The not so pretty truth

Post-traumatic stress and depression are very different beasts. One is an old acquaintance that brings a blanket to wrap around you reminding you that life is really hard. The other is a jerk that surprises you out of nowhere, it rips open a wound that you thought was closed.

Sometimes depression feels like a friend. PTSD never does.

Yesterday I got a phone call. The man on the other end was very angry. He was not angry at me, he was angry at a situation that he didn’t understand. I know the difference.

It may surprise you that I am actually very good at moments of high stress. I have the ability to turn my brain off. I can help someone bleeding all over the place without thinking about it.

After, is a completely different story. This is where my trauma bringing enemy comes. After the crisis I looked down and I see it. It’s the memory of pain. It’s the hiding in the closet from the monsters outside. It’s a real memory and it begins to ooze.

The pain of it is unbelievable. The fear the reality… Haunts.

When PTSD comes, I wish for my old friend depression. Because at least with depression I can sleep.