Member-only story
PTSD is Alive and Well in My Head
It’s the middle of the night and I’m headed to the shower
Showers are good. Most people take showers to get clean. I take showers in the middle of the night to clear my head. Remove the cobwebs. Shake it off as Taylor would say. In the shower is the only place where I can seem to cry. Rare is it that I can even manage to cry sitting in my therapist’s office. But in the shower? I don’t know what it is but leaning into the wall and letting the hot water slide off me is all that it takes to get the tears to flow.
I’m not talking about those little tears that slip out when I’m being shot up with steroids for pain. Or when I receive more bad news. Or on occasion, good news. When I’m visited by a ghost. Or when I’m writing. I did that the other day while I was writing “Act Like An Adult (I have questions)” and I talked about learning to give as a child.
But from the gut, get it all out, soul cleansing crying?
Nope. Not me. I haven’t done that in years. 2017 when mom died. 2005 when my paternal grandmother died but I survived. Once in between when a relationship that meant everything to me ended. That’s it. Three times in 17 years. I’m just not a crier. I was when I was a kid though. God, I cried all. the. time. I was called a sissy baby. What “they” didn’t know is that I was…
