Collecting Trauma Cards: A Survivor’s Story of Family, Silence, and Strength

At times I think about how I would sit in the passenger side of the car, talking to my dad about how I want to change the world. That I want to be the good in the bad, and earn enough money so that I can help others. As a kid I would dream about moving back home- constantly having to fit in tight corners of expectations that would never hold space in my heart. A youth of wanting to see the world, and getting pushed down from it, only to come home to my biggest haters. Love comes in all forms and I am sure that somewhere in all the madness there was a bit of love, but what fed into my trauma was not that you were the main people who caused it, but rather you blaming and ignoring me when I did go through the trauma.

I started seeing a therapist. It took us about three sessions until I could finally tell her everything I had gone through from the age of 12 to now. I know she probably heard worse, but as I spoke out about every age I could see her heart breaking alongside mine. It was as if I had collected rare trading cards, each filled with a different trauma attached to the core part of the card. And as this 12 year old began to collect these playing cards, no one could trade her for anything better because at 12 years old do you even know what trauma is?

I used to believe that things have to get better. That eventually- there will always be a light at the end of a dark tunnel, but what they dont tell you is that you can get lost in there too. The tunnels extend in all different directions, teasing you with a glimpse of light, and eventually you just wait until the light becomes dim again because all you know is how to survive in the night.

The thing about ptsd is that you are constantly in fight or flight, and no matter how many people try to pull you out of it, the dreams and flashbacks make you feel as if you are 13 again, or put you right back in the battle fields while your body can no longer endure the heaviness of the gun.

And she asks me, you have been living for about eight years of your life with five different traumas and you didn’t come for help until now. I had nothing to say. I agreed with her but in that moment also realized that I have been dealing with it alone for 6 years and I am still alive.

I am still alive.

-welcome to an unfinished thought.

Perspective.