katelynn schultz

Here’s a secret I hold dear. When I was a sophomore I was in mock trial (not the secret) one of my roles that year was to portray a witness with PTSD. This was before I researched and started my advocacy on individuals with the disability portraying the disability. It’s something I’ve felt hypocritical about for years now, but I didn’t feel wrong. I thought: well I have super bad anxiety so it’s better I play that character than the others who don’t (super bad anxiety and PTSD are completely different) I got character awards so I knew I portrayed it well. I eventually grew to “oh well my mom just got diagnosed with it so it’s because I grew up with her.”

Today I found out that I do have PTSD, it’s not a surprise, it’s not a shock, it’s not an unknown. I mean, I’ve known since my sophomore year exactly what PTSD is. When we read the case and had it explained to us, it made sense and I connected with it. When my mom first told me I probably had it I of course said “mom, no, it’s just really bad anxiety – the worst – I’m fine,” and then I looked into it. I allowed myself the expression and freedom to feel – to experience – to learn, and I knew.

I looked at the criteria in the DSM-5 and I cried an overwhelming tear of “oh my god, this happened to me. This hurt me *this* bad.” I waited and searched to find a therapist, one who would trust me enough to see that a privaliged white girl could have PTSD when her family couldn’t. A therapist who would give me a chance to find my diagnosis.

Today I asked if it was real, if my assumptions and educated guesses were real, if my experiences were valid.. if I was valid? It was an overwhelming yes, it was a without a doubt yes, it was a “you were right, you experienced traumas, many traumas, you experience the criteria, definitely yes, you have validity.”

And I let out a sign of relief, I grieved the part of my life – my everyday life, that has been and will be effected by this always, and I smiled proud of who I am, wat I’ve gone through, and the way I’ve held together all these years. I’ve lost so many pieces along the way, but I’ve got some new ones to fill in the gaps.

I’ve gone through a lot to get to where I am, I’ve waited a long time to get a diagnosis that actually calms my nerves. I have waited so long to find pride in myself again. This diagnosis is overwhelming of my every memory and experience, but it is a testament to what has happened to me.

My grandpa asked my parents to kill me the day after I was born.

I was forced to leave an entire family at the age of 6, told they all would try to kill me and had.

I watched my dad push my mom around when I was 8.

I watched him get in fist fights and chase my brother with a skid loader the same year.

I always knew he could send someone to the hospital with one punch, watched him do it twice.

I ‘ve been verbally and mentally manipulated, gaslit, and abused my whole life – told that the pain I went though wasn’t real and I didn’t deserve to feel because someone else felt more.

I’ve been sexually harassed and abused by too many men to count.

I’ve been told it’s my fault for the abuse I faced by all of my abusers.

My abusers have been men, women, siblings, family, and even strangers.

Even myself.

I internalized the hate shown to me, told myself I was invalid and unworthy of compassion. I didn’t need compassion.

I’ve been stopping my dad from using life ending manipulation since the 6th grad.

Stopping my brother since high school.

I have faced extreme backlash in school from peers and teachers alike.

It keeps going in circles. I see the repetitive nature of abuse and harm and I know that it keeps coming back. I use my trauma to protect myself from the pain.

I can’t go to grocery stores because of the trauma. I can’t order at fast food restaurants. I can’t eat with family. I can’t be a passenger in a car. I can’t live with spontaneity. I can’t finish my degree.

I can’t, because of the trauma. But I am going to do all of these things because I am in my life now.

I am in control of my life, my choices, my actions, and my reactions are all valid from happiness to anger, my reactions are valid in that they happen and express my truths. I choose my happinesses and I choose where I am traumatized from now on out. I get to protect myself from the abuse now. I get to protect myself from the abuse now. I GET TO PROTECT MYSELF FROM THE ABUSE NOW! If that doesn’t make you happy laugh and cry at the same time, I don’t know what will because I have freedom! I have self expression. I have my emotions and I have my reactions. *I* own them. No one else does anymore. I own me. *me*

I am my abuse and trauma. That is not a bad thing. It is fulfilling. It is validating. It is saying my life experiences were real and I felt them and I get to feel them.

So yes, I will forever be effected by my PTSD, I will never trust myself or other people. I will always try to run back to unhealthy coping mechanisms to try to find my safety again. But, today, I am freeing myself from the chains of my abuse. And honestly, to my abusers, I’m sending a giant fuck you for destroying my self confidence and belief in myself, may you never, ever, do that to another human, not even yourself.

I am “damaged” but my damages make me complete. Today I feel complete.