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I hate it.

I don't care about anything. I don't want to do anything. I've got no motivation, no goals. I have things to do but just think about them without actually doing anything. I just feel overwhelmed - but it doesn't lead to action. I watch TV or sleep to run away. I can't stand the quiet.

And I'm not sure where you draw the line between what you can say is the result of something outside your control and what is your responsibility. The fact remains that I am responsible for things that aren't getting done, and rather than doing them I just stay in bed. Time doesn't stop for me, noone else can live my life, I can't expect things to magically change without my effort.

And yet I continue to sit here and do nothing...

I guess I have been fortunate in that I've never been entirely hooked by the effects of drugs/alcohol. Though I've had my moments with these, they've never stuck as a go-to means of coping. But I am definitely not without my vices.

Honestly, I think one of my biggest means of escaping the world and disconnecting from myself is to watch a lot of TV. I like that it distracts me. I like that it makes a quiet room/apartment not so quiet. I like that it provides me with pseudo-social comfort. But I have caught myself in the reflection of the screen once or twice before and I can really look like I'm in some semi-conscious, drug-induced state. I don't think it's healthy for me but it's so hard to give up.

I also know I'm ashamed of it. I remember, as a teenager, my step father coming to my room telling me (with a tone of judgment) that I should be outside instead of inside watching TV. Of course, no one could see that my watching TV for hours on end in my room was a sign of increasing depression. But, because of this, it's hard to know just how much of my opinion about TV being unhealthy is warranted, and how much is just a product of me being ashamed that I can get lazy at all.

Anyone else rely on TV as a means of numbing out?

[1] I always liked keeping a journal. I've probably kept every entry I've written over the years. They can be found in various spots around my room, scribbled on loose papers or written in notebooks, or filling up my hard drive on the computer. I think I must have journal entries stretching back for a solid ten years or so. I'm pretty sure the habit started (and steadily continued) because I don't actually talk to anyone. I mean I do talk to people, at least now I do. But I talk to them about research projects or when the trash needs to go out or the weather. I don't talk to people about real things... but I can only hold onto so much, it needs to go somewhere. So I put it in journals.

Tonight I feel... sad? Overwhelmed? A little hopeless, a little fearful. I had a nice week, a solidly good week. It was refreshing and definitely needed. Then I had therapy this afternoon. Therapy usually seems to mess me up. Now I feel like I'm slipping backward again trying to remember how I got myself out of the hole last time. I've been working on trying to accept my feelings as they are, I am trying to just accept this. I don't want to, though. I feel myself fighting it. It's just too scary and I feel alone again.

I'm always trying to make sense of things. I keep trying to understand how I got to where I was this afternoon (pre-therapy, pretty decent, feeling strong) to this evening (post-therapy, back on the edge of the shadows). I mean, everything went well at the appointment, really. It wasn't a hard session. No particularly rough stuff, no big emotions to grapple with.

But that trips me up, I'm not sure why... when things go well. It leaves me feeling oddly disconnected. I've been trying to trust my T, trying to allow myself to lean on another person for support. It scares me, though, more than anything - feeling dependent, feeling vulnerable, allowing myself to care about someone else. And...I don't know... I don't understand... I felt like I was starting to believe that she was in my corner and I liked it and, what's more, that both these things were okay. Then I go and we talk pleasantly and somehow I am left feeling like things have changed. I don't get it. I really don't understand. And I don't know what to do to address it.

It just feels like I was getting a taste of having someone else in my frightening, isolated, fragile little world. And now I don't. And I know, objectively, that she hasn't necessarily gone anywhere and things haven't changed. But I feel like they have, and that's so much more convincing than anything else.

These are the cycles. These are familiar places. Two days ago I was hopeful and well, today I am not; things will change back again eventually. I know this. And yet, it still sucks. I am tired and I do not feel well tonight.

I find myself in a new and interesting part of the healing process. Following a particularly challenging couple of months I feel like I am finally seeing a bit of the payoff. It makes me nervous to even think this let alone say it aloud - I am still waiting for it to all fall apart. I have seen this process, over and over, move one step forward and two-thirds of a step back. But, regardless of how the future plays out, my current circumstances have led me to feeling like I'm in some wide open territory.

As of the last three or four days I've felt a fair amount of symptom relief. I feel hope. I feel like there may actually be a chance for things to change. Which is great. But I have also stumbled on this weird hole left where all my issues were. I spend so much of my time managing my feelings - either internally (worrying, ruminating, trying to drum up solutions for my issues) or externally (drinking, sleeping, watching a ton of TV) - and have done so for years. But now that these have receded a bit I feel there is a great blankness left in their place. I sort of feel like, okay, great, so I don't have to watch TV all day to stave off depression...but then what do I do with myself?

