I am not okay.

 

I am not okay.

 

I look fine on the outside; you’d never know anything is wrong. In my head,

however, there is a war going on.  It’s in the compulsive need to check all the

locks before bed, and then check them again, and once more, and did I really

check them all? It’s in the need to make sure my bedroom door is always locked

after I shut it, even though I may be alone in the house. It’s in having an exit

strategy for every room I enter. It’s in the fear I feel every time I let someone

drive me somewhere and my car is no longer handy to me. It’s why I offer to

drive people everywhere, even if they are family. If I have allowed you to drive

me someplace; that means I either had no choice or I trust you, a lot.

 

When I walk down the street, I don’t see shops and eatery’s, I see hiding places

and ambush spots; I am waiting to fight off an attacker, even in broad daylight,

and my plan is not to wound and run, it is to fight until I kill them.  It is why I

hate crowds, especially crowds that are contained, like in the mall. It is why I’d

rather shop anywhere than in the mall; the mall takes too long to escape from.

It is walking into a strange place and looking around for anything and everything

that could be used as a weapon or a means of escape. It is not being able to sleep

at night, because I never feel safe. It is needing noise or music or television running

to avoid being startled awake by the slightest sound. It is the moment when I don’t

just wake up, I am startled awake and my heart won’t stop pounding, and I am

afraid to lay back down and close my eyes; I just want to run away somewhere…

but there is nowhere to go.

 

It is always worrying about what awful thing could happen, rather than what

normal and good things are happening. It is in the obsession to always lock my

car, and to check the backseat and even sometimes the trunk to make sure

they’re empty before I get in.  It is never wanting to be approached by anyone

I don’t know. When I am just out walking, if someone approaches me on the

street or in a parking lot, even another woman, it is trying to assess whether

or not I could kill or maim them and escape if I need to. It is living with constant

fear and stress and the underlying anger that comes from always being afraid

and never being able to shut it off!  It is feeling hatred towards everyone and

everything near me because you are all normal, and no one understands, and

I just want to be left alone! It is trying to be “normal” and failing to ever feel

that way. It is always having to “act normal” and being stressed out by that. It

is in being numb to my feelings and finding it easier to push people away than

it is to bring them closer.

 

It is the soul-deep need to be independent, to never rely on anyone and to never,

ever talk about the way I feel. It is a sight, a sound, or a smell that creates a

mental picture in my head that will depress me for weeks. It is not being able to

explain that I need to be left alone in order to work through my issue and feel

better. It is the disgust I feel for what I perceive as my own weaknesses, and how

hard that makes it for me to deal with my feelings.  But mostly it is the fear,

unreasonable, irrational fear, which I feel all the time – ALL – THE – TIME.

You will never see it. You will never know I am feeling it. But it is always there.

It’s why I don’t like scary movies, or suspense thrillers, or any type of being

frightened.  It is being easily startled, and having that happen can ruin my whole

day.  It is why if you jump out and scare me, it makes me hate you and want to

hurt you and I try to laugh it off, but I don’t find it funny. I don’t find it funny,

not even when it’s my children.  I don’t find it funny.

 

I am not okay. But none of you ever really knew that. I don’t like to talk about it. I’d

rather you all think that I am “normal” and just like you. I am not okay. I have PTSD.

I have had it since I was 20, a gift of my military service. I am not okay. I am hard to

deal with, hard to live with, hard to be friends with. I am not okay, and I just thought

you all should know…because I’m tired of being ashamed of my fear.

 

©T. L. Gabbert