Today — Patriots Day, 9-11 — is hard on my PTSD.
I woke up this morning feeling extremely anxious and like I just wanted to crawl back under the covers. I forced myself to get up and get going anyway, telling myself to stop being such a big wimpy baby. 9-11 happened 17 years ago, and I did not personally know anyone who was killed that day. I wasn’t in New York City at the time, or in Washington, DC. I was in eastern Pennsylvania — miles away from Shanksville, where the last plane went down. So I really don’t have any valid reasons to feel anxious, triggered, and re-traumatized, simply because the calendar says it is September 11.
And yet, anxious, triggered, and traumatized is how I have felt, all day. And I still feel that way, although it is now very late in the evening.
I belong to…
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