Another article of mine was published on The Mighty the other day! This one took a lot for me to submit – the thought of people reading it was terrifying, which I took as a sign that I had to do it.
New article was published on The Mighty today! My second with them. 😀
So excited to be published on TheMighty.com and be an official contributor! It’s obviously very personal to me and, I feel, really important.
My 2nd article on psychcentral’s blog just got published 🙂
When I was diagnosed with PTSD at the beginning of the year, it came as a surprise to me. I’d gone to this psychologist for a potential BPD diagnosis. I walked out with not only that, but four years’ worth of PTSD as well. It was surprising because in these four years I’d not once thought about this disorder; it never even occurred to me. But as I thought about it, letting it sink in, things started making sense. And since the diagnosis, I’ve had to think about what happened. Because I really didn’t deal with it; I’m still having trouble figuring out where to go from here. I know it could’ve been much worse. Others have had it so much worse than me. But I’m trying to stop that way of thinking. What happened was awful and it did change me. It does me more harm than good to invalidate my own feelings. February 2012, I was 18 and had been living on my own in Toronto for seven months or so. One morning I was followed. The bus stop was right across from my apartment building. I noticed him
Thanks to psychcentral for publishing my piece on self-harm!
‘Always recovering, never recovered.’ A simple sentence that can be a harsh reminder. And that’s not to say your efforts or how far you’ve gotten were for naught, but to keep getting back up when you do fall. I’ve learned over the years, of course, that it’s extremely important to know you are not alone. Others are struggling and surviving alongside with you and it’s nothing to be ashamed of. I’ve always had a difficult time accepting the shame part. I’m very back-and-forth on my scars. On one hand, they’re a reminder of what not to do, proof I’ve held on this long. But on the other hand, I hate them. They’re a reminder that I was ever so weak to do such a stupid thing, and now I have to live with the physical proof. The amount of shame and guilt I’ve dealt with not only from myself, but a few loved ones as well, breaks my heart. I can’t help but feel they’re ashamed of me; of knowing me, being who they are to me, as they tell me to cover them up like a dirty secret. Maybe they don’t