Not That Bad

I feel guilty. Especially when I was told that I had ptsd. Me? I haven't had a great life, but certainly it wasn't bad enough to develop ptsd. Yes, I have experienced many traumas, and yes, I am one of the many adults who have to recover from their childhood rather than being able to look back upon it fondly. But others have had it worse. I feel embarrassed to be diagnosed with ptsd because compared to many others it was really not that bad for me.

There is one very special person who was in my life who I think of whenever I feel like my traumas have been too much to bear. I don't feel it's appropriate to use children's real names in my writing, so I'll affectionately call her Bluejeans. She was of the Muslim faith and wore a hihab, but where as the other Muslim girls wore long skirts or dresses she wore blue jeans every single day because, and I quote "mother hates it and I think that's funny". Teachers are not supposed to pick favorites, but she definately was mine, and it would take an awful lot for any other child to ever surpass her as my all time favorite student.

Resilience? This ten year old girl is the poster child for resiliance. She came to my school as a refugee from Bahgdad. She grew up in a world where war and fear and death were the everyday norm. Before coming to this country her home was bombed. She lost most of her family and friends that night. This brave, strong little girl had found her baby cousin in the rubble and held him in her arms while he died. She proudly stated that she was happy for that, because she was his favorite person so her finding him meant he died with love instead of alone like some of her friends and family had. Just think about that for a while.  This child held the bloody body of her baby cousin in a pile of rubble that was once her home while he took his last breaths. Nothing in my life comes even close to that. For me it really was not that bad.

Bluejeans and I really bonded in class. She was the hardest working student I have ever met and it was impossible not to fall in love with her. She came to this country knowing no English and ended her year reading fluently in English at a second grade level. I dare any adult who complains about refugees or immigrants to try and learn a completely new language that well in only one school year. This kid was motivated. She wanted to be a pediatric surgeon one day, and her math and science skills were phenomenal. I have no doubt if she is allowed to stay in this country she will become anything she sets her mind to.

But she struggled with anxiety, fear, and no doubt ptsd. Thunder, fire drills, cars backfiring,  and people yelling unexpectedly set her into a panic. One day there were a lot of planes flying overhead in preparation for an air show that weekend. Poor Bluejeans spent time under a desk with tears in her eyes.

How can I accept a ptsd diagnosis when compared to what others live through my traumas were nothing? Physically and financially deadbeat father, mentally ill and emotionally abusive mother, pedophile neighbor and uncle, poverty and some homelessness. Yes, my childhood was traumatic. I also made many mistakes that led to traumas and abuse in my adult life and I stayed I stayed in one abusive relationship for far too long. But it was not that bad.

I often wonder why I can't just move on without all of these scars still causing so much pain. Why do I have nightmares and panic attacks? How can I have ptsd? Am I really that weak of a person? I didn't hold my dying baby cousin while standing in the rubble that once was my home. I know that everyone deals with their demons and traumas differently, and you are not supposed to judge how people react to it. But when people say that I'm strong or resilient all I can think about is how pathetic I feel for struggling at all when compared to so many others.

My life was really not that bad.