I am not at all upset I am here, in this subjective space. I hope I am able to stay long enough to start to recognize what I want for my life beyond always trying to make myself feel sane. But I must admit I am a little concerned that I have spent too much time distracting myself, that my wants have been stifled for too long, or out of fear I have toyed with my own motivation too frequently that I am now beyond repair. I guess I am afraid I will never know what I want. But I am hoping this is another unfounded fear and, like all things, it will just take time for new goals to develop.

I am curious to know, can anyone relate to this experience? If so, any suggestions for proceeding - how do you figure out what you want? Or, if not, what do you imagine your life might look like if you were free from symptoms? Is it difficult to imagine such a possibility?

I sent a quick text to my T yesterday afternoon. Still no response. I get it, what I'm feeling now is likely a product of transference. And I dint believe she would do this to purposefully harm me. But still, I just feel terrible.

The last appointment I had she said she wasn't abandoning me. And now this. I've been trying so hard to trust her and talk to her and hold on to the belief that she is on my side and cares about me.

But now. Ugh. The sense of solitude and fear and hopelessness. I feel frozen, like I can't possibly continue on with my day. I want to escape. And I just want her to text me back. But I'm not sure that would change things. And I'm mad but I can't be. And this is the dynamic that feels dangerous - I don't feel like I trust anyone but her so I'm always going to want to forgive her, and I can't be mad because then I've got noone.

I've been here before. I recognize what this is and I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation for things. But that doesn't make me feel any better.

I just don't feel well today.

I wasn't sure which board this topic might belong in, I hope this is the right place for it...

I like thinking about my dreams. Whether or not they have some inherent meaning to them, I think they can provide the metaphor for things we are trying to work out - just the same way as any other story (e.g. from books, movies, etc.) can. I had one once about this guy who learned he was to be the second coming of Christ. [I know talking about religion can trip some people up - it certainly can for me - but I hope you'll be able to see beyond the religious symbols here] Some people weren't too happy about this so they were chasing him down, trying to get him before he can wield his Christ-like powers and change the world. All he had to do to be safe, though, was to make it to this one church. If he could get away from the vigilantes long enough to get there, then he'd officially be Christ and be alright.

And he did, he made it to the church and met with the priest who was waiting for him. This priest did nothing, really, but was expecting him. So once this guy got there and got to him he knew he was alright. It was only then that he broke down, fell to the floor under the sorrow and fear and responsibility of the title which has been bestowed upon him. And though it was never a vivid part of my dream I feel like I knew that he would really, truly be okay. That eventually he'd be able to stand back up and take on the responsibility of his new role.

I think about this dream a lot. I think about this man and him falling to the floor under the weight of his emotions. As I said, I don't know if dreams have inherent meaning. But I do know this scene has turned into a meaningful image for me. I feel like that man - fleeing evil, trying to make it to the place where I will finally be okay. I think I've spent the vast majority of my life looking for my own church, the place where I am finally safe and able to fall under the weight of the world. The place where I am finally okay enough to not be okay.

It makes me think of children, too. The frozen child, afraid, who breaks down once she is back in her mother's arms. Ironic, in a way, how this can go. It is only when she is okay - back in the safety of her parent's presence - that she can fully be not okay. I sometimes think this is a way to define and even understand what we call trauma. Trauma is when you can't (due to external or internal circumstances) get to the place where you are okay to not be okay. So you never fall under the weight of the burden you've faced, and then you can never move forward. You can't go anywhere because you're still looking for that place where you are safe. So you get stuck... for a few months or a few years or a lifetime. You are stuck, still fleeing the vigilantes, still looking for the church.

I find this idea extremely difficult for many reasons - but the one I have been thinking about, the one I would like to talk about now, is how hard it is to reconcile myself with the idea that it is okay to not be okay. This becomes especially hard, I think, living in a social climate where the norm, in my opinion (though this may be more influenced by my upbringing than I'm aware), is that you should be trying to be okay. "Be happy," "look on the bright side," "turn that frown upside down." How often are we told it's okay to be angry or sad or afraid?

Recently, I feel like things have been difficult. And whenever this happens it is most certainly challenging, of course. But I do recognize another side to it. Sometimes, at the peak of pain, it feels so honest there's a refreshing quality to it. And when I am feeling "fine," it's like I can still sense this something inside of me that has not gone anywhere, this pain that has yet to get it's time. It's like it's not okay to push for not being okay, so I must pretend to be okay when I'm really not.

