by Susan Morton

Created on: November 16, 2008   Last Updated: November 18, 2008

Here is something I think about everyday. Would you believe that I have lived with postraumatic stress disorder my whole life? When it really gets bad I seek therapy. Under the new government administration, although I am disabled, therapy has been canceled by my insurance. So that I have to rely on antidepressants to keep me from freaking out or getting so depressed. I am a child survivor of extreme abuse and the adult survivor of a violent marriage.

At first when the night terrors began, they stayed with me until I was eighteen years old. Back then, there wasn't a word for what I was going through and quite frankly nobody cared. They thought I was a weird kid growing up. I never had lots of friends, you can't have too many growing up the way I did, nor would you ever take them home with you.

Secrets, I will never keep them for anyone ever again. They become like a Kidnapper, dragging you into the dark where you definitely do not want to be. Who do you trust? This sounds paranoid, but growing up I tried so hard to tell someone, anyone to listen to me, but they all looked the other day. I felt like I was always on the outside looking in, on the homes of the happy. I hate surprises, when someone comes up behind you to prank scare you, it causes me to startle, be afraid, and get mad.

Every day you wake up and think, today I will smile, I will be so charming and make people laugh. Then maybe, just maybe, they would not see the tears, fears or bruises. You would think this will go away someday, don't take my word for it, but the good news is you can live with it. You can't always be away from what triggers it, but I pick up the phone to stop some one from being hurt. I call the police, even the ones who did not listen the sixteen years I lived at home.

I walk away when people get violent, instead of contributing to the anger and fear. They say it takes a strong person to walk away from a fight. I understand this, but when you are raised in a violent home, it becomes a way of life. So I had to learn the difference between what was self defense and what was abuse. Being raised with a father who did not know how to raise girls, it not plus either. Okay so we have established what causes post traumatic stress disorder, any trauma, now I will tell you how I coped.

I did not take to drinking my life away, that honor went to my father who was a alcoholic who suffered from the syndrome his-self. He committed suicide, but to hear it told from people, they wouldn't admit

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