Deep Traumatic Response

I’m just home from work, winding down, and thinking about what I could write about, and amid all of the fluff stories and sensationalism I found a gem.  It’s not a ground-breaking story with some major revelation, it doesn’t have to be.  The subject is a tough-enough one to deal with anyway.

Be aware, before you click the link, know that this story may cause PTSD flashbacks for those who have been victims of assault, particularly sexual assault, as that is what the story deals with.

17 Things People Don’t Realize You’re Doing Because You Were Sexually Assaulted

This is a very difficult subject for many people, including myself.  I know I’m not unique in what happened, and my heart goes out to everyone who has ever suffered at the hands of another.

My trauma was not recent, and I have very few, extremely fuzzy memories of actual events.  The clearer memories were of unusual arguments and things I was reacting to (wanting to lock my bedroom door at age 10 because I was scared of the man in the hall).  You see, my assault was when I was a child, and with a child it is much easier for the brain to engage defense mechanisms, and do things like block the memory of the traumatic event.

When I was reading the reactions of the others, I recognized most of them.  I’ve done most of them, and carried them through most of my life.  I still look for all of the exits in any place I go (this one is a good safety practice anyway).  When I’m in a restaurant, I try and take the seat with the best view of the entire room, especially doors and windows, and want my back to the wall.  I have emotional/physical spatial issues (even now, I still have a hard time even letting my own daughter close to me).  And those are only a few.

I am very blessed, and very grateful to have a few people close enough to me who understand, primarily my husband, and my daughter.  They are both amazingly understanding, and patient with me.  And even though what happened ended 30 years ago, I may never fully recover in this lifetime.  But I hope that by sharing a small piece of my experience, someone else will know that they are not alone.

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