This is what a post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) episode feels like: Everything around you is

going to hurt you. You are not safe inside of your own body; it feels like, quite literally, your skin is going to
crawl off. You are shaking. You feel like you are dying, even though you know you are not. You are in
physical pain. All you can think about is what has happened, how badly it hurts, how little power you have
over all of it. It feels like you will be stuck in these feelings forever. Literally anything can set these emotions
off you have no way to predict or avoid situations that will trigger it, because in the mind of someone with
PTSD, every little thing feels connected to the event. You feel like it is happening again, and again, and again.
Things are supposed to get easier, but instead every day they get harder. All the while, you are silent. You live
your life cycling between acute pain and cold detachment, running from one appointment to the next in a haze.
There is no room for this illness in your schedule, and yet still it returns to you every morning, and you carry it
with you like an injured bird. Trying to keep her from harm, you stay silent.
Everyone with PTSD experiences it differently, but this is how it has been for me. Even though it
would be easier to stay quiet, one secret that Ive figured out over the years is that disorder thrives in silence.
Every time I tell this story, my episodes get a little shorter, they are a little less frequent, and they become a
little easier to deal with. Every time I talk about this, the men who raped me on March 9th, 2013, lose a little bit
of their power.
Silence does a whole lot of nothing to help people who struggle. Silence is the weight I bear every
time I have an episode in class. I can tell you, silence is a heavier weight for me, even than the rape itself. The
absence of constant and constructive dialogue about this issue is what re-victimizes me every day. It is the
reason so few victims are given the resources they need to recover from tragedy, the reason rape is stigmatized
in our culture and other cultures around the world. Silence breeds violence.
What happened to me was terrible, and recovering from it has been really, really hard, but I want to
stress that my story is about so much more than my rape. It might sound cheesy, but I honestly believe that this
struggle has taught me invaluable lessons. It has taught me to stand my ground, to speak up. It has given me a
drive to bring speech to the speechless, to confront injustice with bared teeth. It has given me a sense of
responsibilityif I dont, who will? Speaking out has healed me, and I hope that if my words reach someone
else who is struggling, they can heal them too. If just one person heard this story and it made them feel less
alone, it would be worth all of the vulnerability I feel putting it on paper. Every time I say these words out
loud, something changes. I become less hateful, less guilty, less shamed. I feel less contaminated, I feel more
in control. My rapists tried to control my body, and from time to time, PTSD still controls my mind, but I am
the only one who will ever control my voice. As small as that may seem, it is liberating.
Disorder thrives in silencebut wellness is revived through speech. In the words of the late great
Maya Angelou, There is no agony like bearing an untold story inside of you. This I believe.