I was diagnosed with PTSD this year after finally seeing a psychiatrist. People are quick to call me crazy when I tell them I am seeing a psychiatrist but that’s their problem. I needed help and I got it. I feel no shame for that. In fact, I no longer feel shame for the things that were done to me and the way my body handled the trauma.

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From the time I turned five, my body was treated like a doorless room by people who were meant to protect me. By the time I was nine years old, three men had violated me. Two of them were family members. The other one was a family friend. I didn’t understand what had happened but I knew it was wrong. That shame kept me from speaking up about the abuse that was done to me.

I grew up avoiding boys. In high school, it got worse. We were teenagers and quite hormonal. Everyone wanted to be friends with the opposite sex except me. I couldn’t stand to be around them. There was only one guy I allowed to get close to me. That was because he made me feel safe.

We dated for a while but we broke up when he cheated on me. That was when I experienced my first seizure. It was so frightening that I thought I wouldn’t survive it. After that, the search for answers began: hospitals, churches, even traditional healers. No one could help. The seizures would happen multiple times a week, sometimes in school.

I always felt humiliated whenever I regained consciousness and found myself surrounded by spectators.

I am a midwife now. This means the university I attended was a health. I expected to know better when it came to dealing with me and my health issues. Unfortunately, they were worse than everyone else. Witch. Spirit child. Name it. I have heard it all said about me.

The good thing is that I have a supportive family. They stood with me through everything. They encouraged me not to stop praying. They sought unorthodox solutions. I started meditating even. Anything to keep me calm and avoid triggers. By and by, the seizures reduced. It no longer happened frequently, just once in a while.

But here’s where I still struggle and why I am in therapy: When I become intimate with someone, I sometimes have a seizure. It took a while before I realised their touch was my trigger. Memories of everything I buried as a child come rushing back to me.

It took me twenty years to finally open up about those awful experiences. It was my mother I told first. Now my psychiatrist knows too. Healing has been a slow and painful process. I know my trauma affects my relationships. I see the pullback from partners when I get triggered by them. Some end up cheating.

When they leave or cheat on me, I tell myself, “Men only want seggs. That’s why my body was prepared for it since childhood.”

Don’t get me wrong, none of my men have been forceful with me. It is the mere fact that they are men that makes me uncomfortable. Sometimes all it takes is the smell of their sweat. I would get flashbacks and experience a seizure. It takes a lot of emotional work for me to feel safe with someone, and even that is subject to change.

I’ve had moments of deep hopelessness. There were times I harmed myself because emotional pain felt too heavy to carry. The intrusive thoughts would whisper dangerous things, and in those moments, I just wanted a permanent escape from everything. But I’m still here.

Now I’m seeing someone new. I told him about my past but not the details. He also knows about my seizures and what he should do to help me. He stays calm when it happens, just like I taught him.

Another thing I ask him for is attention. He is trying his best but sometimes he says, “You are too clingy. Your need for attention is too much.”

He doesn’t understand why I am like this and I am not sure I will tell him. So I am watching him as he is slowly distancing himself from me. If I lose him, it won’t be the first time and I doubt it would be the last time. In my experience, men don’t like staying with women who require too much effort to be loved right.

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Does this mean I hate men? Absolutely not. I don’t want to get there because I know where hate can lead and I want none of that toxicity and bitterness. I want love. I want a family I can protect better than I was protected.

Therapy is helping me get to that place of effortless and abundant love. I am currently on medication that calms my mind and reduces seizures. Although it also slows me down, I won’t stop taking it. I have accepted it as the price I am paying for my peace. The men who did this to me are probably at peace, and so why shouldn’t I be? They probably won’t remember the incident let alone be judged by their conscience for setting a young girl down the path of trauma.

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I have decided that what was done to me will no longer define me. Healing is slow, but I’m fighting. With God as my strength, I will win this. And when I become a mother someday, I’ll protect my children fiercely. Anyone who dares touch my child would understand how easily a mother transforms into a monster.

I am sharing my story to connect with anyone who has been in my shoes and is struggling to cope. I want you to understand that there is so much life to be lived. If you are having a hard time, seek professional help. Getting therapy does not make you weak. Even if they call you crazy, you are taking a brave step toward healing.

—Elsie

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