Content warning: Abuse, PTSD & Physiological effects of PTSD
A friend asked me recently to outline potential triggers for me. She was thinking of visual, auditory, or tactile stimuli. Anything that might cause a flashback or panic response.
Even after responding I know my words were lacking and took too long. The thoughts still only exist in a incomprehensible format, squashed into the back of my brain in the hopes that they'd rot.
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I was reading We Know The Devil recently. After Heaven Will Be Mine, I knew I'd be in for a good time; a short and sweet VN that would leave a lot resting on the mind. Of course, it did.
Each of the three main characters runs the risk of being isolated as the story takes hold. Each time you choose two of the three to interact, the third gets left behind. Saving a scenario where you tactically keep all three in equal contact, one of them is left exposed to their fears made manifest.
Second playthrough, I see Jupiter covered in blood, seeped into her hair and body. One of her myriad hands is gently cupping her chin. Another grips her from behind. Another holds a separate hand, reaching from impossible angles. It's only given a sparse few lines of text. I read through it all without a second thought.
Lying in bed afterwards, the imagery doesn't let go. I grab my Steam Deck and speed through through the entire thing again. This time I stare at it until my eyes hurt. Then stare at it until my face hurts, then my limbs, then my thoughts, then my thoughts, then my thoughts.
Jupiter's history is never quite said out loud. There might be an association, a hint that something has made her what she is, but you will never receive confirmation or closure. She tries, and fails, to create a combination of words that make sense.
There are no perfect descriptors, no perfect metaphors, but this one worked for me. WKTD achieved in 30 seconds what I failed to do for years. I didn't sleep for days after that.
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In the medical world, there is this fundamental disconnect between practitioner and patient. The latter is always fighting to reach through to the former, to convince them that their experiences are real and worthy of more than brief, cursory attention. I've never once bridged this gap in a way that matters.
My mother and I used to look into the root cause of my seizures. The trail went cold after MRIs turned up ok - the desire to investigate them further disappeared once they couldn't tie back to symptoms identifiable in a book. When asked whether they could be brought on by other stresses, the neurologist folder her arms and stared at me in silence until I left.
It's so brushed aside that a consistent term still doesn't exist. The most modern version - functional seizures - drifts in between a mental and neurological space. To the extent that most medical professionals simply refer you back to the other category rather than think about it too hard.
Functional seizures can trigger based on a variety of stressors that I don't fully understand. Though I can identify the cascade of effects: from when the senses become overloaded, to when the body gives up, to when I'm on 5% of brainpower, fighting to ignore the tsunami of sensory signals from every direction, and just faintly aware that my tongue is stuck in my throat.
Tellingly, they most frequently happen when I'm on my own.
From a sensory perspective, the only thing that makes sense is that it doesn't make sense. All you can see is black but not quite black, yet the brightest thing you've ever seen. All you can hear is an advertisement for tinnitus. You'll taste something metallic and inorganic. You can feel the nerves in your limbs but not what they touch.
They were much easier to suppress when I didn't think about things very hard. Unfortunately I now care about my life, and my hormonal balance lets me actually feel emotion. Which has once again exposed this stupid bastard of a thing.
Things are better though. I can identify the slide towards a seizure, the 2-second warning before I hit the floor, and post-collapse recuperation. Two out of these three primarily involve Lucozade Sport, but if it works it works.
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The wonders of modern medicine have left me to work on this myself. What seems like the biggest disconnect is a lack of easily-treatable symptoms. Sure you passed out from thinking about sharp things too much, but have you repeated it several times in a controlled environment? No? What a shame.
If the knife doesn't leave a visible mark, they don't seem to be too fussed about it. So I get to bother you lot about it instead :3
I am back to staring at a list of potential triggers. It's embarrassingly short. But writing one makes the next one easier. Some day they may come naturally.