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#childabuse

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Dear Friend: the truth about PTSD & life thereafter

Dear Friend So much of what you say and are doing right now is a memory of mine.  Even your weight loss: I dropped from time to time to skeleton; when I couldn’t control anything else in my life I could control what I ate, or more precisely, what I didn’t eat.  That will never change.  When I am stressed I can no more eat than develop a diplomatic filter: ain’t gonna happen no matter how much time those around me spend on their knees praying for it. I am “fixed”.  Does that mean I am free of this injury? Ah jeez, that only happens in Disney and even there Bambi’s Mum got killed.  Reality seeps in even when we try our best to ignore it. I turned to the ever patient and kind Dr Jonathan Douglas (aka POTOPA) for a referral to a trauma specialist with an extremely  strong…

Time to Change the TAPE on PTSD #PTSDChat

What if the reason there is so much STIGMA around PTSD is thanks to those of us who run around like Chicken Little screaming, “PTSD!  PTSD!  We’re all going to DIE!  I’m going to live in my dark basement for the rest of my life and only my dog can get me out!  PTSD!  PTSD!  We’re all going to DIE!” Have we done such a good job telling the world about the risks of this injury that it has become cemented in the psyche of the world that if you have PTSD you are going to live a miserable, isolated existence until one day you get up, find a strong beam and swing from it?  No wonder nobody wants to fess up to the symptoms!  Here’s something that has to make you stop and think.  USAF Psychiatrist William Sledge was shocked to discover that 61% of American aviator POWs in…

What's the problem with DSM5 Diagnosing the EVENT not the Individual? #PTSDChat

That fact that my brain was pulverized as a child was never in any doubt.  Born in 1970 in the middle of an horrific African civil war, left parentless (considering my parents, no bad thing) on an isolated coffee estate on the Mozambique border (#ground-zero for the Rhodesian Bush War) and …. and … and… 15 years of violence.  Pretty much seen it all.  Experienced it all. “Keep a lid on it.” “We don’t talk about it.” “Never go to a therapist and discuss it.  That box of horrors opens in your head and we don’t have the tools to put you back together again.  Children’s brains are more adept at protecting us than adult brains…” What I had was Early Childhood Complex PTSD; but that was a diagnosis that would come much, much later on in my life.  For the most part I simply existed in an isolated place…

#PTSDChat What dying taught me about my moral injuries

Try this on for size. Amnesia from trauma is a blessing and a curse; if it were a body/mind/soul amnesia that’d be just fine and dandy, but it is an amnesia only of the mind.  The other two (body and soul) remember everything in psychedelic detail.  So each time a woman raises her voice I still flinch expecting the blows to start raining down upon my head.  Any abuse of any child leaves me faint and dizzy.  Scenes of brave men being tortured or hurt, or abused by their commanders, leaves me white with rage that I cannot control.  The distinct sounds of rapid automatic fire leaves me comatose (nicely mimicked by fire crackers thrown on the road); a loud explosion like a firework has the same effect, as does countless other noises of war from certain chopper engines/blade rotations to the smell of burning rubber or pork.  Large crowds…