiding the tears. I mean, what else does "Don't ever do that again" mean?Whenever I can, I hurry away where I can be by myself. Sometimes I let myself cry; sometimes I tell myself to be a big girl and suck it up. Sometimes I can't keep them back and they flow...
I suffer from PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder). Yes, this is self-diagnosed, but it's blatantly obvious. To me at least. As a quick refresher course, this is from the break-in that happened two and a half years ago at my house when, yes, I was home alone. If you didn't know that, here is the link to the blog that describes that defining day.
I'm not telling you my reactions to being scared by others to guilt you into apologizing. I don't want that. I really don't want your pity. What I want is your consideration. Please remember what I say here and now. That's all that matters to me now.
So here it is, a description of what happens in the few seconds it takes to get over the initial scare.
OH MY GOSH I DON'T WANT TO DIE!! is my initial thought. From there, I replay the entire robbery in my head at lightening speed, forwards and backwards simultaneously. My hands start to shake, my head pounds and my heart races. I start to feel light-headed and dizzy, as if all the blood has suddenly rushed to my toes.
You may be thinking, "Dang, this girl is craaaazy." So? You might be too. But please, don't you ever think to yourself that I have to get over this. DUH. I would love nothing more than to get over it and never really be bothered by it again except in extreme situations.
That's only one facet of my PTSD. There are others: an overactive imagination, freaking out when being exposed to other trial cases, insomnia, falling asleep with two flashlights clutched in my hands, even being so afraid I've had to sleep with my mom.
This is all embarassing to admit to you. Heck, I am twenty freaking years old, and I'm still afraid of the dark. Afraid of the unknown. Afraid of the demons that hide in the shadows. There have been countless nights where I have literally felt the demons surrounding me; suffocating me. And why? Because I have so little faith in the God who cast the demons out of heaven when they were still angels. Because I let my imagination run wild. Because I lost something that day.
A scrap of my sanity. Trust. The childlike belief that as long as I'm safe under my covers, the monster under my bed can't get me.
But now, I'm an adult (of sorts). And I'm followed with a constant tap on my shoulder that I'm reminded of when someone shouts my name in my ear after sneaking up on me, jumping in front of me when I least expect it, making a loud noise behind me when I don't know someone is there.
So there you have it, my Monday night confession. You may think me crazier than before. You may not. But please, think about what I've said. I have been afraid to confront anyone on this because I'm afraid of being made fun of. So this may be a move of cowardice, but you know what? For once, I'm okay with that. Sometimes, you can't hold the brave face any longer.