Rethink Trauma- Why Me?


I don’t normally write about myself. My blog is full of things I think and sometimes feel. But I realized that I rarely do these getting-to-know-you sorts of things.

I figure, knowing about me is the best way to understand why my need for help is so acute.

I love Jesus and I was “saved” when I was sixteen. Saved is such a tiny word for what happened that day. That was the day my life was forever changed by understanding that Jesus died so I don’t have to be alone and broken and helpless.

I’m a pretty average artist, a decent vocalist, a writer-in-progress, long time poet, and I love working with people. Most of my time is spent with people. These days with the whole, “danger to yourself”, thing I am very rarely alone. But I don’t mind. Most of the time I have this cute guy around who refers to himself as my husband. I think the state would call him that too and it would explain these rings on my left hand.

I live in a great town. I’m happy living there. I do a lot of work for the local businesses, so it helps that I can walk where I need to be. We only have one car. The down fall is I can walk to work, which means I walk past work a lot, there are no quick trips to the post office. My dog, Shy, is with me so much, I think he counts as a co-worker. With the number of people who took pictures of my retired greyhound this summer, he kind of works there too as a tourist attraction. He’s pretty special like that.

I am pretty average looking too. Except the dreadlocks someone talked me into. I’m 5’3”, sometimes blonde, sometimes auburn, depending. According to a Scottish lady I met once I, “look like the perfect Irish girl”. Is that I nice way of saying I have to tint my makeup with white face paint? Yes. So I don’t wear makeup. Also, I never know when I’m going to burst into tears or burst into laughter; both of which cause me to weep anything off my face.

You can’t tell by looking at me that I’m not okay. Usually the case with mental illness.

Every day I wake up and I have Chronic Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

I don’t get a day off, nights, weekends, holidays, or sick days. Getting a cold, for the record, is like getting the flu. Getting the flu is like, well, I don’t know what it’s like to die…

It’s not all bad. I am loved and appreciated by lots of people and dogs. Our cat doesn’t like me, but he isn’t alone. Turns out I’m not perfect.

Despite my long history of screwing up, I have a longer history of trying to get better from an even longer history of abuse.

I have very serious dissociative issues, a history of self-injury, and a terrible time avoiding triggers that send me off an ever thinning cliff.

I need to go to the hospital.

But it isn’t that simple.

Keep on this journey with me and I’ll show you how there is a very big hole in this country. I happen to be in it. I know other people in it. Lucky for me I’m not dying. But, without the right care, I can’t do much but just stay alive.

I want to show the world what trauma really looks like, what it is, and what we can all do together to help.


2 thoughts on “Rethink Trauma- Why Me?

  1. I’m in that hole in the country with you. There are so many of us who have Invisible diseases that no one sees and are rarely recognized that cannot get the care that we need. Even with amazing doctors, I am being denied a treatment they prescribed because the insurance doctor (who has no experience in the field where my diagnosis is) said that the treatment is not medically necessary. Thank you for helping shine light on all of us who are invisible sufferers – the white balloons.

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