I recently wrote a letter to my sister telling her that, me being saddled with PTSD, Autism and Bipolar Disorder, is like waking up one morning to find I’ve been locked alone in a house with a 600 pound gorilla. Decisions, decisions, decisions. Does that 600 pound brute want to play or take me apart? Can he be placated or put on ice some kind of way? What can I feed him? Should I keep running from him, hoping he never catches up to me? I could always burn the house down, but that’s like throwing out the baby with the bath water. Anyway, it is what it is. That’s about the best metaphor I can think about mental illness. My troubles, I would say, is not the trifecta of mental illnesses – that would be schizophrenia, Bipolar Disorder and Autism – still, it’s coming pretty close to it. I recently started Lamictal. We’ll see how that does.
I’d spent the weekend, BTW, getting myself together at a Crisis Clinic because I’d locked my car keys in my car, went on a trespassing frenzy, including into a police precinct’s yard, and other things I’m not proud of. I guess I need to get back in control, or else.
The Writings of an American Author 
Excellent analogy for your PTSD. I call my depression my guardian monster. Guardian because it tried to protect me from pain, monster because it does a awful job at protecting me. Hang in there,. I’ve been down the same path and I can tell you that there is hope.
Thanks for writing. Your Guardian Monster and mine is the same. Have you ever seen the 60’s TV show, Lost In Space? That danged Robot is pretty good at protecting young Will Robinson, but every so often, Robot goes too far and zaps unknown species dead that Will wanted to inspect but, obviously, never got a chance to. I guess you take the good with the bad, right?