I got PTSD from one of "The Safest Cities to Raise a Child"

At this time last year, I called my therapist on Zoom. I was supposed to tell her about the reason why my relationship was having problems, and why I was such a psychopath when I was in them.

She suggested walking away from a situation when you get too angry. And that's when I realized that I couldn't take a walk.

You see, I literally had a boot on my foot for a good amount of time that really killed my confidence. But after that, I should have been able to do what I wanted.

Still, I clung to drive-thrus and only allowed myself to go to Target 10 minutes before closing to avoid people. There was a lot that I was avoiding in life, but mostly, I couldn't bear to be seen in public.

I had such high anxiety that my chest would tighten, my breath would shorten, and I would begin to sweat profusely. All because I was being judged by every single person in Target. Or so I thought.

A trademark of PTSD is avoidance. Victims of post-traumatic stress disorder will avoid any situations related to their incident, and they'll start to avoid family, the public, or, in my case, even songs on the radio that remind them of that painful time.

That's what my therapist diagnosed me with on our first or second call.

I recall the singular time I took a walk in 2018, and it was outside of my apartment. I finally began to appreciate nature again, when, this car started to slowly follow me, turn around, and continue following me.

What does a girl do when she is by herself, and someone is preying upon her? Can a girl not walk anymore?

How are we supposed to stay in shape if we can't afford a gym membership?

I whipped out my phone and started taking pictures of this car and his license plate. That was enough to deter him. But can you imagine if it wasn't?

This incident took place in Wisconsin, but it was just adding insult to injury at this point.

It was like living a repeat from the year before, when the real incident happened. I was walking outside in Santa Clarita, California, dubbed "The Safest Place to Raise a Child" in the middle of the day. I was playing Pokémon Go on my phone. (I really love the game, but I have to admit that I wasn't at my full attention.)

I was wearing this, because, in today's society, we'll go ahead and blame me first for revealing my skin. Yes, playing Pokémon Go while walking by myself was stupid and against the game's warning. But so many girls in Southern California wore crop tops with shorts. And I doubt anything bad ever happened to them.

I was a block away from my apartment complex when I was passing by some small businesses. It was 1:30 p.m., the sun was shining bright, and it was a burning 95-degree day. That's when a guy hopped out of his car at what seemed like the speed of light and offered me a jug of water.

"It's hot outside. Do you want some water?" he asked.

"No," I said. What the hell?

"But it's hot outside," he insisted.

He began to walk really close along side me. His face was practically in my ear.

"What's your name?" he asked. "I bet you live around here, don't you?"

I tried to walk faster, but he just followed along with me.

I knew this woman pushing a stroller could hear the creeper, but instead of helping me out, she pushed her stroller at, again, what seemed like the speed of light in the other direction and got the fuck out of there.

I kept telling him no. I wanted nothing to do with him.

That's when he followed me as I cut across the street.

That's when he decided it was fine to smack my ass.

He laughed.

I was so mad in that moment that I wanted immediate revenge. I didn't know what else he was going to do to me.

And in that moment, I felt so defenseless. My stomach dropped as I realized I couldn't fight him. I didn't have pepper spray. I couldn't do anything, except for get angry, yell, and flip him off.

For some reason, that was enough to deter him.

But again, can you imagine if it wasn't?

I would have been toast.

That was the day that I walked to a sporting goods store and purchased my very first bottle of pepper spray, in one of the nation's safest cities to raise a child.

Even while walking everywhere in Chicago, Illinois, the Murder Capital of the World, I never once had someone's hands laid on me. And I walked everywhere I went if I wasn't on a bus or a train because I didn't have a car.

To sprinkle on a little more reason to have PTSD, the foundation of it was probably built in 2015, when I dated someone I shouldn't have. He was a cheater and I didn't know it at the time. But his baby's momma would stalk me on Facebook, send me threatening text messages, and tell me she's outside my apartment complex.

And she didn't want to make friends.

She would eventually follow us on dates, too.

The worst part of all of this is that I didn't have the support group that I would normally turn to during all of this—my roommate hated me and probably wished something did happen to me. My family was across the country. I called them about it, but it just wasn't the same as staying in a safe place.

That's when I decided to make my move back across the country, but obviously, I couldn't escape it there, either.

So, I stopped walking outside completely.

I gained weight exponentially.

My therapist challenged me to walk down to the end of the block each day for a week. That was really difficult for me. Isn't that crazy? I used to walk as much as a car drove in Chicago, and now, I couldn't make it down to the end of the block.

I got the same anxiety response when I walked as I did when I went shopping in Target. I felt that everyone in their houses were pinned to their windows, staring at me. When in reality, they were all probably at work.

So, the incident could have been way worse. Some of you are probably reading this like "Really? That's all that happened to you?" But all of these little incidents build up over time. They create a hide-from-everyone response. And when you give into that response after you relive those memories and constant fear that something will happen to you when you're outside (or even inside) your house, that's when anyone off the street can get PTSD.

Sometimes, it feels like I'm stealing the title of PTSD away from those who have survived much worse or have been in war. But it is what it is. I've been living my life in fear, and it changed my brain chemistry to the point where I was diagnosed with generalized anxiety disorder and depression.

My PSA is that anyone can get PTSD, and it's best to get help before it snowballs.

If this story gave you the feels, please leave a like or consider leaving a tip. Any tips from this article in particular will go toward my medical bills, aka my mental health fund. Have a similar story to share? Let me know on Instagram or TikTok at @lisascreative.