When I was in college I kept a knife within an arm’s reach, but concealed in the bed that I slept at night. I also slept in my clothes, complete with running shoes. All of the lights were on, my bedroom door locked and I would wake at the slightest utterance. Sometimes I couldn’t sleep, so I just wouldn’t. I was both always and never tired. True, the average hours I slept each night (when I did sleep) was around four hours (I’m being generous) but you’re also on an adrenaline rush 24/7, which allowed my body to be tired, so long as it was constantly wired.
But it wasn’t just at night; it was every second of every day. I hid pennies in windows and doors, anything that could be opened so that I would always know if they had been. I knew the number of steps between every piece of furniture I owned and never moved anything. Whenever I walked into a room within seconds I took in every possible exit and anything that could be used as a weapon. Every sense was constantly extended as I memorized everything. Night terrors were my nighttime friends as much as flashbacks were my daytime friends. I always seemed like I was in control, too much in control, but in my own way I was completely out of control.
I was not crazy. I was not paranoid – you can’t be paranoid, when it really happened. The only thing I was was a survivor, but surviving has it consequences and Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (C-PTSD) was mine. It didn’t start in college, it started to really manifest my junior year of high school, but I pushed it down, no one was the wiser, until the summer between my freshman and sophomore years in college. After an incident with a boyfriend becoming abusive and holding me hostage (police had to be called for him to let me go) and being mugged on my birthday (it is a thing with me and birthdays, they really tend to suck beyond the telling of it) the dam of my PTSD symptoms just broke.
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