Summary

The web content is a personal narrative detailing the author's experience with PTSD, particularly how it affects their cognitive and emotional state during an episode.

Abstract

The author shares a profound and intimate account of living with PTSD, describing how it can suddenly disrupt their thought process and daily activities. Through a series of fragmented sentences and descriptions, the author paints a vivid picture of the dissociative symptoms they experience, such as feeling disconnected from their body, having difficulty with speech, and performing actions on autopilot. The narrative emphasizes the complexity and misunderstood nature of PTSD, while also providing insight into the author's coping mechanisms and the detached, almost robotic state they enter to discuss traumatic events. The author hopes that their candid observations will foster understanding for others with PTSD and suggests the book "The Body Keeps the Score" by Bessel Van Der Kolk, M.D. as a helpful resource.

Opinions

The author views their PTSD-induced dissociation as a morbidly fascinating experience, given their background in psychology.
They express that PTSD is often misunderstood, implying a need for greater awareness and empathy.
The author describes their dissociative episodes as entering an attic-like space in their mind, suggesting a metaphorical separation of consciousness.
They note that PTSD symptoms can manifest in various ways, highlighting the individuality of the disorder's impact.
The author believes that discussing their condition in a detached, analytical manner (likening it to a machine or computer) is a coping strategy that helps them manage their trauma.
They recommend "The Body Keeps the Score" as a valuable resource for understanding PTSD, indicating its relevance and insightfulness.

This is My Brain on PTSD

A stream-of-consciousness observation.

I was writing a story recently about an abusive relationship I’d left over a decade ago when my mind suddenly took a sharp turn and went off road as PTSD took the wheel.

This had not yet happened in the middle of writing anything outside my own personal journal. Because I was caught in a realm that allowed me to possess an odd sort of numb awareness — much like Doctor Strange’s astral self — I apparently decided to go with it and write down my observations in real time as a Medium piece.

For some reason, when my mind fragmented back in 2007, I became numb and had trouble speaking and moving. Rather than the better known “fight or flight” responses, I froze like a deer. My emotions were so overloaded that they went offline, and other parts of my brain followed suit.

Because I graduated with a degree in psychology, the whole thing is morbidly fascinating to me, but I feel like this disorder is oft misunderstood.

Below is a set of fragmented sentences and paragraphs — a free verse poem of sorts — that offer a peek into the attic of my mind as it was actively going through an episode of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

I don’t remember my fingers being on the keys when I started typing these words:

My Brain on PTSD

trouble with words even though I’m a very good speller

seeing yourself from above or as if you’re a character in a movie

staring ahead as if in a trance

typing automatically

dead eyed

trouble talking, with speech

in a trance, like a zombie

everything is mechanical

I can picture myself in the 3rd person, like I am a machine, a robot

If I try to talk, my sentences are fragmented, words coming to mind into speech are very difficult. Speech is halted and monotone. No inflections.

I see outside myself

dissociation

time is lost

I’m doing things. I got coffee, emptied the dishwasher, went to get something, but it was all on autopilot. It’s like I am remote controlled, controlled by something outside myself. My eyes seem wide, unseeing. I can do things without looking directly at anything, except this screen, and sometimes I don’t need to do even that. I can unfocus my eyes into the unseen distance while I type this.

movements are mechanical, deliberate, yet somehow effortless

no emotion. looking at nothing.

I walk past my husband and know he’s there but I can’t speak, can only look ahead

Other times I can speak but it’s as if I’m on something. One time my stepson thought I was high, on something, but I wasn’t. It was the PTSD

This is how I can talk about terrible things that have happened to me. Emotion leaves while my brain pulls the file from my brain attic and everything becomes ones and zeros as I talk like a computer.

When I move it’s automated movements. I cock my head a lot. Deliberate moving, almost rhythmic.

I am aware and unaware at the same time.

The only sign I really notice is my shallow breathing and clenched jaw.

Heart is racing but I’m hardly breathing.

I hope that the above observations, which I “remember” only because I wrote them while dissociated, can help someone understand themselves or understand someone they love who has PTSD. Note that this disorder is manifested in different ways, depending on the person who has it.

A good book that my therapist recommended to me is The Body Keeps the Score by Bessel Van Der Kolk, M.D. (This is not an affiliate link.)