Me? Sick?

Today I had a PTSD disabled friend over, and we were discussing doctors and treatments. I told her I don’t mind a certain doctor diagnosing me in one session, whereas she rankled at it.

She said, “Of course you don’t mind if he says you don’t meet criteria, you have too much to do. If you didn’t have all this going on all the time (she points to the kitchen disarray from lasagna prep, each child, and the playroom that is supposed to be a living room) your illness might catch up with you.”

Implying that, because I manage to barely keep up with single motherhood, that I am not truly sick with PTSD as of yet, because I am distracted. Maybe she is right. But she has it, too. Wasn’t she busy with life, before it caught up with her?

I have no idea how I feel about that comment. Glad, or offended, or both. But I get it. It just doesn’t show like another diagnosis would, that of a physical ailment. I also never let on that I am sometimes drowning more than swimming, for fear that the sympathy, or conversely, the lack of it, will push me under.

Then I stumbled across this post from Finally Speaking My Truth:”>

I am not alone.


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