#iamptsd

#Repost @bannerthesuperdog (@get_repost) ・・・ I am PTSD. This is what I look like. There is no "my PTSD is worse," all who suffer, suffer. We have all survived events that have taken others, our minds may have broken, but they broke to protect us, they broke to adapt to our situation. Once something is broken, you can't just glue the pieces back together and expect it to be as it once was. Our scars show what has happened to us, what we went through. It shows what molded us into the people we are today. Veterans and Civilians alike can suffer from PTSD. Most people thank mom for her service, and she always politely tells them her PTSD stems from childhood physical, verbal, emotional, and sexual abuse as well as domestic abuse later on it life. She honestly wanted to serve, but was turned away due to her PTSD and metal femur. No PTSD is exactly the same, we each have coped in our own personal way. Some people are open books, they will tell you everything, it helps them get through their experience. Some people will NOT. And they shouldn't HAVE to disclose something so personal. The Month of June is dedicated to PTSD Awareness, and I really think we do need more public knowledge. Thank you all for helping us in our mission to educate the public as well as children that just because someone looks "ok" on the outside, doesn't mean that they are♡ #PTSD #PTSDAwareness #IAmPTSD #IAmAWarrior #ISurvived

“How do you pick up the threads of an old life, how do you go on, when in your heart, you begin to understand, there is no going back” Your okay, until your not, then your just a scrambled egg on the ground. It’s a “silent scream”, a hidden wound you never talk about. It’s something you bury until you can’t anymore. The thing is though, that some things, they refuse to be buried. Then they just spew out like vomit all over the pages of your life. Like feet that have been covered in sand, they always come out. The sand runs off….. I’m a fish floppy around on the dock, gasping for air. You desperately try to maintain a sense of normalcy until you no longer can, and the walls you spent so long building come tumbling down around you…sending you down. spiraling into the depths of chaos. It’s called trying to survive. It’s not healing. It’s thousands of untold stories that serve one purpose and that is to haunt you. It’s the simple spoken words of “I wish I had been able to meet your father” that brings you to your knees. It’s reading the same thing over and over and it still doesn’t stick. It is PTSD.