My Grimoire || Book of shadow tour || Magical Books

Pagan Mental Health

A morning in the life of someone with Complex PTSD and Anxiety

Sometimes, everything is okay. I think to myself, ‘Finally, getting better, rock on!’ then that voice starts again. The intrusive thoughts get louder and louder until I can’t think, breathe or even exist in any state that could pass as functioning. Today is one of those days.
I need to go outside. I need to go to the shop but my mind is against me.

You’re ugly, you are stupid, god you’re so pathetic, just go outside you fucking freak, just open the door and go outside. People will look at you, they know, they know, they know how pathetic you are. Oh look, well done, no you’re fucking hallucinating again. Hello Mum, great, now she won’t shut the fuck up. Now I am stood in my bathroom screaming at her to shut up;

‘Go away! You’re not real!’ But she was real, once and she died before I could scream at her for everything she did, before I could tell her, ‘You were supposed to be my mother!’

I think about suicide every hour. I don’t want to die. I know I don’t want to die.
I think about self harm every minute. I don’t want to. I can beat this. But it’s the only thing that will shut her up. Shut me up. Shut everything up.

So if you have got this far, I am going to let peek inside the mind of someone with complex PTSD and do a day in the life. Everything in italics are my thoughts.
2 am: Woke up to the sound of my name. Mother is back. Great.  Fall back to sleep hoping she will fuck off.
7:20 AM overslept. Shit. Wake Erin up. Don’t recall getting downstairs, but make her lunch box. Takes me twenty minutes as I forgot how to make sandwiches and I dropped the bread.  You’re a shit mother, you’re turning into her, for fucks sake, you can’t even make sandwiches. You forgot didn’t you, you’re so shit, she wanted pizza in her lunch box. Now look, you’ve wasted bread.
8:20 Shower and get dressed: Alone now. Feel better.  No, dammit, not better. Just want everything to be quiet. Self harm self harm, if you do it it’ll be quiet. Everything will stop. I am so tired. Did I take my meds? I can’t remember. My chest hurts. I can’t breathe. Fuck, am I dying, shit I’m dying, oh fuck….. I proceeded to have an anxiety attack because I could not get the toothpaste out of the tube
9:30 I have spent 45 minutes walking around the house listening to music and maladaptive dreaming. Decide to write a blog. Start typing, take y beta blockers. It’s easier to breathe now. Everyone is talking about you, you’re such a failure, why did you quit your job, you cam’t even do that, you do know this is pathetic, no one cares. Oh you’re angry, she got angry. Do you remember. Remember what she said, what he did. No, wont think, wont thing, fuck.  Proceeded to slip into a flash back and had another anxiety attack. Took another beta blocker. It’s only 9.45 and I am exhausted physically and mentally.
I was going to do a full day, but I hope if you’re reading this, if you do not understand anxiety and mental illness that you will see how crippling and exhausting it is. My mind is never quiet, I can never just be and in some way, I hope if you’re reading this you know you are not alone, and we shall keep fighting the good fight together.

Complex PTSD || Tuesday Tea with Li