Youth's Lives Every Day
Content Warning/Author’s Note: My story is rooted in my lived experience as a survivor of multiple forms of sexual violence and suicidal ideation. Everyone living with C-PTSD has an entirely different story. In reflecting on my personal narrative, I use “she/her” pronouns to describe my childhood self, but I currently use “they/them” pronouns to describe myself in the present and future tense.
I remember the feeling of my childhood carpet on my back as I stared at the ceiling for hours. At fourteen years old, I scribbled manic notes in my journal about not wanting to be alive, and ate vanilla ice cream on the floor in a catatonic state.
Yesterday was Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (C-PTSD) Awareness Day. As we honor and spread awareness of C-PTSD, I cling tightly to the ways in which my younger self followed her wisdom to stay alive in the face of multiple traumas that she didn’t think she would survive.
I grew up with an innate sense that I did not belong in the world, which was reaffirmed in my mind by my home environment, anti-LGBTQ politics, bullying and internet harassment, and multiple acts of sexual violence that exacerbated the depression that I live with. I tried many cries for help, including physically harming my body — but I didn’t feel heard by my parents or the adults in my life. It felt like my pain was thrown into the ether. Like many LGBTQ+ young people, I saw suicide as my only way out of a misunderstood hopelessness. Still, I clung to the hope that someday I would understand what this was all for.
As a queer and nonbinary young person, I struggled to find the right therapist, diagnosis, and medications that kept me healthy and stable. Despite being successful at school and accomplishing things to make my parents proud, I felt like I didn’t know who I was; masking my emotions to keep everyone around me happy. I dealt with eating disorders, self-harm, and suicidal ideation — and didn’t know why.
I didn’t receive a C-PTSD diagnosis until I was 25 and started working with the therapist who saved my life by recognizing my childhood self as part of me. Complex post traumatic stress disorder can happen as a result of chronic, or compounded trauma, violence, or stress. For me, it was the result of prolonged sexual violence, harrassment, and exploitation. It was everything, everywhere, all at once. It was the divorce in my childhood, the feeling of chronic abandonment, the vandalism of my locker on my birthday, the sexual assault behind my high school, being outed, the ways in which all my friends forgot about me, and on, and on, and on…
In a recent conversation with my therapist, I divulged that I’ve been clinging to hope since I was ten years old. “Ten year olds shouldn’t be finding reasons to cling to hope,” I say.
“They do when they’ve experienced really bad stuff,” my therapist responds.
The traumas that I have lived through were real — and fundamentally changed the way that my brain works. As a result of chronic trauma, my entire nervous system was dysregulated for most of my life. It has made me interesting, empathetic, neurospicy, and passionate about creating a better world. But it has also left me feeling unworthy; deeply sad, anxious, healing, and hungry for safety. It has made relationships hard, but it has made me work harder to find the joy that is rightfully mine. Because all of these parts of me are equally valuable and deserve to show up. And the unique parts of you deserve to show up, too.
When I think about my high school self, I think of Nex Benedict and Leelah Alcorn. I think of the beautiful LGBTQ+ young people taken too soon, and the safer world that we can create in their honor.
In our 2024 U.S. National Survey, 70% of queer young people reported experiencing symptoms of anxiety and 55% reported symptoms of depression. This number increases for nonbinary young people like me. These numbers remind me that we are not alone — and we need change. We need structural, cultural, and policy reform to prevent the factors that lead to complex post traumatic stress for LGBTQ+ young people to fester. We need necessary rules like Title IX protections based on sexual orientation and gender identity, to prevent discrimination against students in schools. Because if I felt safer in school as an LGBTQ+ young person, I would have felt more empowered to speak out and seek professional help from my administrators.
And when bad stuff does happen, we need equitable access to accessible, affirming, affordable, comprehensive, mental health care to treat and heal our brains and bodies. Because mental health is a human right. Our National Survey also showed that 50% of LGBTQ+ young people who wanted mental health care in the past year were not able to get it. Receiving specialized care when you’re struggling is lifesaving; all LGBTQ+ young people deserve this.
As a twenty-seven year old living with C-PTSD, I do everything on behalf of my childhood self who didn’t feel seen, heard, or understood. If you’re feeling that way, know that there is an adult out there who survived and is championing you to survive, too. Grant yourself the hope to cling to light in the darkness. The world deserves to have you in it; you deserve to be here. That’s why The Trevor Project is always here for you, 24/7, free and secure. You can call us anytime at 1-866-488-7386, text START to 678-678, or visit trvr.org/get-help to speak to our counselors. There is no shame in reaching out for help. Doing so saved my life.
Leah Juliett is the Sr. Associate, Social Media Community Engagement at The Trevor Project, the leading suicide prevention and mental health organization for lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer & questioning (LGBTQ+) young people.
