A Late-Night Chat About PTSD
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It’s 2:18 AM as I write this. There’s a cup of tea on my bedside table, along with a bowl of raspberries, my current book, a countdown until I leave home, and a tally of all the days I’ve stayed clean. Both of which are in the 100s now, and it feels like a strange coincidence.
The pain that imprisoned my life parallels the joy which will come from freedom.
And I don’t know which is more terrifying.
The truth is, PTSD never gets easier - you simply get stronger. You become more resilient. 8 years have gone by, and I still remember every detail. The memories just don’t bruise as blue anymore.
As I sit here on my bed, I am grateful that my tiredness stems from hours of hard work and not hours of replaying that moment in my head.
Over and over and over and over.
Alas, they say, within roughly seven years, the body rids itself of every cell and rebuilds itself. So I suppose my skin has finally seared the hands that scarred it. It cleansed itself from the hands that stole my childhood away from me. My skin spent 7 long years depolluting itself while my mind punished it with more scars. It’s ironic, really.
One thing I wasn’t expecting is that it’s such a novelty, feeling peace within the body I tried so hard to escape. It’s so rewarding to look at my skin in the mirror and not see those fingerprints staring back. Instead, I see my fleshy home, arms that hold the ones I love, feet that explore new shores. These reborn cells are untouched, and I can finally breathe a sigh of relief.
However, It’s almost 3 AM now, my least favourite hour. I quietly await the flashbacks.
This is why we must become resilient.
Because our new bodies may not recognise those fingerprints, but it will cling onto the damage that remembering them does.
If only my mind could rid itself of every single memory after 7 years too. If only I didn’t feel so frightened in similar situations as I enter my twenties. Unfortunately, that’s not how this works.
-But god, how I wish it was-
Instead, within the next 7, 14, 21, 28, you must push forward. You must allow your skin, your body and mind to heal. You must actively fight the exhausting everyday battle that is recovery from trauma. You do not let them win or take your possibilities, potential or peace away from you.
We can never change our past trauma, but we can stop it from seeping into our present and sinking our futures.
Your body is your home. Water the vines cascading down your rib cage, do not let them wilt. One day, and this is a promise, your flowers will bloom again. Your personal, private allotment will grow, and despite the weeds that will always try to break through, you will be strong enough to replace them with snowdrops, a symbol of hope. No matter how harsh the winters may be, they are the first to return each year, to embrace the sun in spring.
by Samantha Webb (Health & Wellbeing Writer)
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