Beginning

I don’t even know where to begin.  Linearly always seems like the clearest way to tell a story, but it was all so complex and interrelated as it happened that there’s always more and more explaining to do.  Afterall, you don’t get Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder from an easily relatable story.

Both my home life and my social life were toxic.  They were dangerous.  They were unstable and unpredictable and my entire world was chaos.  Until I was about eight I could escape a lot of the violence and cruelty from my parents and older sisters by being a feral child living in our woods, sneaking into the house for supplies when necessary and getting myself on and off the school bus.  But once extracurricular activities overtook my life the closest I could get to escaping was by going home with whoever would take me that day.  A child alone in the woods or a child floating from house to house without oversight shouldn’t be the safer alternative. It just shouldn’t.  And I shouldn’t be okay with the fact that I had to survive that way.  I shouldn’t be okay with the fact that I had to worry about survival at all, let alone as my primary function.  Of course I’m fucked up now.  Of course inside I’m unstable and insecure.  Of course I overworked my body’s endocrine system while it was still developing and now it’s blown with no fix known.

I wish I could leave my past in the past.  Because of my body suffering from the effects of a traumatic childhood it will always be with me, but hopefully here I can write out and release the things I still carry with me that torment me mentally and emotionally.