About an hour or two ago, I suffered for a half hour through a panic-attack I wasn't aware I'd been having for years. I literally thought, each and every single time I experienced this, that I'm having a heart-attack. When I looked my symptoms up, they all point to a panic-attack. The scariest part is that I've had these types of panic-attacks without any sort of trigger. None. Zip. Nada.
I'm more aware of the triggered ones like the multiple ones I'd had when we had bedbugs in my apartment. Those symptoms fell onto the extreme side of the spectrum, and were obviously panic-attacks that, while I was unable to stop them, I was at least aware of what I was going through, and tried to ride it out... And of course, they were all painful experiences.
But these little ones that aren't on the extreme spectrum that emphasizes my panic and fear without the hyperventilation, that makes me feel like I"m having a heart-attack and literally, for no reason cannot bring myself to addressing to anyone what's going on with me, have actually been happening for years---long before the bedbug incident. As in, since around the time Jeremy and I started living in an apartment together. Probably before that if I remember correctly.
This means, I have panic-attacks both with and without triggers, resulting in an uncomfortable or devastating mental situation to where I probably cannot function as I should in certain situations. Either my work, should I be in a work place (and this has happened before) will either slow down or stop entirely for a certain amount of time.
With this information in mind, I realize that this all stems from the crap I went through in my childhood. From my mother screaming at me and my father belittling me and somewhat manipulating my emotions, to the bullying I had to endure throughout my years of Buckeye and teachers treating me like shit, it's no wonder I'd show these symptoms.
But recognizing the obvious made me curious about symptoms for PTSD. Lo and behold, I have displayed all of these symptoms that someone with PTSD would commonly show. I've had my fair share of flashbacks, though not quite so much right now, and I still get nightmares from time to time. There's nothing in my waking life from the daylight before that would trigger any of these nightmares either (and when I explained the nightmare thing to my dad, he told me, "You're OBVIOUSLY thinking about it! You just need to stop thinking about it!"). I have been doing my best to avoid Jefferson County (ultimately failing because FUCKING BEDBUGS) due to a lot of reasons. This has led me to feelings of detachment from family, sometimes isolating myself from them from a distance by not calling much (now currently hiding in my room most of the time) and on occasion I will lose interest in activities that I used to enjoy, though this part is a periodical thing, not so much as a "not in the mood to do this" sort of thing.
The "increased arousal" in all areas (though none being sexual) isn't everything listed in the link above. I've had excessive emotions, I've had some problems relating to others, I always had difficulty falling asleep (which I have to daydream with my eyes closed for this to work), I've been more irritable than anything throughout life and have had MANY angry outbursts from trivial to random reasons when I just got into college, I've had plenty of difficult concentrating, and PLENTY of muscle tension which has led me to tightened/tensed shoulders, tensed abdominal area, and ultimately vaginismus for as long as I can remember.
I never really spoke with anyone about this for a few reasons:
I've actually tried expressing concerns with my parents in the past, which resulted in my mom quickly getting mad at me and telling me "I don't know!" in a tone like she has been fighting with me for five minutes, or my dad manipulating me how it's all in my head, how I can will it all away, to "learn to laugh at myself" (which is synonymous with "be a doormat and accept it"), and overall dismissing how and what I am feeling and experiencing while simultaneously not actually helping out, only taking action to a point where he can comfortably pat himself on the back because he attempted something despite making no progress.
If it's bully-related, and my mom sees me about to go to school wearing a shirt or a backpack or having a notebook that has a character on it that I'm notoriously mocked for (a common one being either Barney or Pokemon), my mom would yell at me and ultimately tell me, "I don't want you coming home crying to me that you got made fun of because you just had to take/wear that to school!"
Each time I went to a friend, I was either told to "just ignore them" (which never worked) or when I expressed concerns about bullies and teachers, I'm told that the world is not against me or not everyone is in on being out to get me, etc.
Most friends (especially middle school or elementary) never actually stepped up to help me in any way and sort if idled until the ordeal was over before continuing to socialize with me.
I've had teachers tell me not to talk to certain people and they'll go away, or not wear/bring certain things or talk about certain things and "maybe they'll stop" instead of actually intervening or doing anything, really.
I've had two principles justify why bullies bully me and how I can avoid them bullying me by changing who I am and trying to fit in while they allow the bully to shout things at them about me and they do NOTHING to the bullies back.
I saw no reason to seek help, because when I sought help, it was either not legit help, or I was shamed for seeking help. No help ever came, and I just kept it all to myself. There are lots of things that went through my mind, lots of things that I'd experience (surprisingly none was sexual) that I never told my friends, let alone family members, because I knew I wouldn't get help, it'd be brushed off, or my problems would be treated as an inconvenience.
I still have the occasional former classmate try and tell me that "Buckeye isn't all that bad, stop making it out to be this horrible thing" when they clearly did not go through the same shit I had to go through, and I had to keep it all to myself because of statements like that. If I ever brought up Buckeye to my parents, they'd get and at me and tell me to shut up about it.
I have all of these things----these thoughts, these feelings, these experiences to tell----but nobody wants to hear them, and on occasion, they leak out into conversation and I cannot stop it. Because I kept myself crying for help because when I did, help never came. I kept it all to myself: the pain I had to endure, the self-loathing, the suicidal thoughts, the endless suicidal notes I wrote in my head, the endless daydreams of maiming those that treated me like shit. I couldn't tell anyone because nobody cared.
And this whole time I thought something was wrong with me, that I was the problem, not the bullies or the teachers, or my mom and dad's terrible parenting. And now that I finally have started sharing these thoughts and feelings, and providing links to show "it's not me, it's what happened to me and this is the result of that", my mom remains quiet about her bad parenting, dad sort of continues with his bad parenting to save a few bucks, and all of the classmates that witnessed all of the horrible shit that happened to me that are friends with me on Facebook conveniently remain silent when I start to publicly share what happened and what became of my mental state today.
To those of you who think PTSD doesn't happened to bullied people, to those of you who think people who suffer from panic-attacks need to "relax", "chill out", and "calm down": Fuck you. You're part of the goddamn problem.
