When they hear I'm from the Falklands, they have one question to ask "were you there during the war" followed by "what was it like?" Like I'm going to tell you what it was like... They were the darkest horriblest days of my entire life, and worse than most people will ever, ever experience. War memories are sore memories. Please don't ask, if I think I can trust you, I might tell you something. I've spent most of my life building a wall between me and the Falklands war. I thought I would be safe there. Away from the stories and reminders. Trouble is, I take my head with me wherever I go, and it is full of stories. PTSD springs them to life without permission. I thought I could never really escape from those 74 dark dark days. That was until I met the amazing Laura. She is a certified PTSD therapist/councillor who is helping me to unknit the mess in my head. We're taking it very, very slowly. One traumatic story at a time. Unpacking it. Rationalising it where needed. Repacking it and with some therapist "magic" and putting it in a safer part of my brain. Alongside stories, she is helping me with anxieties, triggers, understanding and dealing with the whole festering package that is tidily termed PTSD. So far we have worked through a couple of big stories, and the results are better that I could ever have imagined. Could it be that therapy with the right therapist actually works?
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