CPTSD & Me: The Struggles No One Talks About

What is C-PTSD?

Complex PTSD (C-PTSD) isn’t like PTSD, though they have almost similar symptoms. It doesn’t come from a single traumatic event. It’s born through repeated abuse, neglect, trauma both mentally and emotionally. It’s the kind of pain that never fades; it shapes you and your perspective of this world. This pain grows with you.

I spent years not knowing I had this. I knew something was wrong with me, I just didn’t know what till I researched it.

Growing Up in a Home That Brought Fear Over Comfort.

I was raised in a household where love was given freely—to everyone except me. My siblings were adored, spoiled, and showered with affection. Meanwhile, I was left to endure abuse from my older step-siblings. My father never listened to my side of the story; if my younger brother lied about me, he wouldn’t spare a moment to hear my side of the story and would immediately punish me. My mother, who once tried to protect me, eventually grew tired of it.

If my siblings got hurt, my father panicked. If I got hurt, he told me to "grow up" or that it was "nothing." It was never nothing. It left scars that no one could see.

I started doubting myself. I hated how I looked, how I sounded, how emotional and sensitive I was. My family joked about my weight as if I wasn’t already disgusted with myself. I played with my toys in secret, afraid they’d shame me for that too. Instead, they shamed me for being childish because apparently, my age didn’t matter. My height did. I didn’t seem like a kid with my height, and it disgusted them to see me childish. At 11, I threw my toys away and told myself I had to grow up.

Then came the breaking point. Someone saw through me—saw how desperate I was for affection—and took advantage of it. I was manipulated into things I knew were wrong, but I didn’t stop. I was just happy that someone paid attention to me. It’s a truth that still makes me feel ashamed, even though I know now it wasn’t my fault. When my father found out, he didn’t ask me what happened. He just ignored it. My parents moved on like nothing had happened. I wanted to forget too, but how could I when my family refused to speak to me? They refused to look at me for days. That man became difficult to forget.

Sometimes, I feel that the reason my father loves me less is because my birth ruined the bond he had with his first child, my Eldest step-sister.

When I Realised I Had C-PTSD

It was after a year when I started to take notice of my differences. I was becoming distant, I was becoming scared of men and any judgmental eyes. It wasn’t until in 2023 when I properly did some research about this. I wanted to know why I was like this. What was the reason? And then I found it. C-PTSD.

But C-PTSD doesn’t come alone. It has its own allies, originally meant to defend, ended up becoming an inconvenience. It created an Anxiety-disorder. I later learned that I inherited Bipolar and BPD from my mother, so it’s no wonder my life was such a challenge.

If that wasn’t enough, I soon discovered my mental health wasn’t the only thing that made me different. It was also my sight and heightened senses. My younger brother and I inherited snow vision syndrome and astigmatism from our mother. Snow vision gives you additional anxiety. And from my dad’s side, I received heightened senses. My vision is a bit weaker but my sense of smell, touch, taste and hearing is a bit stronger than the average human. I grew up believing I wasn’t normal—and as it turns out, I really am not normal. But honestly? I don’t mind that I’m not normal anymore. Any other person might have given up by now. But I didn’t. I grew up with hope. I gave myself hope.

After everything I’ve survived, I know for sure I can make it. I’ve lasted this long, there’s no way im giving up now or any time soon.

The Silent Battle No One Sees

C-PTSD isn’t just about getting nightmares of some event or seeing flashbacks. It changes how you view yourself. You begin to hate yourself, telling yourself things like: “you deserve this.” “you deserve every suffering and pain.” You lose sight of who you were. You stop recognizing yourself. It’s a scary and lonely feeling. At least for me it was.

I tried to numb my pain by bottling it up and laughing instead. But that backfired. Now, whenever I feel any sort of negative emotions, my throat tightens, like I’m choking on words I’ll never say. Even when I talk about my past with people I trust, I find myself laughing and smiling—because I don’t know how else to react. Smiling and laughing through it all became my coping mechanism.

Depression had its grip on me for years before I even realized what it was. I gave up things I loved, art, because I just didn’t see the point in it anymore. But I’m slowly taking it back. I’m choosing to surround myself with people who make me smile. With things that bring me joy.

A Message For Others Who Are Struggling

If you’re reading this and you’re fighting similar or worse battles, I want you to know: “Don’t ever give up.” It’s not over yet. You can still do this. Time is never on our side, but while we live, we should take advantage of it. Do whatever we can to escape this hell and live the life we’ve always dreamed of.

I want to win this battle against life—not just for myself, but so I can prove that survival is possible. So that maybe, just maybe, someone else will find hope in my story. And they will bring hope to others.