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#post traumatic stress syndrome

a-sip-of-milo · 7 months

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I really hate that I can't remember most of my childhood.

The only things I vaguely remember out of my entire childhood are the pets we owned and some of the visits I had with my grandma, but even then it's mostly the negative things that came with them.

It's gotten so bad that I remember traumatic things that didn't even happen far better than those vague memories. I remember them so well that for years I was convinced that everyone was lying to me when they said that didn't happen.

More people need to talk about how terrifying that is.

#trauma #ptsd #actually ptsd #post traumatic stress disorder #post traumatic stress syndrome #cluster b safe #npd safe #bpd safe

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ashintheairlikesnow · 1 year

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CW: Paranoia, PTSD, reference to drugging, Finn is an unreliable narrator

Death Valley on AO3

Asheville, North Carolina

Present Day

There was a young man with a typewriter and a chair writing poems on the corner for ten dollars apiece. Finn handed over wrinkled cash, so worn it felt like cloth and not paper anymore.

"What's your name?" The young man asked, looking up at him. A chilly breeze toyed with the scarf he'd wrapped around his neck, and he had an endless smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Finn couldn't remember the name on the driver's license in his wallet. He just shrugged. "It's not for me. Write a poem for my cat."

"Your cat? Sure, no problem." The young man's fingers settled over the typewriter's keys, and then he paused. "Uh, what's his name, then?"

Further down the road, another young man played guitar with his back against a brick wall. Next to him, tourists in coordinated outfits streamed in and out of a store that sold snow globes alongside tshirts and local jewelry. Someone laughed, briefly washing the guitar out entirely.

"Her name. She is a girl. I call her Little Mother." The young man blinked. Finn cleared his throat. "Because she has just had kittens, you see. Two months ago. Two kittens."

Well, three. But only two had been born alive. And all three now made Finn's truck feel more like a home. Or less like a cage, anyway.

"Aw, that's cute. Okay, yeah, I can work with that." The young man paused, and then began to type, fingers clicking in a stuttering rhythm as letters popped up on the slightly yellowed page.

Finn stood in silence and waited, letting his eyes wander. No one looked at him beyond the barest glance, and yet he imagined he could see them pause, take him in. Maybe wonder if he looked like someone who did not belong.

Maybe he fit right in, another scruffy man in an old army jacket barreling towards forty in a city full of people who had found their way here from somewhere else. Not like some cities he'd been to, where the people seemed to radiate determined ambition. No, in Asheville everyone seemed to have come here searching for some place where the downtown had more people playing instruments for money - or writing poems - than it did hurrying men and women in suits. Where ambition was overwhelmed by a moment to sit still.

Did he like it? He didn't know.

He saw too many men here, in the gas stations along the side of the highway, in mechanic shops when his tire went flat or his brakes needed replaced, who looked like Robert. Narrow faces with narrowed eyes. Jovial laughter with something cold behind it.

Maybe he was just paranoid.

Maybe every man who smelled like diesel fuel and had dirty coveralls would always make him think of Robert.

Maybe none of them looked like Robert at all.

"Hey, dude."

Finn blinked out of his thoughts to realize the young man had finished and was holding out the piece of paper to him, even waggling it a little to get his attention.

"Oh-"

"Your poem is ready-"

"Yes, I see-"

They were speaking over each other, and Finn's cheeks colored in vague embarrassment he couldn't easily define. He took the paper maybe more quickly than he needed to, half-ripping it from the young man's hand and turning to walk away.

His heavy boots splashed through a mud puddle leftover from yesterday's rain, but he barely noticed. He skimmed the lines of the poem, trailing down the paper like falling leaves.

Little Mother / like all mothers you make new worlds / held in a single set of eyes / a universe in the flick of a tiny tail / which makes me the man who feeds planets / a little kibble / so that pebbles / become mountains / and galaxies / expand

Well... Not the worst thing he had ever spent ten dollars on.

His phone vibrated in his pocket and he dug it out, walking along the curve of a hill past a group of women, one in a tiara and a Tshirt declaring her The Bride.

"Hallo?"

He winced. No matter how long he lived in this country, his accent always thickened on that first word of every phone call. He saw someone glance at him - probably normal, totally normal - and yet his heart stopped. Then started again as they kept moving.

Every friendly smile seemed like Robert's just before he'd handed Finn the water bottle in the desert.

"Hey there." Noah's voice was warm and friendly, as always. "You good? We were supposed to meet twenty minutes ago."

"What?" He pulled his phone back to check the little clock numbers on the screen, then winced. "I lost track. I'm sorry, Noah."

