What I Wish People Understood About Living With PTSD
While I might physically be at the movies with a friend in my new home town, in my brain I’m in our old flat, in our old bedroom, with him on top of me, holding me down…
This specific, one-of-a-kind, tailored-to-me panic attack can be brought on by any number of things — my very own set of triggers — and even after three years, I still can’t avoid them all the time, no matter how hard I try.
A ‘trigger’, as its coined in psychology, is something that sets off a mental flashback which transports someone back to the event of a past trauma. My own triggers include things as common and seemingly innocent as the mention of his name (why is that name so damn popular?) or seeing the wine he used to drink in a store, or as obvious as descriptions or depictions of sexual assault.
As well as the crushing feeling of dread I feel when I’m exposed to a trigger, sometimes I’ll just suddenly check out while someone is talking to me, even when nothing has happened to set me off. I might be standing in front of you, maybe even be engaging with you, but behind my eyes, my rape is playing out like some kind of 3D movie I can’t switch off.
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