By Lenora Thompson, PsychCentral, January 2, 2020
There are certain days that are ingrained in your memory. This was one of those days. A day in which I had two flashes of realization.
Vividly I recall sitting on my bedroom floor, holding my face in my hands. Listening, waiting, almost longing for the relief when the inevitable bellow of rage exploded from my parents’ bedroom. On the one hand, it would be horrible. On the other hand, the excruciating expectation of the inevitable horribleness was worse than actually hearing the tantrum, the furniture pounding, the swearing, shouting and door slamming.
I was sixteen years old. That was the day I realized two important things: 1) I have PTSD and 2) I’m addicted to drama, drama, drama.
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