Neurologically Me

Purpose of The Post:
The purpose of this post is to simply tell a story. One that most likely exists because two people were able to relate to each other’s PTSD. First “The Science of Ptsd,” then “My Ramblings.”

The Science of Ptsd:
A 2006 research article presented by J. Douglas Bremner discusses how antidepressants may help reverse brain damage in some if caused by Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (ptsd). The article, “Traumatic stress: effects on the brain,” states:

“Figure 1. Lasting effects of trauma on the brain, showing long-term dysregulation of norepinephrine and Cortisol systems, and vulnerable areas of hippocampus, amygdala, and medial prefrontal cortex that are affected by trauma. GC, glucocorticoid; CRF, corticotropin-releasing factor; ACTH, adrenocorticotropin hormone; NE, norepinephrine; HR, heart rate; BP, blood pressure; DA, dopamine; BZ, benzodiazapine; GC, glucocorticoid.”

My Ramblings:
“This is your war zone,” he told me. I had just got done explaining to him that I didn’t understand why I got such intense anxiety from trying to take a cute little walk around my not inherently dangerous block. “I know why you get anxiety just by leaving your house. You’re not safe anywhere.”
Him and I had only known each other and been dating a short while, but he was the first man to really see and understand how I experience the world without muddling the truth with feelings of jealousy.
“Come on! You know you want to go to Vegas with me!” He said so happily just a few months earlier.
“There is no part of me that feels like checking that many men, but if you really want me to come, I’ll come for you,” I replied.
“What do you mean?” he said, confused.
“I don’t know how to explain that, but I’ll absolutely come if that’s what you really want” I said on video chat with a smile, and the happiness that came over his face would make the hassle absolutely worth it.
I was confused that he really didn’t understand what I meant though. He’s a Marine who had been deployed to war 6 times before becoming a survivor of an explosion. The man knew the many ways of our world, but sure enough, he would be shocked when he witnessed another man grab my ass shortly after my arrival, and he saw me have to check that man, and from that moment on, he noticed my hypervigilant behaviors I exhibited. Behaviors I was often able to do with a smile as I moved through the world. One of his friends, a fellow Marine, took a respectful liking to me. That Marine analyzed me more quickly than I like to be, but with a respect I am grateful for to this day. Later, my Marine would tell me, “He didn’t just like you. He was hunting you from the moment he saw you. You’re so beautiful. Do you really have to check men like you did everywhere you go?”
I laughed. It was my norm, even in grocery stores. I never realized that my experience was uncommon, until my Marine and I were on a date.
My Marine could hold my hand so sweetly it would make me melt. We had one of those connections where the world would melt away when we were together. That kind of energy portrayed in romance movies. We came from different darknesses, yet when we were together, we were purely light. Our second or third date, I saw the severity of his ptsd flicker in his eyes for the first time. There was no presence of fear in him, but I looked in awe and saw the flashes of war images flash through his eyes. Another man had approached us while we were clearly on the date. That man was hoping to get my number, and a chance with me. I shook my head no, and gently grabbed my Marine’s arm. “Are you a witch?” that other man asked me with a smirk. He had money written on his smug demeanor. “Come on. Let’s go.” And I pulled my Marine’s arm, but he was somewhere else. I got his eyes’ attention for just a second, and gently smiled, “I want you,” and we walked out. “Please don’t get in a fight over me. Just let me handle it in my own way,” I told him. “This regularly happens to you? You know that isn’t normal, right? Men don’t just go up to other men’s dates.”
“I didn’t do anything,” I said.
“What?” he fully came back from wherever his mind had taken him. “I know you didn’t” he gently said as he grabbed my hand. Hints of my past tend to sprinkle through from time to time.
And when he spoke, he wasn’t blaming me, nor directing anger at me like the men before him would do.
“Well I wasn’t joking when I told you I get tired of checking men. God you’re sexy.” And he is.
As for me, I’m not ugly, but I’m certainly not abnormally beautiful. The way my Marine would look at me though. He made me feel like I was magic, especially after he began to analyze my heavily masked ptsd-anxiety-ridden behaviors, but in a sort of awe, rather than a nuisance, or over reaction. My simple everyday existence gave my War-Veteran Marine a new experience to witness. “Everyone falls in love with you,” he said in response to us going out in public for a little while. I just want to have my space and talk about brains. I don’t know if I’ll ever be as understood by someone again as my Marine understood me. “This is your war zone” he tried explaining to me. His war zones were definitely more something than what he was trying to imply about my life, but he confirmed something that I thought I was just trippin’ about: I have been hunted throughout my life, and I did need to be as on guard as I was. “You don’t do anything to warrant their behavior. They just come for you.” “Can you not tell me that please? I have a hard enough time going into the out.”
My Marine broke my heart in the best way by being the first person to really see me. “This is your war zone” he said to me after watching me time and time again be my cute, disabled, nerdy, self, all while strategizing to not get taken. Win a battle. Then giggle and act a fool with your comrades. Outwit those that seek to conquer you. Try to show yourself some grace for the times you got got in whatever is considered your war zone.