His hair is lush and dark, as it catches the sun there are shimmers of a midnight blue running through it. I can taste his sweat on my lips as I clench my thighs tighter around his beautiful torso.  The pure power and strength under my body makes me scream with joy as I throw my arms out, toss my head back and in the corner of my eye see the tree right in front of us marking the hair pin corner we are definitely not going to make.

 

Hah!  Where was your mind?  Good lord.

 

Post Traumatic Stress Injury (inaccurately named PTS’D’ by numpty head docs who create DSMv) is an all over body/brain experience.  That need for endorphins is life or death to us who have complex PTSD. For me that meant seeking out dangerous situations by mountain biking alone in jungles in Singapore and Malaysia; or riding hell for leather with no reins, just my body gripping my horses belly.  I have always felt numb and void of emotional attachment other than to my children, so the ‘sex’ thing didn’t really hit me in the way it does so many others who share their journey with me.

 

Sex for many is a drug they can’t live without.  That need for that endorphin fix is a constant nagging ache all day, every day.  24/7.  It becomes an obsession and a thing of monstrous proportions – because of our embarrassment around the subject, it also clings to their honourable souls as somehow dirty, bad, a guilty nasty secret.  This hurts my heart as I don’t think it is all that surprising.  Yet, when I’ve asked those with lots of letters after their name who provide therapy to countless first responders and veterans, civilians with PTSD they look at me like I have ten heads and wonder what space dust I just inhaled.

 

There’s the flip side of this coin.  The one induced by the drugs so many are put on (which recent research shows may actually heighten the problem of PTSD by increasing the serotonin used to store memories as trauma in the brain), where there simply is no ability for the body to perform what is a life saving act of connection with another human.  The essence of who are.  This deep personal connection is denied them because of the drugs they are put on, to assist with this they are put on yet more drugs and so the cycle goes.  What happens next is obvious and tragic.  They decide to drop off the drugs completely and self medicate – this is a bit like choosing to swallow a bag of razors to save yourself the time of shaving every morning.

 

And then you die.

 

So either we have overly active, constantly nagging sexual needs or we are dead to the world.

 

Oh what a wonder world we live in.  The one is understood and medicated.  The other, apparently comes as complete news to most.

 

Just to tidy some loose ends up.  Donny (my 17’3″ black freisin horse) and I ended up legs wrapped around that giant pine, my nose was squarely jammed between his ears, my feet were under his chin and my butt I believe was somewhere by my ears.  I realized pretty quickly that I couldn’t help the situation, so I said “Mate I don’t know how but you’re gonna have to get us out of this” and he did.  We walked ever so carefully and quietly back to the barn, spent the rest of the week massaging away our aches and pains. It didn’t stop us flying through the forest pretending to be knights of old dashing to do battle with a dragon or an eagle, but we slowed down before that hair pin bend and we showed a new respect to old trees.

 

This weeks #PTSDChat is going to be about PTSD/Drugs/Sexual Dysfunction.  Many of you may be have questions but be very reluctant to share.  So email or DM or message me privately with your questions or thoughts.  Happy to share them on your behalf (anonymously).  If you want to partake of it and share, set up a false account to hide your ID, whatever it takes let’s just get this conversation out there.  It’s important and we need to get it out of the shadows, answer the questions and quit pretending it doesn’t exist.

 

Gulp.

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