Black Women Who Survive PTSD

As a little girl I grew up moving around a lot. I was the daughter of a single mother. Nothing was ever easy. Frankly, the day by day life was hard. Sometimes McDonald’s was the only thing for dinner. I remember thinking I would never get out of this situation. I would never experience life as a happy child. I cried myself to sleep most nights because I felt alone and afraid to speak my mind. After the few times I moved around it felt like I would never have a home. I wanted to grow up with friends and family. I craved for stability.

I kept telling myself my life would never be normal. I was black and girl this was the curse of being just that. I could not share any feelings because then it would be disrespectful to my mother so I kept it all in. It caused me to become angry because I needed emotional support and I could never get it in my home. I started to write. It was the only safe place for me to relay my feelings. It was the hug I desperately needed.

I was always stressed out because I did not know where my next meal was coming from or if a relative would help out that day. It was always strategy that played in my mind. How could I survive today? Did I have enough money to eat lunch? Could I afford my prom dress? I felt like my mind was in a race and I could never catch up with my thoughts. I blamed my father for not caring enough about my well-being. It did not matter though. I was a black girl and this was supposed to be my life. No one cared if my mother could not show up after school to pick me up for tutoring. No one cared that my father was not there to protect me when boys constantly banged on my apartment door.

I felt like society’s trash. I was never going to amount to anything because my chance at life had already been taken from me. Everyday felt like a war zone. My life felt empty. I did not have friends who truly cared about me and I felt I was doing this life alone. I needed therapy but that was never allowed in the black household so I got love from where I could. I would always make sure I was available for my friends and family even though the sight of my face caused discomfort. They hated me more than I hated myself at the time. I told myself to be on my best behavior so they would not have to worry about me. See, I could be the easy child. It was never enough and I stressed about never being enough.

Finally, I was a grown woman. I could go to college, get my own place, and have friends. The world was my oyster. Until my co-dependency set in and I was the annoying friend. I held onto people who had families and friends because I did not want them to leave. I hated being left behind and forgotten. Through all the trauma and stress I decided it was time to lean on myself. It was the most unbearable experience of my life. I isolated myself and let go of people who no longer care about my well-being. I was alone again. I could not sleep for days. I would have horrible nightmares. I was always on guard. I thought this was how I would die.

Eventually after feeling all of the pain I decided I could not take it anymore. I wanted to kill myself. I would have visions of myself at my funeral and it brought me peace. I envisioned sleep and my mind at rest. I kept telling myself no one was going to miss me. The girl with all the pain. I was better off dead. I planned for my funeral. I started to put my favorite things aside. I even created a graphic that said “Rest In Peace” and sent it to my boyfriend. I wanted to die.

Then one fateful day something amazing happened to me. I started to believe in God again. I was no longer sad as much. God gave me a reason for living. After the failed suicide attempts I thought maybe I was supposed to be here. Even though I was going through all of this pain others around me kept laughing at me, abusing me, and competing with me. I was a mess and I did not have anyone who loved me enough to get through this hell. My husband came along and saw something good in me. He kept being nice to me. I did not understand why? I was not worth anything. My own parents did not want me. How in the hell did he? But he kept talking to me like a person. He showed me love I have never felt before. It was deep and unconditional. It was like a home for me.

After years of suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder I thought I would never have a normal life. I was constantly worried about my peace. Still some days I feel like I have to be on the move and I cannot relax. I haven’t gotten used to having a home. I never had stability and it is scary. In the beginning of my relationship I would always wonder how long this would last. This could not be real life. I actually have a home and a place I could feel. Everyday I am grateful to God for getting me to this place. Home was not four walls around me or an actual building. It was always inside of me.