#Anxiety #identity #truths #ptsd

There is an undeniable uncomfortableness beneath my skin. 

An unsettling, unnerving, trembling mass of fear. 

I think I pass as fine as I walk around daily, fulfilling my roles as mother, wife and boss. 

I think I pass when I look in the mirror as I apply my foundation and dust a layer of protection across my face. 

I prepare myself to be shielded from everything, to behave like I am untouched by the burdens of the broken shards within me. 

Passing. 

What is passing? 

Passing is a form of blending in, a way to conceal and convince others that there is nothing out of the ordinary going on. 

Passing is a cross of time, a line that is danced across with swiftly moving glides, so fast that feet barely touch the ground. 

Passing is a crossing of paths, between two things or people, that surely do not want to connect. 

Passing is a death. A coming to an end. A closure of a sequence of time, event, or being. 

Passing is survival. It is primal and it is not fight or flight. It is neutrality. ​

Since the truths have come out, it has been hard to keep track of my thoughts in order. Memories flood in and out, like spirits soaring through the warped holes of old, decaying walls. 

I have a hard time being mindful or aware of the time, experience days of extreme fatigue and short term memory troubles. 

Heavy emotions being felt around me and light conflicts send me into deep sadness or overwhelm. 

Panic attacks are swallowed and contained beneath my ribs, as to not release signs of anguish or disappointments. 

And I realize that my eyes blink in a way that hints there is a glitch in the program. 

But I remind myself it is all ok. And all these feelings, they are just 

Passing. ​

​Living with PTSD is like walking around with heightened senses, goosebumps beneath your skin, and absolutely chilling fears with no recollection of how you got them. 

Because everything looks fine. 

Everything looks familiar. 

My own reflection in the mirror looks like me staring back into the corneas of my hazel eyes, but there is a flicker in her lash that makes me question if we are identical

or if this is all an altered timeline, just passing as 

Reality.

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J.S. is a writer, artist, advocate and designer. She is married, with 3 children and resides in Hudson Valley, NY.