"No worries. You've always been awful at keeping track of what time it is." Noah laughed, and maybe it meant nothing, but Finn felt like it was mocking, a little cruel. His eyes closed.

"I used to be better at it," He murmured. Barely speaking. Maybe not even out loud.

"Well," Noah continued after a beat of quiet, "Come on. I got us a table. Come sit down with me. We need to talk about your next six months or so."

Finn nodded before he remembered Noah couldn't see him through the phone, muttered an assent, and hung up. He walked past an empty storefront with papers taped, tattered and torn. Some advertised live music that had happened long ago. One was for a rally occurring next week. Three identical posters asked Finn to vote no on a proposition.

Not that Finn could vote.

Not that he could even have said no anyway.

The restaurant was takeout only, but when Finn stepped inside a sour-faced woman took him by the arm with fingers that felt like bear traps and pulled him behind a curtain, past the busy kitchen and into a room in the back.

Dimly lit only by lamps in the corners, it had four tables. Three were empty. One held a familiar face. "Hey, you," Noah said brightly. He looked Finn over-

Up and down-

Finn shuddered as the woman let go of his arm. He still held the paper with the poem in his left hand, wrinkled from his grip, slowly crumbling.

Maybe he didn't look at Finn that way at all.

"Hallo, Noah," Finn said, and moved on shaking legs to sit at the other seat at the table. "Why am I in Asheville?"

"Oh, just a town I like." Noah leaned forward. A little older than Finn, he smiled broadly. A friendly man, when he wanted to be. The table was so small their knees nearly touched beneath it. Steaming coffee was set out in mugs in front of them by the same woman. "Have some friends here, long-time friends. I wanted to talk to you about the last job getting botched. Well, not botched. You just didn't show up for it at all, did you?"

Finn swallowed. His throat felt suddenly tight, as if a belt had been wrapped around it and pulled hard. Weight on his hips and a smile like a skull grinning pale...

He took a breath. "I-... asked someone else to do it. Was it not done?"

"No, no, it was. But not by you." Noah leaned forward, resting his weight on his forearms on the table. His knees nudged firmly into Finn's. "I asked you to do the job, Finn. The more people we bring into each job, the higher the risk. I asked you, and you said yes."

You did not ask. You told. But Finn didn't dare say the words. He only stared at Noah, heart pounding. "I'm sorry," He managed, voice thin. "I didn't mean to disappoint you."

"I'm not disappointed."

"You're not?' Finn's fingers curled around the handle of his mug. Coffee tasted bitterly dark. Bitter to hide something dissolved in it? No, Noah wouldn't do that.

Or would he?

"Then... why did you ask to meet me here?"

Noah frowned, tipping his head to the side. "Because I'm... worried."

Finn blinked. "Worried?"

"Yes. I've known you a long time. Not like you to skip out on jobs, sit in one place for a week at a time like you have been... You were searching for the name last week."

Finn thought he had disabled Noah's ability to read his search history. He thought-

"... Do you have a keylogger on my computer-"

"Finn. Why are you thinking about Robert Weber again?"

Finn's breath caught. "Please don't say his name-"

"Tell me why you want to look him up again and why you're avoiding me and I won't. Why is Robert Weber on your mind?"

Every repetition felt like Bloody Mary. Three times in the mirror and Robert might appear, grab him by the throat and snarl, how dare you, little Mouse...

"Stop-"

His hand shook so badly he dropped the mug, coffee splashing across the table. His poem and his cats forgotten as he stared at the tinted liquid across the table. Noah swore and grabbed napkins to wipe it up. Finn was too frozen to move.

Noah left a pile of soaked napkins to one side and grabbed Finn's trembling hand so tightly it hurt. "Finn, please, talk to me. Why? Just tell me why."

Was it concern in his eyes and voice?

Or jealousy?

Worry, or anger?

"I-I don't know," He whispered, and slowly raised his eyes without moving anything else. Noah was slightly blurred through his eyelashes. "Why are you watching everything I do?"

Noah sighed. "You know why, Finn."

Because you own me, your very own Mouse.

"Do I?" His lips barely moved.

Noah's own lips pressed together in a line. His eyes were dark. "Do I need to say it again?"

Because you're mine. Finn tensed, waiting for it, to hear the words out loud. Because you belong to me.

All Noah said was, "Shit. It's because I care about you." Then he slid his own mug across the table. "Here. Drink mine. I'll order some more."

Finn nodded, taking the mug in both hands and lifting it to his lips to sip.

