Dark Clouds

What my PTSD feels like

gazelleintights
Jul 28, 2017 · 4 min read

Locked in a small cell. I know it’s been waiting.. it’s been waiting for me to relax. A lapse in my concentration. The moment I stop hammering the assurance, “you are okay, he will not hurt you”, it approaches. I stare out of the small window of the cell door. It is so tiny; barely 4in wide by 6in long. The black smoke is thick and monstrous. It comes from the other side and it creeps up to my window. Mere milimeters between myself and the cloud; only the glass protects me. It churns and blankets until I cannot see any longer. There is no light in my cell, so I am left in the darkness alone. Panic sinks into my body. It is paralyzing to the point where I cannot move. In about six seconds I will lose my voice. This is the time I have to take, or I will be lost. When I am lost, I am in danger. I cannot be hurt further. I must cry out. Please, stop what you are doing. I am not okay. I begin to tremble from the center of my bones to the ends of the hairs which stand atop goosebumps. With legs like spaghetti, I have to sink to the concrete floor. I can hear the wail of my fingernails as they dig wavering paths in the paint which coats the iron door. I will never lose my hearing. While my speech leaves, and my skin is numbed, I will still be able to hear. I can hear the heavy breathing of my partner, who doesn’t mean me any harm. But as for my breath, I cannot hear it. I am no longer breathing.

They listen to me within that short period of time, where I was able to whisper a few crys. They understand that I’m suffering, suffering from the PTSD. I bury my face into their shoulder as their arms wrap around my torso. They did not cause it, but now they are here to help me through it.

No air. It’s like when you hold your breath, only instead of breathing in and holding the air inside you, all the air leaves my lungs and my diaphragm stops pulling. I tremble lightly. Tears creep out of my eyes and run down my nose to dance along a stretch of skin. They pull me closer.

Thoughts race across my mind. They’re fast, but driven by someone who is intoxicated. A dozen emotions lined up in two rows of six, just like a fragile carton of eggs. Fear, shame, embarrassment, anger, sadness, depression, anxiety.. shake me and I will crack. I beg myself to start breathing again. I let the air slip into my nose so it can nourish my lungs. I feel myself coming back. I can see the smoke become thinner through the window. Both feet regain feeling, and the shaking subsides.

I do not suffer as I used to. Time is helping me heal. The longer I spend in this cell, the faster I learn how to eliminate the darkness. Intimacy does not make me gag involuntarily, as it used to. It does not make me double over as my stomach gathers itself up into a ball. Depression does not lurk over me until I fall asleep. The horrifying episode approaches, conquers, and passes. I still have a long way to heal. It may take me a few more years, but I know I will defeat this demon that lives in my past and haunts my present.


I have suffered with PTSD for a year and a half. This is my best attempt to put words into what it feels like, but in all honesty, I cannot truly describe how terrifying it is to experience. I find that writing down my emotions to the best of my ability is incredibly healing.

gazelleintights

Written by

Surviving sexual violence. This is a blog depicting my feelings and experiences. It helps me heal.

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