You really do suck. But you know that, don’t you? For every moment of feeling normal, I had one that sends me down a slippery slope into the abyss of your tantalizing inferno. I had become a mastermind at hiding you from the people who love me. The ones who really know me, the ones who really care, they could sometimes see your invisible fingers wrapping themselves around my neck strangling me until I couldn’t hide you anymore.
People don’t know just how paralyzing you can be until you take over them too. Take them away from their blissful ignorance and throw them into the hellfire of your grip. You are unforgiving and relentless. You whisper sweet lullabies of safety in avoidance and ignorance. But your sweet lullabies turned into nightmares of hatred and terror when I was alone at night.
But I became a mastermind at hiding you. They didn’t see your tentacles wrapped around my waist for my every move. They didn’t feel your tantalizing ball and chain holding me back so the things I wished I could do were just outside of my reach. They didn’t hear the wicked thoughts you whispered in my ear. Sometimes I was so good at hiding you, I started to think that I was on my way to getting better.
The part nobody warned me about was that your grasp on my waist would drain the trust out of me. What I didn’t know about you, PTSD, was that even when I hid you from myself and fooled myself into thinking I was better, even when I met a man who I could trust, your ugly whispers found me again and sent me into a sinful dance of panic and glutinous cling. Because of your chancy appeal, I latched onto him so hard I nearly pushed him away. It's because of the lies you whispered in my ear about why I shouldn't trust him that I've pushed him passed what was almost his breaking point. All because I had gotten so good at hiding you from the world, that I tricked myself into believing I was better.
But here's the thing that you don't know: I have won. I vow to detach myself from the suffocating grip of your arms. Because the one thing I have that you don’t, is love.
“4 Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud… 7 It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. 8 Love never fails.” -1 Corinthians 13:4-8
And because of the heartbreak that has come along with you, my capacity to love has only gotten deeper. My ability to love has only rooted itself further within me because of the pull you had on my heart.
My dear PTSD, you have not won. You may win some battles, but those are battles. The war is mine to win. I have my battle scars and wear them proudly. With all the love I have in my life, I am stronger than you.
The power of Love is helping me overcome the power of you.