As some of you may know, I suffer from ME, which is a chronic illness. What you may not know is that I have family and friends who suffer from mental illness and PTSD. The following re-blog is written from the heart of a beautiful soul. Please read to better understand and empathize with the world of people with mental illness and PTSD.
Not the music variety, which is, clearly, totally awesome.
I’m talking about the PTSD variety of funk that I’ve been graced with since a monster sexually assaulted me as a child. Mingle PTSD with Major Depressive Disorder–which I may or may not have had regardless of sexual abuse based on my genetics and other factors–and you’ve got the ingredients for a major funk. I can’t seem to shake this latest funk. It’s been with me for a few months now. No matter what I do, it clings to me like a sheen of sweat.
I am depressed. That blows. It’s not all the time anymore, but it is persistent. It is an ever-present niggling little parasite gnawing on my brain.
Mental disorders are obnoxious. They are not easily diagnosed. If you go into a hospital with a broken arm, it’s fairly evident what’s wrong with you and what needs to…
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