Complex PTSD Series: Act II (of III)

A few months ago, in desperation, I wrote this to read to my therapist because when I am highly stressed, my verbal skills are severely affected. Another problem that keeps coming up for me is that, having so many years of getting absolutely nowhere, I panic. Even though I’m finally in a safe place, I panic. It’s called catastrophizing. An idea gets in my head that I should be doing something more that I am incapable of knowing so I must blindly find whatever that is.

Writing this out, I feel God telling me this: “Emily, I will not give you a task that you are incapable of. This is not a game of Russian Roulette. Trust me. You are safe now. When it is time to do something different, I will make it clear to you.”

My therapist deserves much more than what he is probably paid to see me every week. I’ve noticed that he is meeting my needs expressed here. He was great before, but being the observer that I am, it’s wonderfully comforting to see the ways that our sessions together have become more personalized for ME in direct parallel to my haphazard letter. 


If you can imagine what it might be like knocking on ALL THE DOORS and holding on fruitlessly with all your strength through severe lows and emotional dysregulation, because nobody understands what the hell I’M TALKING ABOUT– yet they don’t admit it. Resulting in the tragedy that I never get anywhere. 


All the while, life doesn’t ever stop–freeze in time for me to magically get my shit together. Life keeps going. I become more and more traumatized until I truly BREAK.  Well, that happened about ten years ago.  

I’m physically ill with autoimmune conditions,  can’t work, and can hardly be a functioning human to save my life.  So my heart is ripped apart every day that I am all too painfully aware of my downfalls and that I didn’t beat the clock on the race for time because my son is now sixteen and my daughter is twenty. 

I am not supposed to be worse off than over twenty years ago when I began seeking help. This morning I had to ask my own child for gas money so I could come here today. Do you have any idea what this feels like when you see the disappointment in your child’s eyes that you are such a chaotic mess of a pathetic, helpless, and hopeless mother? On top of that,  it’s Christmas season, but without a dime to my name, nothing about this is hopeful. 

I will not survive another year if I don’t find a human being that is willing and capable, or even someone willing to learn about CPTSD to help me. 

It’s one of the most tragic situations I’ve known, which says a lot because I’m a full-blown empath. I’ve heard tragedies that my heart breaks over. But I swear if I ever knew of another person that was knocking on all the doors and in such excruciating pain like I am but choosing to f****** live while still going around in circles like me, I’d do anything in my power to help them. This is why I am still here, so I can be that person for others. But for what? 

I keep forcing myself to dig up hope, even the tiniest bit of hope I can muster just to keep going. Weeks, months, and years keep passing by. It’s not okay. 

So please, please, please, I’m begging you from the bottom of my heart if you have any feeling that you are not able to help, that you don’t know About complex PTSD to be able to help me heal from this, I beg you to please let me go now or refer me to someone that you know for a fact can help me then please let me go I cannot spend another year running around in circles chasing something that is never going to come for me. 

I promise, if you’re willing and able to help me, as soon as I can function, I’ll spend the rest of my life dedicated to helping others who may otherwise be falling through the cracks as I have been.