PTSD

I delude myself into believing my Crazy can stay hidden behind me but his bulk is clearly visible. People are too polite to say so. They just stay away, afraid. My behavior is messy: pleasant, nasty then apologetic. My thoughts crash like dark gray waves against the fishbowl of my cranium. Emotional chaos feels like home, where I am surrounded by the fear and confusion and embarrassing delusions I don’t understand. No one wants to go there with me.

I know I’m broken. I try to disguise it with a practiced smile but the snarling hyena is straining at it’s leash. The medication helps so when it bursts forth it’s in socially acceptable ways like verbal road rage or slamming a door or screaming “Fuck Microsoft!” at work. I’m afraid to look up what the experts say about whether it’s a permanent condition. 

I feel like an alien disguised as a person. Even discovering another like me brings no comfort to either of us.

Don’t respond with pity. Don’t offer helpful suggestions. Just know that we walk among you, many of us. Please, just be grateful. And keep your daughters safe.

 

Richmond, VA