Noah believed the spill was an accident, and Finn felt himself relax. This way, he knew there wouldn't be anything in it to make him easier to hurt.

Not that Noah ever had.

Maybe Finn saw Robert everywhere. Maybe Noah didn't deserve this. But maybe he did. Maybe Noah was just another tool in the box, to him. You always lock the tool back alone in the darkness.

"I wish you'd just trust me," Noah said, and leaned his cheek against one hand, tone full of sadness and regret.

Finn kept his eyes on the coffee.

What would you do to me if I did?

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disabledprincesses · 9 months

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I would like to have a conversation

(Visual ID: above the title there is a screenshot of a Tiktok ad with someone trying to solve a written puzzle. There is a comment in the top that reads "only people with trauma responses can solve it!" The ad putting this out is named "Impulse - Brain Training. End ID)

It is great that people are more aware of traumatic experiences and symptoms, especially including the neurodivergent community.

However, more and more people are creating a community of people who do not actually fit the criteria from a scientific and medical standpoint, who then go on to spread more misinformation from their own experiences, which lands us in places where companies use this false idea of mental health and mental health recovery to sell us items and make people feel special.

I do not want to take away from people that their experiences may have been extremely negative and have left them with some bad thoughts, but we NEED to be more accurate and accepting that it may not all be trauma.

It can still be really bad and not be trauma.

It can still be mental illness and not be trauma.

It can still be something special and not be trauma.

There is a huge problem of "doing your own research," and while it is true that sometimes self-diagnosis is the only way, it shouldn't be the main way to get diagnosed and it should be taken extremely seriously. Disorders are supposed to be gate-kept by the professionals so that we do not do more harm than good to ourselves, and can spread accurate information.

Narcissistic parents, trauma, autism and ADHD, among many others have all become these buzzwords that are starting to mean whatever we want them to.

Please, do actual research. I'm talking articles, youtube videos from REAL doctors (google their name, real doctors have their information public) and stop spreading information that could lead to people be mislead.

There is actual real harm in this. People will not take those with these conditions seriously if everyone claims to have them and if the symptom list keeps having things like "sleeps with their wrist bent," added to the autism diagnostic criteria, or "gets overwhelmed in overwhelming situations," added to the list of Signs of Trauma.

#disability #disabled #autism #mental health #mental illness #actuallyautistic #trauma #post traumatic stress syndrome

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backtothefuturefan88 · 1 year

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Do you think Darkwing duck has Ptsd from fighting Taurus bulba. In the episode Steerminator he acts very ooc. He doesn't say his I am the terror that flaps in the night speech and one scene he is literally shaking. He doesn't do that to any other villian just Taurus.

If not Taurus then does he have ptsd of School. There's one scene with a paddle and Drake freaks out and in clash reunion he has a panic attack at being unmasked

So do you think Drake has ptsd

(disclaimer:) First I would like to say I am in no way an expert in mental illnesses nor more specifically ptsd; I will be mostly going off of the symptoms I have found on google.

Do NOT take my word as truth.

Now with that said, I will discuss the symptoms here for ptsd and try to see if Drake shows any of them to the best of my knowledge.

Here we go:

After rewatching the episode, “Steerminator”, Darkwing does seem to react a bit differently than how he does with his other villains but to me it seemed more of a worry for Gosalyn’s safety.

Now to see if Darkwing shows any of these symptoms:

• intrusion- Darkwing doesn’t seem to experience any sort of flashback or involuntary memory, nor did he fall asleep to have a chance to experience any kind of distressing dreams.

• Avoidance- Darkwing does the very opposite of this. He doesn’t avoid Bulba, nor any place, activities, objects, or situations that could trigger a distressing memory. He doesn’t avoid talking about the first time he faced Bulba nor does he avoid saying how he feels about it nor does he avoid saying how he feels about that event or Bulba coming back.

• Alterations in cognition and mood-I don’t think Darkwing failed to remember anything that happened in “Darkly Dawns the Duck”. Darkwing does express negative feeling (and no doubt has negative thoughts) which leads to him blaming himself, but he does this throughout the entire show. I guess Darkwing does express distorted thoughts in the episode, but like I said, he also does this throughout the entire series so it’s nothing new (though that’s not a good thing in general either). And I don’t think Darkwing felt detached or unable to express positive emotions throughout the episode. He expressed a lot of negative emotions in the episode, but a lot of it was because he was worried about Gosalyn’s personal safety.

