By Haidah Halid
It wasn’t until she was looking through her dorm room closet (located at the same location of the traumatic event) did she realise she’s got it – PTSD. At least that’s what she thinks it is. Afterall, putting a name onto the set of reactions she’s experiencing is helping her make sense of a situation she feels like is never-ending.
She knows at this point she can’t self-diagnose herself. Some days it’s good, she feels on top of the world but some days she’s down bad, and the checkboxes of the symptom checker available on Mr. Google was looking a little too full for her liking.
She didn’t realise it until – she brushed back a few shirts to realise that what was once her favourite shirt is now collecting dust, pushed so far back into the closet it could never see the light of day again.
She didn’t realise it until – that one restaurant she learned to love hasn’t had her back as a visitor since.
She didn’t realise it until – her favourite pair of jeans that she truly, truly loves, which she’d spend months looking for was sitting right there; in her dorm room closet, collecting dust. Yet again.
It was as if a blindfold was placed over her eyes, blinding her every time she opened the closet, hiding the two things that she had attached to the event – her favourite shirt and her favourite jeans – now forever scarred with a memory she wished she never had to go through.
She finally knows now that while she was so busy trying to ‘heal’, she didn’t realise that she never actually grieved, she never truly accepted and she truly hasn’t forgiven.
People ask her at times;
“How come it took you this long to talk about it?”
“How did you not see this coming?”
“You should have listened to us, to me, to your heart.”
“You should have done better, be better, you know better.”
“How can it happen to you? Someone covered? Someone so passive?”
“What did you do?”
“Its okay, at least you left. You’re safe now and you survived.”
Did she though?
Did she survive when her memory of the event dwindles and fades, which makes it harder for her to move on? Did she survive if she is haunted with the thoughts of what could have been, what she should have or could have done? Did she survive when it is HER that has to live with the trauma that comes?
Is she safe though?
Is she safe with having thoughts like these? Is she safe knowing that she can’t look, feel or be with someone the same way again? Is she safe knowing that someone could be the next victim?
And a phrase she will never forget?
“It’s okay, it’s his loss anyway.”
No, it is not okay and she has never, will never win.
But she’s confident she will heal.
If you find yourself or someone close to you struggling with mental health, contact the hotlines below to seek for help and emotional support.
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