I lived with PTSD for 40 years, after molestation by a Catholic priest at age five. Read my story as I write it here through 2015.

This is a True Story

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Tuesday, January 14, 2014

Posted just now on Facebook
It would be so much easier to just go crazy. Sing to my internal music, dance down the sidewalks, just go nuts. I could get away with it, “Oh don't mind her, she's a pedophile priest survivor,” they’d say as I twirl down a highway.
Instead I hold on to sanity, almost with a stranglehold. So instead the nuttiness comes out in weird ways, like mumbled words in the middle of a conversation on something totally different, inappropriate outbursts, laughing in the wrong places.
The result is me getting lots of weird looks. But I don't have the freedom to just go crazy.
I wish I could.

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