• Alterations in arousal and reactivity- Drake has angry outbursts ALL. THE. TIME. He behaves recklessly all of the time. He is overly watchful of his own surroundings, very much in a suspecting way. He can be easily startled at times. I don’t remember him having any trouble sleeping (granted we didn’t see much of that in the series), I don’t think he has trouble concentrating (except when it comes to Morgana), if anything he will over focus on a situation and miss obvious things.

But I would like to say that the show isn’t very consistent, it’s more of a “villain of the week” type of show. Nothing like the Ducktales reboot which had extremely consistent plot threads.

So I’m afraid that even if Darkwing showed any of these symptoms in the episode “Steerminator”, it most likely wouldn’t have carried through to the next episode, (unless it was a multi part set of episodes), much less the rest of the series, which it should if Darkwing did have ptsd.

And why would it matter for Darkwing to show signs of ptsd for the rest of the show after this episode? Because ptsd is not something that just goes away. It’s a life long issue. So that means we would also have to study Darkwing throughout the rest of the episodes after “Steerminator”, but I don’t think Darkwing shows these symptoms for the rest of the series.

So in short, no. I do not believe Darkwing Duck has ptsd from fighting Taurus Bulba.

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freemeagain · 5 months

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Und wieder kommen die Gedanken, die mein Herz zerreißen, ich werde fast ohnmächtig... Was ist wenn ich es doch endlich tue? Wem fehle ich? Ich kann es nicht mehr aushalten, ich kann nicht mehr ertragen zu wem du mich gemacht hast. Ich sehe in den Spiegel und ich sehe jemand fremdes. Ich hasse diese Person, ich hasse dich für das was du mir angetan hast. Dass du meine Grenzen überschritten hast und mich zerstört hast.

#Narzisstdirk #toxische liebe #toxic relationship #narzissmus #suizidal #post traumatic stress syndrome

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flirts-with-dragons · 11 months

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Not a professional but the crazy thing about ptsd is that you can be going through multiple ptsd's at the same time in different severities, complexities, and stages. Like for example I've got cptsd from my childhood abuse, cptsd from being bullied throughout school life, and at the same time, I've got regular ptsd from the mental hospital. I've also got another regular ptsd from cyberbullying. And the ptsd from the beginning of the pandemic! They're all at different recovery stages, they're all at different severities, and there's the differentiation between the forms of ptsd or cptsd.

I know some psychology student is gonna look at this and scoff, but I'm going through this and I know so many other people are. So many of us being poisoned by our own cortisol. Damn!

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miramaramora · 5 months

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Ahmad Mounasira, a Palestinian militant , was abducted by zionists and held captive since he was 13 years old .

He's 21 now and still in captivity.

He spent all his adolescence and so far adulthood in captivity, he was tortured until he suffered acute depression and post traumatic psychosis.

Not only is it necessary to release him but it's necessary to avenge him .

Every filthy Is🐀raeli who did this to him in captivity needs to be lined up and exterminated 🦟

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losergirlranboolive · 1 year

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reactions to your friend telling you they have ptsd: A GUIDE

What not to do:

friend: "i have ptsd"

you: what caused it? ❌

WRONG they may not want to talk about their trauma because it's very personal and difficult, don't do this!

The right thing to do:

friend: "i have ptsd"

you: oh, Pussy Tastes So Divine? ✅

CORRECT Louise you legend

#ptsd #actually traumatised #cptsd #trauma #bee rambles.#post traumatic stress syndrome #traumagenic

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rory-is-hiding · 7 months

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youre not a good person. i tell you and you agree, you say i should leave. that you arent good for me. ive heard these words before from much worse men, ive made this mistake again and again. i always stub my toe on the exact same chair legs and corners. i always forget my keys in the exact same spots.

you tell me you arent a bad person. i ask you how you know. i ask you to prove it to me. beg me to stay, beg me to love you and forgive you. you wont, you never do.

every summer time i lapse into a sleeping disorder. spending nights staring at screens and days rotting in bed. i do not leave my house. i know it makes me sick, i know it makes me sad. ive done it every year since i was 12.

we play this game, we play it well. be better, please be better. you tell me that the door is open.

you know i cant leave, you know that i always stay. this is how the game goes. i hurl empty threats across the room, the bag on my arm is a prop. i never make it past the front door.

#complex ptsd #poetic #poems and poetry #ptsd recovery #ptsd poem #love poem #mental health #sad poem #my poem #prose poem #domestic violent relationships #relationship #post traumatic growth #post traumatic stress syndrome

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greantea · 1 year

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The crack in the window left the disorientation of time into her being. Which, then, sprout the endless, constant, disassociation and utter spiral from the pure reminder of your existence.