PTSD

PTSD

As I sit here on my bathroom floor having an anxiety attack, I can’t help but beat myself up for acting this way. Why does one insignificant thing target such a reaction? Why couldn’t I keep my composure? Why can’t I get myself to calm down? What is wrong with me? 

None of these thoughts help me calm down. I sit, taking deep breaths in and out, telling myself to accept my PTSD for what it is. At this moment, it has chosen to react to something as simple as a change in hair style for my partner. I do not know why as soon as I saw it I felt like I was going to puke. Or why, after trying to push through my reaction, I couldn’t maintain my composure. 

I ran to the bathroom to hide instead of asking for help through my trigger. Suffering in silence is what I know best. I begin tapping my fingertips on the ground, one by one, trying to remind myself I am here now, not there. I am safe in my house that I share with my partner and son. I can walk out of my self isolation and ask for help and will receive it. If they knew this was happening, they would want to help. 

But instead I sit here frozen, the weight of my tears holding me in place.