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Sorry for the late reply; I just joined today.

Your initial post gave me the chills it was so beautifully expressed.

> I'm sure if I reached out - others would be willing to offer me help... but I just can't... I don't know how to ask for - or accept it... > and so - instead - I keep up my front: everything is fine - I don't need anything.

I hear you so much on this.  Asking for help is so hard, especially if you have created that brick wall facade that everyone else thinks is so real.  Then you are having to start from a place of no one even believing you have a serious problem, which is hard.  I'm just starting out on my journey of healing myself, so I don't have a lot of "been there" advice to give you, but I can commiserate on how hard taking these first steps are.   We're in it together.

[shocked]

Isn't introducing yourself to strangers the worst?  Even with the anonymity of the Internet, I am finding this daunting.

I am 43 years old and have recently been diagnosed with complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.  This diagnosis is both exhilarating and terrifying.  It's exhilarating to have a name for what I've been going through my whole life.  It's comforting to know that I'm not crazy and that I'm not someone with depression or bipolar disorder who has simply failed at treatment.  Rather, I've just been misdiagnosed all of these years, and there's still hope that things can get better with proper treatment.  However, it is terrifying to know what a long road I have ahead of me for recovery.   It's also scary to know that part of my treatment is going to involve reliving the most horrible parts of the first 17 years of my life.  But I'm nothing if not determined.

I guess I'm what you could call a high-functioning cPTSD sufferer.  I'm successful in my job, I go out with friends, I laugh and smile when appropriate, have a reputation for being amusing and fun to be around.  I also don't sleep very well, have horrible anxiety dreams when I do sleep, and sometimes weep uncontrollably in the shower or when I'm home alone.  The few close friends I've shared my diagnosis with have been shocked, shocked to know that there is something so terribly wrong with me because I seem so together to their eyes.  But after 40 odd years of faking being fine, I'm beginning to fray a bit at the edges and I'm tiring of having to hide the terrified little girl who still lives inside me.  So, I'm seeking help, both of the professional sort, and through this online group of people who might understand.  I also am keeping a Tumblr journal of my journey, which you can search by the same name as this post, if interested.  Trigger warning about the Tumblr - I haven't posted anything too graphic so far, but may do in the future, and I swear a bit in some of my posts.

"I fake it so real, I am beyond fake," Hole, "Doll Parts," Live Through This