'I Can’t Trust My Own Mind Anymore'- How Just 'Moving On' From PTSD Is Not Enough

There was a time when Maya's* laughter filled a room, when she could make weekend plans with friends and get lost in the thrill of spontaneity. Now, even a visit to the grocery store is an ordeal. She holds the shopping cart so hard that her knuckles whiten, her heart pounding at every unexpected noise. The smell of the stranger's cologne, a trace that bears faint resemblance to what her abuser used to wear, grips her stomach, and instantly, she is no longer at a supermarket. She is once again at the dark place, suspended in a moment best forgotten.

"For years, I believed healing from PTSD involved leaving the past behind. What if your mind has other plans? In this unflinching memoir, I share the moments that broke me, the isolation that followed, and why 'getting over it' is never that easy," states Maya.

For most individuals such as Maya, post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) is not merely recalling a traumatic experience—it's a replay, repeatedly, in ways that feel as real as the initial experience. The past never remains in the past; it seeps into the present, making ordinary life a battleground of hidden triggers.

When Healing Feels Like a Broken Road

PTSD is wrongly assumed to be something that can be "fixed" through therapy or medication, but for some, recovery isn't linear. Maya had been treated extensively, had attempted everything from cognitive behavior therapy to exposure therapy. She had good days—days where she came close to being herself again. But there were also bad days, the ones where she wondered if she had improved at all.

"I figured I was good," she admits. "Then, all of a sudden, I was strolling by where my accident occurred, and my legs just collapsed underneath me. I couldn't catch my breath, I couldn't think. It was as if my brain told my body I was back in that car, crashing again."

Maya remembers, "It's not about flashbacks or nightmares. It's the little, everyday things that nobody notices. I wake up and I don't feel like myself anymore—like my old self is dead, and I'm trapped in this body that doesn't belong to me. I don't like the things I used to like. Music, TV shows, even food—nothing is the same. Some days, I feel like I'm just going through the motions, and other days, I can't even get out of bed."

Residual symptoms of PTSD, those that linger long after treatment has ended, occur more frequently than most are aware. Studies have indicated that a majority of those treated for PTSD continue to live with "subthreshold" symptoms—serious enough to interfere with daily functioning yet not so acute as to warrant hospitalization. These can range from nightmares to spontaneous attacks of anxiety, feeling numb, to an all-pervasive feeling of unreality.

Perhaps the most alienating thing about PTSD is the unpredictability of its symptoms. Some days, Maya feels like she's functional, like she's finally gotten her life back. Other days, she lies on the ceiling for hours, unable to get up because her body is so tired from being in a state of hypervigilance all the time.

"I don't know who I am anymore," she confesses. "It's like my old self is dead, and I'm suspended in some purgatory, trying to understand who I am now."

The brain of someone with PTSD operates in a state of high alert. The amygdala, which processes fear and emotional responses, becomes hyperactive, making even minor stressors feel like major threats. Meanwhile, the hippocampus, responsible for distinguishing between past and present events, struggles to function properly, blurring the lines between memory and reality. The result? A relentless cycle of fear, anxiety, and emotional exhaustion.

The Weight of Isolation

PTSD not only touches the individual struggling—it puts a strain on relationships, friendships, and even work. Maya was once the life of the party, but now she doesn't go out because loud noises and crowds overwhelm her. She also feels distant from her boyfriend, not sure if she still loves him or if she's just not capable of loving anymore.

When you experience something traumatic, it's like everybody is like, 'Hey, you're gonna heal within a specific period,'" she says. "But trauma reorganizes your brain. It rearranges how you perceive the world, how you trust humans. And the crappy part? People flee. They don't get why you can't just 'move on.'

Maya continues, "And the worst part? The loneliness. People don't get what PTSD actually does to you. They say, "That was years ago, you should be over it by now," like I have any say in how my brain responds. Even the people I love most—my boyfriend, my friends—I feel separated from them. It's like there's a glass wall between me and the rest of the world."

Most with PTSD resort to medication or alcohol as a means to cope, hoping to quiet the cacophony in their minds. Others go into complete withdrawal, thinking no one could possibly get it and that they will be safer, alone. The reality is that trauma rewires the brain so that emotions are processed differently, and connection and intimacy become foreign—even threatening.

Learning to Live with PTSD

Healing from PTSD isn't about being cured of the symptoms—it's about learning to live with them. Maya is painstakingly discovering how to deal with the lingering effects of her trauma, even on the worst days.

She has learned to recognize her triggers and develop coping mechanisms, whether that means stepping outside for fresh air, practicing grounding techniques, or simply allowing herself to feel the waves of emotion without judgment. Support groups have helped her connect with others who understand what she’s going through, reminding her that she isn’t alone in this battle.

I used to think healing was being able to return to who I was before," she says. "Now I understand healing is embracing who I am today, trauma and all.

On questioning whether she had ever attempted explaining her symptoms and triggers to her friends and loved one's Maya says, "Too many times. And it always ends the same way. I tell them I have panic attacks while shopping, that I can't handle loud noises, that certain smells make me want to throw up. And they just look at me and say, "But you're fine now, right?" Or worse, they compare their experiences to mine—"I went through something way worse, and I got over it." I don't think people realize how invalidating that is. Trauma isn't a competition."

PTSD is not merely something that occurred in the past—it is something that continues to happen and influence daily life in both visible and invisible ways. Some wounds may heal with time, but others leave scars that remain hidden under the surface. But with the proper support, resources, and knowledge, those scars don't have to determine the future.

Maya concludes, "I won’t lie—some days, nothing helps. But I’ve learned to take it one step at a time. Medication helps when my anxiety is unbearable. Therapy has helped me unpack a lot of the guilt and self-blame. And I’m learning to set boundaries, to walk away from people who make me feel like my pain is a burden."

"But the biggest thing? Accepting that healing isn’t linear. I used to think I was failing if I had setbacks, but I’ve realized that this is just part of the process. Some days, I feel like I’m making progress. Other days, I feel like I’m back at square one. And that’s okay."

"For anyone going through this, I just want to say—you are not alone. PTSD is messy, it’s painful, and it’s exhausting. But you are still here. And that counts for something," quotes Maya.

*name changed for anonymity reasons