But I do struggle with this. I feel guilty, wanting to not be okay. I feel like it's counter to the message that's out there, that it's counter to what I should be trying to do, it's counter to the point of me being in therapy. I feel like even my therapist would find fault with this desire, the longing to not be okay. I feel like it would make me an easy target for that dreaded label in certain psychological circles - "resistant." After all, the aim is to get better, right? So then I must work at being better!...right?

I go back and forth on this, though. Because over the years I feel there's been a steady confidence growing in me that this need to put a positive spin on everything causes more harm than good. Instead, I think it's more helpful to follow the sentiment of, "You're not okay, and I'm not okay, and it's okay." And I know it is what I long for. I am still searching for the place where I can finally fall under the weight of my own pain. And I am longing for the person who will finally agree with me that it's not okay, and, rather than fault me for that or tell me how change, could just accept that that's true.

I don't know, I struggle with this a lot. I just wonder if anyone else can relate or has thoughts on the matter.

I live in an area where deer are as common as the average chipmunk. So it wasn't a surprise, really, when I came across one this morning. I was out for a run on these trails behind my house and happened upon one. It was a small buck, a "two pointer" as they say given the size of his antlers. And he was right in the middle of my only path home.

On a better day this might have been neat, funny even, but not today. I just wanted to go home. For about 20 seconds it was cool to be so close to one but then I started to try and get him to move but he just stood there looking at me. I clapped, I told him aloud to go away, I walked toward him a bit; I was afraid to get close, though, afraid he might charge at me (do they do that?). He didn't budge, just stared. At one point he even started to eat - totally unperturbed by my presence.

Now this all seems kind of silly, I get that. But at the time I just felt entirely helpless. I couldn't go back down the path, I didn't want to get closer, and the woods are thick so I could really go around. And the deer just kept staring at me and it felt like he knew he was getting right in my way and was staying there on purpose. I felt so helpless and dejected so quickly. Even now, I can picture that deer looking at me and it still feels mean, goading, uncaring.

Finally he started to move and I slowly followed until he was far enough for me to get by. Fortunately, it only took another 5 minutes of thinking about this to realize why an experience with a deer - I usually love deer, all animals - bothered me so much. I am into the mind + psychology so I find myself to be both frustrated and fascinated by this strange process.

Anyone else find themselves provoked by otherwise pretty benign things?

Hi.

I'd posted a few times before realizing I never made an official introduction in the right thread. So, here I am and here's a bit of my back story...

I first heard about CPTSD on some random webpage. I was doing as I often do when I'm feeling bad and lost - trolling the internet for answers. All the descriptions felt very familiar to me, especially the sort of pervasive, enduring nature of it. I feel like I've been trying to make sense of my world for years. By this time I had already been diagnosed with depression and knew I could easily fit into other diagnostic categories like social anxiety, GAD, depersonalization/derealization, and maybe even schizoid personality disorder (in a discussion about personality disorders my T once noted she thought I came closest to this, though she was never one for officially assigning any labels). I identified with the information I found on CPTSD, though, especially the concept of emotional flashbacks. So I tried to get whatever information I could on it to help me through.

In particular, I felt like it helped me in understanding some things that didn't make complete sense to me, especially the more I grew to understand the way I related to other people. I am terrified of people. I could likely fool you, I play the part of the socially competent girl well. But, I just do what I need to do to survive in the social world. Ultimately, I can't get close to anyone. I've never really had a romantic relationship, even the people I am closest to are kept at a distance, and the prospect of coming any closer to anyone or revealing my authentic self is threatening.

So, the CPTSD has given me a new perspective, yet I still feel like I am lost. I have really always identified more with the outcomes side of it, not the causes. The proposed etiology of this disorder is that it comes from trauma (hence the name, of course). And me? I don't know that I have any more trauma than the average individual raised by parents who are human and inevitably flawed. I know that just before I turned two my brother was diagnosed with leukemia and my parents were dealing with that for the next year or so. I know that my mom has told me she regrets leaving me behind during that time, distracted by my brother's disease if not her own depressive response to the situation. I know I freaked out when I was left at someone else's house or something in the years after. I know that, years later, my parents got divorced and my dad got a bit bitter and my mom got a bit depressed again. I know they both remarried to people who I felt were passive aggressive and had issues of their own. I know my mom is a fairly anxious, neurotic person herself and my father is emotionally distant - I haven't really been in contact with him for the last 3-4 years and, for whatever reason, seem to be relatively unbothered by that fact.

