I was a teenager when my dad was no longer able to keep the PTSD at bay. Prior to his diagnosis, he thought he was going crazy, as in batshit, so the official diagnosis provided a level of comfort in knowing that there was at least a reason behind the mental anguish and the restlessness. My dad and I were in my car one day talking about living with PTSD and I asked him, “Can’t you just get over it?” I wasn’t being flippant when I asked him that question, I was a sixteen year old who had no idea what he was talking about and nothing to relate it to. My question shocked and angered him.
I don’t wish for a take back. Over time he realized that he could never make people understand what he was going through. Instead he wanted them to just listen.