Truth is, Cystic Fibrosis has wrecked more than just my physical body. My mind suffers from it too, and the PTSD isn't entirely invisible. Sometimes I catch people staring at my fingernails which are bitten down so much that they often bleed. Or they see me pacing around, shivering, stuttering, and/or sweating even if it's freezing.
PTSD doesn't mean I'm a danger to myself and others. In fact, it's quite the opposite. In some ways, PTSD has given me a reason to take risks that I otherwise wouldn't have taken, that ended up being lifesaving, and has also kept me out of other dangers. I hate hospitals, and I'll do literally anything to stay out of them. After what I've gone through, I shiver every time my name and "hospitalization" are used in the same sentence, regardless of context. It doesn't matter if the doctor says, "We are considering hospitalizing you." or "You will not need to be hospitalized.", the fear, dread, and memories from the past all come flooding back.
Sometimes, those things come back at the most random and inconvenient times possible, such as when I'm in a restaurant trying to engage in casual conversation with people I barely know, or when I'm just about to fall asleep. People notice when I sink down in my seat and get a little flushed, so they ask what they said to make me do that. Truth is, it has nothing to do with them or the conversation. Of course, people rarely believe me.
I often flee at the slightest sense of danger, and I'm pretty sure that has saved me a lot of trouble over the years. I don't make friends easily at all, mostly because most of my bullies started off as "friends". However, it has allowed me to be more empathetic with people, because I've been through enough to at least understand some parts of their deepest pain. Sure, PTSD still gets in the way, and still sucks to have, but it doesn't control or ruin my life. In fact, most of the people I know who have PTSD can say the same.
Some people are reluctant to shake my hand due to their phobia of chewed nails, but I promise my hands are very clean and I'm not contagious anyway. Others think I'll suddenly freak out over something that reminds me of my past, but that's not true. I've learned a lot of coping skills over the years, and my therapists have agreed that I'm stable, content, and actually miraculously normal, even though my upbringing was messed up in nearly every way. I've never spent a night in a mental ward, and the medication I have taken for anxiety and depression were more or less supplemental. I often watch movies that have graphic medical scenes. That, and my mom is a fan of House and Grey's Anatomy, so I'm desensitized. Medical stuff is just my life, so it doesn't get to me like movies often portray PTSD triggers doing. Still, it gets hard sometimes, especially when illness sets in and doctors do consider hospitalizing me, but I know how to get through it without losing control of myself. PTSD doesn't get in the way of a person's ability to choose, unless the sufferer has something that is more than the PTSD itself.
If I'm having a bad day, I'm not leaving my house, and chances are I'll spend it sleeping or playing video games like any other person who doesn't feel good. I don't go into fits of rage or depression, like so many think those of us who suffer from PTSD do. I'm still accountable for my emotions and actions just like anyone else, no matter how much pain I suffer. My therapists and psychologists have had only good things to say about me, and each and every one of them has promised that PTSD, while not curable in my case, is very livable.
With time, the symptoms become easier to cope with, and slowly with time become less and less severe, though they never truly goes away. There's not much out there that sends me into immediate panic mode that doesn't send any normal person screaming in the opposite direction. Sure, getting an IV into me is a nightmare, because as calm as I look on the outside, my shriveled-up veins and sweaty forehead don't lie. But unlike back when I was a scared little girl, I can keep myself together and fake a brave face.
Still, I suffer in silence, most of the time. At night, I often wake up from night terrors. I used to wake up screaming when I was little, but now I only know that I've had a night terror when my PJs are completely soaked in sweat and my heart is thumping a million miles per hour. Sometimes I remember a dream, but I forget about it within minutes. I know how to cope with that stuff. It's nothing a hot shower, some fresh PJs, and a stupid comedy show can't fix.
