Complex PTSD & The ‘Tis
Photo by Jan Huber
My sister reminds me I don’t owe these kinds of announcements to anyone but I still like to do them in case it helps someone feel seen or less alone in their own madness.
And it’s a way to process.
I have complex ptsd.
The reason I adorn such a combination of letters is because I am autistic—but never received the diagnosis, support or accommodations I needed early on.
Don’t play the violins.
I know I’m not the only one struggling (and I’m aware—even still—I have unearned privileges in so many ways). I’m just one of the first to figure out this unique fucking puzzle.
(This oversight and resulting complex trauma is also directly related to patriarchy in medicine and a severe lack of scientific research on autism in girls and women.)
I have been successfully high masking and deeply without the extra support I have needed…. for my whole life.
Basically, I was in such a chronic state of stress and panic and fear, which was prolonged as hell over many many years and it’s fucked up my brain and body.
But to the outside world, I played such a strong “normal” role (basically I’m an incredible actor and want my Oscar) so I went without the help I needed.
I also never asked for help.
Because like I said from the jump—this shit is complex.
I still struggle to ask for help.
My loved ones have to pry it out of me like those pesky metal prongs on the back of picture frames that hurt your finger tips.
That’s me.
I prefer to solve things by sobbing alone.
Figuring it out alone.
Going it alone.
In private like a good American.
But now my husband can walk in the living room at any time and see me struggling and I’m like oh shit you can perceive me?
This isn’t very good for my “normal” brand.
So it’s a relief to tell you this time around I’m not randomly depressed and burnt out like I thought I was from ages 18-27.
I’m C-PTSD and Autistic depressed.
My basic needs have and always will look different than they do for allistic folks.
Which is still a lot to wrap my head around.
But for my whole life I tried to pretend like I was just the same as everyone else and I stuffed down my pain and discomfort like a too big sleeping bag being forced into a too tiny sac.
As I patiently start to learn the difference between my masking and unmasking self (which is both a delightful/silly discovery and harrowing as hell) I am also learning (AT 32 YEARS OF AGE) what the fuck my needs even are.
Like I don’t know?
I need constant aloneness… no no I don’t think that’s right.
Majority aloneness…. Better.
I need quieter, calmer environments… 10000% yes.
I need to allow myself to hyperfixate on whatever I want to focus on…. Which changes.
I need to literally never be told what to do or have someone power trip around me or try to question or challenge my authority over my own life…. That’s an intense one.
I need to walk outside everyday and keep my environment tidy or I’m afraid of what will happen if I don’t.
I need relationships with people who can fucking communicate and be direct and accountable and tell the truth and self reflect and talk about their real feelings…. Or else I just can’t.
I need to be physically comfortable.
Like wow.
I can’t have hair fall in my eyes or jeans too tight or a fabric that’s rough or itchy on my skin.
I need to feel safe to unmask.
This one is difficult.
Sometimes I don’t feel safe anywhere in this WORLD.
But I know my unmasked self is capable of helping the world.
I don’t know, I’m still learning and figuring it out.
I’m trying to find the right support while constantly advocating for myself, which is probably my favorite trait in me.
I’m not doing it perfectly or prettily and lately I’ve felt terrified of all of this newfound information for 68% of my waking hours.
It honestly sucks and I’m grieving and confused and still unsure about so much.
But I also have this weird crazy faith that’s always lived inside of me that I’m able to trust completely and that helps me to recognize this part is temporary.
So I guess actually that’s my favorite trait.
