I struggled with writing this article...and it's sat in my drafts for several weeks now. I was hesitant to put something so personal out there, and quite honestly I still am. But, I think one of the biggest struggles of any mental health condition people face is fear, and I am eager to break that cycle in myself, as uncomfortable as it may be.

I guess I chose to write this not because I really want to share anything in particular about myself, but because this topic is rarely talked about... and when it is, it seems people have a complete misconception of what living with PTSD is really like. It's my hope that the people who read this, who don't have PTSD, can understand the illness better and that the people who do live with it can find comfort in knowing the understanding of what they are going through is out there and it's real.

I want people to know what PTSD is really like, not what the entertainment industry gives you glimpses of. I want people to understand the struggle of living with something that often times, seems uncontrollable. And I want people to know that PTSD, as haunting as it can be, does not limit your character, strength or ability; it only requires a different approach to life.

PTSD isn't crying into your loved one's chest, rocking back and forth at the sound of their soothing words. It isn't breaking down in public and watching peoples' hearts break for you until someone comes to your rescue. It's a sudden end to your ability to breathe. It's panic that creeps through your veins, explodes in your mind and takes control over your body. It's avoidance of places you used to love to visit in fear of looking crazy. PTSD isn't what you see on TV. And it isn't something anyone feels valiant about.

According to the American Psychological Asociation,

"post-traumatic stress disorder, is an anxiety problem that develops in some people after extremely traumatic events, such as combat, crime, an accident or natural disaster.

People with PTSD may relive the event via intrusive memories, flashbacks and nightmares; avoid anything that reminds them of the trauma; and have anxious feelings they didn’t have before that are so intense their lives are disrupted."

This is true, but it's a simple definition. Empty, if you will...because within those couple sentences, are many, many layers.

PTSD is a shame.

You're ashamed of your inability to control your thoughts. You're ashamed of how quickly you lose control of yourself when something sets you off, how you can't talk yourself down and bring yourself back. It's living, feeling ashamed that you can't focus, that you're afraid of something that you can't even see. PTSD is living with a constant embarrassment of this ugly monster you carry around inside of yourself, terrified that someone might see it.

PTSD is hypersensitivity.

Sometimes, you notice everything. Every sound, every person- where their eyes go, if they have something in their pocket, how loud they talk, when they move. It's hearing a blinker from the passenger seat, except it's screaming in between your ears. It's lights that feel like they're blinding and a touch of mere affection that sends your skin crawling.

PTSD is fear.

Fear of people judging you, fear of them feeling sorry for you, which only makes you feel sick. It's the fear of looking weak, freaking people out. It's the fear of never being able to maintain a relationship because of the sporadic and out-of-nowhere episodes that keep you from seeming emotionally stable.

PTSD is avoidance.

Avoidance of what sets you off or limits your control. It can be anything from large crowds to airplanes to the smell of campfires. It's not just choosing to pass up going to the shooting range because hearing a gunshot is a trigger. It's missing birthday parties because there's going to be people there you don't know and everyone will be drinking and you already feel nervous and jumpy and what if someone notices, or you need to get away but your car is blocked in? What if you're surrounded by people and you start to shake and get hysterical, but when the nice woman next to you asks if you are okay you can't answer because you can't breathe? How are you going to explain yourself to all these people next time you see them? What will they think of you? It's having to say no to spending time with loved ones because your anxiety is through the roof, or because you stayed up for 24 hours trying to soothe yourself out of falling apart.

PTSD is isolation.

Because some days your thoughts are so loud you can't hear anything else. Because you just want to be yourself, to fall apart without worrying about how to hide it. Because being alone means you won't bring someone else down with you, carrying that guilt on top of everything else. Because even though it's hard to understand, it's even harder to explain.

PTSD is exhaustion.

Created by trying to find the words to describe how you feel, desperately trying to express yourself in a way everyone else seems to need to understand when you yourself don't understand what is wrong with you or why. It's exhaustion caused by constantly arguing, constantly having to battle with your mind, trying to decipher reality from fear. It's exhausting trying to hold yourself together when it feels like you've been shaken to the point of explosion. Like holding a tornado inside of you that's causing a storm you are desperately trying to contain. It's exhaustion that leaves you staring at the ceiling for hours, pretending you don't exist, because at times, shutting down is the only way you can deal.

PTSD is failing relationships.

Because you need so much and then in an instance you can't stand to be touched. It's being terrified of being alone and then the need to disappear for several days to recollect. It's long nights that leave your eyes swollen and burning at 6 AM because you haven't slept, and oh, by the way, you have 2 hours to be at work. It's screaming and crying and blaming and then completely shutting down. Numbness that you can't shake. It's the weight of pretending you're happy when you're breaking to pieces because they have tried so hard to make you better. It's that rush of believing someone else can fix you and the shattering, sinking feeling in your heart when you realize they can't. It's guilt in knowing you are making someone else's life harder and unpredictable. It's the wonderful feeling of loving and being loved, followed by guilt, fear, shame and the uncontrollable urge to run away before it's too late.

PTSD has a silver lining.

PTSD can make you feel like it will never get better... like you're ugly and alone. But those are lies. I have learned that struggling with demons also makes you more understanding and sensitive to others. It makes you care about people and what they go through. It gives you passion for bringing happiness to people who are down and an overwhelming appreciation for small, beautiful moments. It shows you to really enjoy the times that are still and quiet and challenges your self-control, always pushing you to be strong. PTSD has taught me that it's okay to have bad days, it's okay to take a time-out. It's taught me that I can overcome a hell of a lot more than I ever gave myself credit for.

PTSD has also taught me that flawed does not mean failed. The people I have met that are like me, are beautiful. They are open and loving and have more try than anyone could ever hope to have. Though they have a mental illness, you put them all together and you get nothing but encouragement and support. You will never know the sort of love, passion, and encouragement that you will when you experience it from someone who struggles with mental illness. They feel everything to the extreme, and that includes other people's pain and joy. They genuinely want to see others happy. And those are all beautiful, wonderful gifts that I would never want to replace with the absence of traumatic experiences.

PTSD is an ugly illness, but the people who struggle with it are beautiful. For everyone I've met with the same struggle, and you know who you are, my life is brighter because of the support you have given me.

For those who don't struggle with a mental illness but has a friend who does, the best advice I can give you is don't take anything personally. It's not about you or anything you lack, it's about their way of dealing with something that fights to overtake them. I urge you to be patient and don't push. Don't try to persuade them to go out, to talk about it or do anything after they have told you they don't want to. Be wary of teasing and never use the guilt-trip or hurtful words to get your point across. If you notice they are down, give them some space but let them know you are there and you have no judgment. Support and love make such a difference, even if it's inconvenient at times.

As uncomfortable as this is to write, I hope the world can look at PTSD for what it is and open its arms a little bit more.