TM

I'm choosing to keep my name anonymous, I was thinking about creating a fake name but I felt like that was misleading and I want to be as transparent as possible with you. So with that said, let's dive into my story and how I ended up with PTSD. 

Growing up I lived in a home with my parents and two siblings, my sister and brother. I was the baby, my sister was the oldest and my brother was the middle child. We were all homeschooled by my mother from a very young age. My father was a very busy man trying to provide for his family and do the best he could. My mother ran the house and let's just be honest, everyone and everything.

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     Things weren't as they seemed from the outside looking in. We all went to church every Sunday and we looked like one big happy family... well at least that's what everyone else thought. My mother was verbally and emotionally abusive to me. She treated my father poorly and she was a very narcissistic and toxic person. She would make us put household chores before our education and basically set us up to fail.

 

     My sister dealt with how my mother was by running away at 18 and I don't blame her. As you can imagine that's pretty scary for a 12 year old to deal with. While my sister no longer lived there my brother found it to be fun to physically abuse me and molest me. As disgusting as it sounds it brought him pure joy. He had a smile on his face every time he approached me. He did the most awful things to me from touching me, putting things inside me, beating me till it left bruises or made me bleed, or threatening to kill me or chase me with knives. Your'e probably thinking how did this even happen if they were homeschooled? Well, my mother would sleep in till noon, she would always walk away and go to her room and shut the door. I'd be alone with him for hours at a time. When I would tell him that I was going to tell on him he would always get that disgusting grin and say, "That's fine, go ahead, you'll pay for it." I was terrified for my life. I just knew if I told I would be dead. Half of the things he did to me I didn't even understand. I was so young and so sheltered I just knew what he was doing wasn't right and most importantly it hurt, really bad.

 

      Fast forward to age 15 when my brother moved out. I had just recently found this guy at my church who was my age and I completely fell head over heals for him. I knew I saw a future with him and he made me feel safe. Something I had never felt in my life. I opened up to him and told him a tiny bit of how my brother beat me and how my mother was, but left it at that. To be honest, it left me very confused because I really didn't understand what happened even though deep down I knew.

 

     Things progressed horribly with my mother at home. I would cry every night in my room because I just wanted out of there. I thought about running away but I just knew it wouldn't end well for me at age 15. My amazing boyfriend stuck it out with me and got me out of that house the day after my 18th birthday. I will never be able to repay him or his mother for taking me in and showing me what a true family was. I quickly realized how good of a brother my boyfriend was to his little sister and it left me in shock. There would be times I would excuse myself and go cry in the bathroom because I was realizing that everything my brother did to me wasn't normal or okay.

 

      My boyfriend and I got engaged at 18 and married at 19. I shared very little with my husband and basically just asked him what sexual abuse was and when he explained it I just said, "Yeah my brother did that to me." That was all I could say. The longer time went on of me being away from that toxic environment and those horrible things happening to me, the more I felt sick mentally. I didn't know much about mental health or anxiety. I kept getting this fear of my brother coming up from behind me and choking me like he use to even though I knew he wasn't there. I would get these dizzy spells, throw up nonstop, heart palpitations, shaking, crying, horrible nightmares, you name it. 

 

     One night I was asleep and I heard a voice like I had never heard in my life that said, "You need to tell your parents what your brother did to you." I shot straight up nearly gasping for air. I knew it was time to come forward. I couldn't hide it anymore it was making me sick. I knew God was speaking to me! I ended up telling my parents everything that their horrible son did to me. They were shocked, especially my dad. My dad said, "I want something to be done." My mom just seemed more annoyed that I was bringing an inconvenience to her life than anything else. With tears in my eyes I kindly asked them not to say anything to him or to anyone else because I was so scared. They respected my wishes which I was thankful for.

 

     As months went by my symptoms progressed I kept getting sicker and sicker. Thoughts of taking my own life crossed my mind several times, but the only thing that held me back was my husband. My one true love, my soulmate, my best friend. I just couldn't do that to him. One night after throwing up nonstop I couldn't even eat so I went to the emergency room and simply told them I don't know what's wrong. I thought that maybe it could be anxiety. They ran some tests and everything came back great. They gave me some meds to relax me and encouraged me to see a therapist. I looked for a therapist and found one. I even found a psychiatrist. I told my parents that I was seeking help and my mother's exact words to me were, "Do not tell them what your brother did, things could end badly for him and for you." For some dumb reason, I listened to her. I told my therapist that I think I just have some anxiety from my grandfather dying. I told my psychiatrist the same thing. I then got put on some meds for depression and anxiety which didn't help. The meds made everything worse for me and I kept having allergic reactions to the meds.

 

     After about my 4th emergency visit, the doctor basically told me in the nicest way possible that I needed severe help. She wasn't wrong. My psychiatrist then sent me to this place called IOP (Intensive Outpatient Program). I went everyday for 4 hours. It was like a hospital but for people to have group therapy. I was still holding back at IOP not telling the truth until one of the doctors there started talking about vulnerability and it hit me... hit me hard. I completely lost it and everything just came pouring out. The members in my group just looked at me in shock and tried their best to comfort me. I begged the doctor not to report it and she told me that it's okay we don't have to. I was relieved because I was so scared of what was going to happen and I couldn't mentally handle anything else. I needed to just get healing ASAP. I graduated after a month of IOP and I was so proud of myself. It changed my life for the better. The doctors recommended that I seek treatment through this thing called Biofeedback since meds didn't help me. It was then when they took my brain scans that they discovered I had severe Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. The amount of trauma I endured and for all those years of holding it in caused me to get sick, really sick. They were able to discover that the abuse didn't happen when I was 12, it looked like it had been happening since I was a baby. The trauma wasn't just from my parent's son, it was also from my mother.

 

     Things took another turn and got to the point where I didn't want to leave the house or go anywhere or do anything. I had developed agoraphobia. I couldn't handle any little situation, no matter if it was happy, sad, fun or stressful. It sent me straight into an episode of flashbacks. I basically just shut down. I was nearly bedridden for 2 years. It was the hardest and darkest time in my life.

 

     Through my doctors and my new therapist that I found, they discovered that the best thing for me was to have a service dog. I had no idea what that meant for me or how it would work. All I knew was that I needed one. I was fortunate enough that the puppy my husband and I had together just so happened to be a great candidate. I signed us up for some training classes and unfortunately we were only able to finish one. I just couldn't handle it mentally... but it was okay! I did lots of research and watched tons of videos on YouTube on how to train your service dog. To be honest, my service dog picked up on a lot of it on her own.

 

     I am currently as of now able to get out of bed every morning, change my clothes, show myself some self care, check the mail, go for walks and even adventure outside of the house and go into small quiet stores. All accompanied by my service dog of course. She has made my life better. My life isn't like what it use to be. I use to be able to hop in my car and go anywhere. It's not like that anymore. I'd rather be in a quiet room with little to no people, I don't drive and large stores and crowds terrify me. But you know what...that's all okay because I'm healthier. I don't throw up anymore, I haven't been to the emergency room in gosh, I don't know, like 4 years, and I am able to go out to more stores and do more things. Yeah it might be a little different than the average person's life, but that's okay. My story isn't over yet, my healing isn't over yet. I will get there and I know you will too!