Complex PTSD triggers are exhausting.
Because how do I explain being triggered by a fixing can of Diet Coke? Not regular Coke. Not Coke Zero. Diet Coke. And ONLY in a can.
Or why seeing Toyota Camry will shut me down in a heartbeat. But not just any Toyota Camry. A 2002-2006 Toyota Camry. Bonus points if it's beige.
Or why a crying child will make me frozen with fear. Doesn't even have to be my child. It may come as a huge surprise, but it's really fucking hard to be a parent when a crying child completely causes me to be unable to function.
Or why a hug sometimes makes me feel completely suffocated. Not even a tight bear hug. Just a nice, gentle hug. Sometimes the thing I feel like I need the most is one of the things that I know will likely trigger the shit out of me. Which is, of course, super cool.
Or why loud noises make my whole body tense up and feel like my chest is being crushed by a Buick. Doesn't have to be a scary noise. Just loud. News flash - loud noises are fucking everywhere.
Or why my own silent crying sometimes makes me feel like I'm choking - like I literally might die. For extra danger, take away the silence. Advance to "Go" and collect $200 if I'm triggered to the point of feeling like dying doesn't actually sound like such a bad idea.
Or why the phrase "it feels rude" will send me into flashbacks and leave me unable to move or speak. It's a fast pass to the magical land of dissociation. It's just like Disney except that it completely and totally sucks on every level imaginable. Worst. Teacup. Ride. Ever.
I could go on and on, but the point is that it fucking sucks to have such overwhelming, terrifying and downright exhausting responses to things that seem so random. For people who experience similar things, no explanation is necessary. For those who haven't, no explanation would really be sufficient.
And then there are weeks like this where I find out that there are comments being made about me behind my back when I'm shut down/triggered/dissociated/whatever, and it just makes "feeling" seem unsafe. So I try. I try to look and act normal-ish. I try to pretend that the real me isn't cowering in the corner of my mind while my trauma hurls insults and beats the shit out of me.
But some days I spend so much of my energy just trying to survive that there's honestly no energy left for pretending. There's often not really even enough energy for existing. But I do the best I can because that's literally all I can do.
I shouldn't have to divulge decades of trauma to get people to not make fun of me for struggling. And yet, here I am in that exact position. I mean, I'm not going to publish a timeline of my traumas to convince people that it's a shitty thing to laugh at people who are having a hard time. Maybe at some point, people will start to consider that others might be dealing with a lot more shit than they realize.
I know, I know...dare to dream...
