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Over the weekend, someone asked me if I was happier now than I was eight years ago when my PTSD took over my life. I was surprised when my answer without thought was, “no, I’m not happier.” The answer stopped me in my tracks. I have worked my ass off to find some semblance of health these past years. I have gone from having a repressed, all dark past, to a congruent timeline with all puzzle pieces filled in. I know the who, why, when, how-the-heck these things could happen, all of it. I know the big picture and the minutiae. But I had mistakenly thought that my PTSD would be gone, (like my cancer was gone after treatment) cured, and I would be skipping back to work with no lingering symptoms. No one put that in my head but me. My symptoms are still active, and that’s the way it…
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