What PTSD Is

[ysabetwordsmith]

Here's a brilliant post about the kind of PTSD that builds slowly, a pervasive shift in worldview, rather than the kind that comes from a sudden major shock.  This is how it can form in people who aren't front-line soldiers but rather support crew, or cops, or people living in poverty or neglectful relationships.  

Now look at the part where it talks about society not being a safe place, everyone's out to get each other, no trustworthy connections, no safety net if something goes wrong, nobody to care if you live or die.  That's what we're making our world into every time we cut public services and support.  We're making it more like the place inside a PTSD sufferer's head.  "Every man for himself and devil take the hindmost" isn't a society.  It's madness.

Comments

[cissa.livejournal.com]

I am convinced that if i grow old, I will be living on the street and rely on a cat to catch me pigeons to eat. (This is based on a Doris Lessing story that obviously had a serious impact.)

My husband tells me that's crazy... but I remain convinced. I just don't believe anyone has my back, and that's PTSD talking.

Well...

[ysabetwordsmith.livejournal.com]

What bothers me is the tendency to skid along the spectrum from "good world" to "bad world." PTSD is, at heart, an adaptation for survival in a very dangerous situation, that becomes a problem when it can't shut off in a less-dangerous situation. But sometimes the world really is a mess, sometimes people will hurt you and nobody will care if you die. That's a bad thing. It's even worse when people lie about it and say there's help when there isn't, or when the "help" actually makes things worse. Because then, if there's already a disconnect between the events in the world and the perception of the world, that gets worse when the false information doesn't match the events.

I want to live in a world that doesn't randomly break people. What I actually have is a world that's so erratic in its performance that trying to predict it is like trying to predict whether the psycho boyfriend is in the mood for flowers or fists. That's a problem.