So The Ginger Writes

     Today is National PTSD Awareness Day. The whole month of June is actually PTSD Awareness Month.      I was diagnosed with PTSD when I was 15. It causes a lot of anxiety, panic attacks, flashbacks,  paranoia, depression and was a large contributing factor to my eating disorder. I'm working on getting it under control. And in the past several months I have made a VAST improvement. But as soon as I saw that today was National PTSD Awareness Day, I knew I wanted to share an experience that I had 2 days ago.      Ask just about anyone that knows me and they can attest to the fact that I absolutely ABHOR medical personnel; doctors, nurses, surgeons of any kind, except maybe a handful that I know personally. Monday I had 4 doctors appointments all back-to-back. I was scheduled to get an EKG, ultrasound, lab work, dexascan, xrays, an MRI, and a general follow-up exam. I got my labs done, my EKG, and my ultrasound done with only minor kinks (the phlebotomist had to stick me 6 times

"You can't outrun your feelings."-Larry (aka the coolest therapist ever. The Larrapist) I have a little bit of a problem with running. When my life feels a little out of control, I run. I either pack up my belongings and move away on a whim, or I put on my tennis shoes and I actually run. But I run. When it boils down to "Fight or Flight", I am most definitely flight. I started with moving around a lot. The first time I ran, I wanted to get away from everything I knew at home. I thought maybe if I left, it would be like all the trauma, mistakes, and horrid memories were never real. I could start over new and it would be like they never even happened. Moving 60 miles away wasn't enough. 500 miles wasn't enough. 1,600 miles away and I still couldn't seem to shake it. It was still there. So I kind of gave up on that for the time being. The urge to leave was still there, but instead of packing up and running, I started lacing up and running. Fine, I