House of Mirrors in PTSD….

Bad night last night, expected that, when the memory came back about being beaten with a rod around 6 years old… then power goes out and roosters start at 4AM… yep, is it bed time yet???

As I tried to sleep last night the image of a carnival fun house kept popping into my mind… and I know why, but, I don’t know for sure when… sometime around the age of 5 or 6 and we may have been stationed in Kansas…  there are more memories connected to this, but, they keep dancing around and are not fitting into the puzzle like I want them too…

Why is this memory important and why the house of mirrors??? I have never been a big fan of carnivals and circus type stuff, been to many places where this is very common for entertainment throughout the world and I really had no interest and this little tug on my memory may explain why….

I have a feeling this memory is connected to the TV interview and the subsequent beating for telling the world why my little sister looked way older than she was… All I said was she was younger than me an other nonsense, what she had is a common health issue and is well documented… she had a cyst on her ovary and it dumped a boat load of hormones into her and made her grow… nothing extraordinary about that… but, that is not how mommy dearest saw it… there is a mental disorder I think it is called a german name, I have no clue how to spell, but humans do it all the time… the child is sick, but the parent makes it all about themselves… and she still does… the mother, don’t know about the sister…but I have lots of clues….

With PTSD, you have many faces… these above are just a sample of the many faces I deal with daily… throw in my children, grandchildren and then friends… you find you expect yourself to be a certain way and you put on many faces, that give a hint of who you are… but that is all any of them get… is a hint… and why is that…???

Trust… PTSD will tear trust out of your mind, heart and soul in a heart beat and it will tread on it with any kind of boots it can find…. and you seek no help, you isolate, you withdraw, you don’t communicate, you are no longer you….

You are looking back in a house of mirrors, trying to figure out who you are supposed to be….

Those in mental health will never get it… why??? Because to get it, you must have LIVED IT… and you can’t learn it with book knowledge and working in a clinic talking to people… you have to experience it to get it….

So many mental health professionals I saw in the VA and Air Force health care system from 1977 to 2011….. One doctor got it right… in 2011…. 1 doctor out of numerous shrinks…. only 1 got it right….

And they wonder why veterans kill…. the recent shooting, when I looked at the pictures of the young man before he went in the military, he had life in his eyes… when I saw the mug shot, he had already died… he justified what he thought and there was no one to stop what he did next… his exit health exam upon discharge did not do its job… it never does…

I saw that look in my parents eyes many times before they beat me senseless… now when they look back at me, you can see the light has gone from my mothers eyes, she lost her soul so very long ago….and, awaits death….

PTSD is an ugly illness, one I have suffered with since the first beating I remember at 6 years old… I shared the picture of the little girl next to her mother and the eyes that looked back at the camera then are the same eyes I look with today….

I hung onto my soul an refused to buy into anything that didn’t support and believe in me… and that is what it takes… belief in yourself, that you will find yourself again… there is hope… My journey into PTSD started in 1960…

I woke up Nov 7, 2017… because 26 people had been murdered by a deranged airman in Texas… and the memory of Margies death in Big Springs, Texas…. broke the spell of PTSD…

I walked through life for 58 years, never listening to the hate from my family, children, grandchildren, friends or strangers… I knew I had mental issues… and was judged, not helped….

life will have to judge them…

TimesUp #MeToo WhyIDidntTell

I Remember… Margie…

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