But that's it. It makes very little sense to me how my internal, chaotic emotional life developed out of this pretty mundane life. I remember being in high school wishing for things like car crashes - not because I wanted to get hurt but because I wanted to have a reason for already being in pain. I still feel this way. I really really don't want to harm anyone in saying so but I've been working on trying to work on authentically revealing my experience to others recently so I have to admit that I sometimes find myself wishing terrible things had happened in my life. I wish my father hit me so I could understand why it doesn't bother me that we never see eachother. I wish someone harmed me because then I would get why I can't seem to get close to anyone ever. Maybe then I'd be able to make sense of my story. Maybe then I'd be able to mourn.

But that's not the case and I am not someone who could pretend it was. I have no memories of terrible things happening to me. I just have vague memories of a slightly sub-par childhood and the recognition that I am often feel stuck in the desire for someone to validate my seemingly unexplainable pain. But I don't understand it, I don't know where it comes from, and I often don't know how to deal with it.

So I hope that's alright, and I hope you don't mind my presence here. I still find I can relate to things many of you say and it's a bit of a relief to feel like there are others out there who could understand my struggles. Again, I hope I didn't harm anyone in mentioning how I feel about my own history. I just wanted to be honest, and I hope that those who are reading know that I make no intention of trivializing anyone else's experience or manufacturing a story like theirs in order to manipulate others. I have never done so, it's just some kind of fantasy. I hope you can understand.

Thanks for listening.

So I was particularly anxious going into my most recent therapy appointment. I think it was due to a fairly rough appointment I'd had the week prior > which is usually tied to a sense of vulnerability for me > which often sets my nervous system into panic mode until it basically shuts itself off. I wasn't exactly expecting it to go well. And I was right about that...at first.

In the beginning I tried to discuss a really bad day I'd had the week before. But my mind went all foggy, then I couldn't find my words, and then I couldn't really even remember what it was I was trying to talk about. Amidst my fumbling for speech my T tried to figure out what I was trying to communicate to her. It wasn't exactly working, though; I felt like she didn't understand. So then that triggered a fear attack as it often does for me. And then I started dissociating to boot. Needless to say, things were sliding downhill.

But my T kept prompting me to stay with her and verbalize what was going on for me. So I started talking about the dissociation. Then I was able to talk about how I get afraid when I feel like she didn't understand. And then I could remember and actually find the words to describe a bit about the bad day I'd had. And my T responded kindly as she usually does and for once I felt a little like maybe someone could actually hear me, maybe I could talk to someone, maybe I could trust someone. Maybe there's hope yet.

Anyway, that's all really. Socially inhibited as I may be I'm fortunate to have a few people in my life that I can go to when something good happens like I do really well on a big test or win $10 on a lottery ticket... but I don't know if I've got anyone who could understand how much of a victory it is when a minor therapeutic breakthrough occurs.
Me: "hey hypothetical co-worker, guess what - my therapist responded attentively when I nervously discussed how I felt like she became a threatening individual when she gives the slightest impression that she doesn't understand what I'm experiencing emotionally. Isn't that great?!"
Hypothetical co-worker: ""

What I mean to say is - thanks for listening

Hi.

In the past I've perused, if not posted on, various message boards - depression, social anxiety, depersonalization/derealization, etc. I feel like I am looking for answers, I feel like I am trying to figure out where I belong. What I mean to say is I don't know that I have C-PTSD. While I have been working with a therapist for a long time she tends not to explicitly refer to any diagnosis (which I am fine with). So, technically speaking, I don't know if I belong here; I feel a bit like an imposter. But, I don't know...

What I do know is descriptions I've read of C-PTSD feel very familiar. I've often relied on Pete Walker's books to make sense of my experience; the concept of "emotional flashback" has always made sense to me. I know I don't trust anyone and have incredible difficulties getting close to people. I know that I am, ironically, both terrified and in desperate need of social connection and care. I know I frequently have bouts of depression. I have social anxiety (though that is improving a bit). I sometimes feel inexplicably panicked. My emotions are odd, vary greatly, cause me considerable discomfort, and are often coped with by sleeping too much or watching a lot of TV.

But I don't know why. I don't know how to explain these things. I am not sure if I belong here mostly because I don't recall anything particularly traumatic in my past. I could make guesses at what life events could have led to such great emotional unrest; but, often, it feels like I am just making up explanations. So, I just don't know quite what's going on.

As I said, I'm not sure I belong here. But it seems like today is one of those days I can't settle down completely, one of those days I find myself trolling the web for answers. I woke up in a bit of a panic. I feel like I haven't calmed. It's not a terrible day, exactly; I have had worse. But I feel anxious and agitated and unfocused and my chest is tight and I don't know what to do with myself.

I guess I was just hoping, regardless of what diagnosis I could be given, that there might be some others who could relate so I'd be able to shake, even if just a little bit, the feeling like I'm stuck with this, alone.

Thanks for listening.