Post Traumatic Stress Disorders-Personal Narrative Analysis

INTRODUCTION

I was 43, when I finally decided to try with all my heart to face the demons inside of me. I had been diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and my physical health was suffering from incredible fear, anxiety, and migraines. The migraines were so severe that I was visiting the doctor once a week and had been sent to the hospital several times for relief. My entire body ached, flashbacks wouldn’t cease and I was falling apart. I gained so much weight, when I looked in the mirror I hated who was looking back at me, and it just added to my depression. I ran a daycare in my home so I didn’t even have time to think about how unhappy I was on the inside. At the same time, the babies reminded me of the innocence of a child

I knew I needed to get out of bed and scurry right then, before I changed my mind. I had asked to take a short leave of absence from all my daycare babies, because of the pain and stress I was under, and I stayed in my bed sleeping as much as I could. I got ready and drove the long hour to Sacramento to see her, leaving early to make sure I had time for traffic to get there. Three times during the drive, I picked up the phone with the plan to cancel, but I kept on going. My nervous eating addiction took over and I made a quick trip to Family Dollar. In no time at all, I had consumed a tall cylinder of salt and vinegar Pringles and an Almond Joy candy bar. My mouth burned from the vinegar and salt while my body felt sick from all the sugar. I hated myself for it and felt the lump in my throat, wishing I had not indulged again. I arrived at the office building early and sat in the parking lot, but soon I found sitting there was making my nerves cringe, so clutching my document called “The Forgotten Girl”, I locked my car and hurried inside to the large professional looking lobby, fearing the whole time I was being watched from windows above for no reason other than to see how fat I was. I tried to think of the words my husband would say “I’m so proud of you, you can do

Kate felt trustworthy to me and I felt I could work with her. Could it be that she had me come in so quickly or was it the gentle way she came and got me from the waiting room? Her voice calmed me quicker than I could have imagined. Was it the way she introduced herself and asked me if I wanted something to drink? Was it her tiny office, that was a closet that had been converted for her since she was just starting out and there was no space for her yet? Was it how young she was? Normally I shy away from people with tattoos and nose piercings, but here I was, already trusting this girl who was much younger than me to share my life story with. I kept thinking how much she reminded me of my daughter, Lisa because of her gentle way. She had a small Fish Peace Christian sign tattoo on her inner wrist and a tiny jewel piercing in her nose. She had glasses on and her dark hair was pulled back. She wore a Dijon mustard color cardigan, jeans and simple flats on her feet. She sat down with her feet up under her and she had a notebook she wrote in. She wasn’t like any of the therapists I had been to before. She smiled and talked a lot, which helped me, so much! I sat across from her, on the tiny loveseat, shaking inside, with my 35-page document the Forgotten Girl. How was I going to explain, in a nutshell, my story of who I was? It was too traumatic and too hard for me, so after all the formalities, which