Confronted with a colossal contradiction, I stared into my interiority for a long time. That peculiar, explorer-like disposition of mine—perceiving an encounter with a polar opposite not as a fatiguing drain of emotion, but as a "thrilling adventure." When I arrived at the conclusion that my ego was solid enough to wholly welcome another’s difference, a heavy inquiry reared its head from within:
“Do I not suffer from CPTSD (Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder)?”
Within the boundaries of psychological common sense, it is exceptionally difficult for an ego that has crawled through the mire of trauma to emerge more solid and healthy than that of ordinary people. While living with dense shadows and fractures inside, why do I desire to step up onto the harsh ring of another’s unknown cosmos instead of fleeing to a safe room? The moment I unlocked the door to this poignant paradox, I finally realized: the wounds inside me were not weaknesses that dismantled me, but paradoxically, the harsh flames that forged me into an explorer more solid than any other.
The Power of Fierce "Hyper-Independence" Erecting a Skeleton for Survival
Living with CPTSD implies that one has passed through a past thoroughly stripped of any protective fences to guard their world. Because there was no entity to protect me during those powerless years, I instinctively had to develop a single sense for survival: a fierce attitude of self-salvation whispering, “No one will rescue me. The sovereignty of my world can only be guarded by myself.” This is what psychology calls "Hyper-independence."
Those who grew up in ordinary environments—moderately depending and being moderately wounded—had no urgent need to rapidly erect the fortress walls of their ego, meaning their internal skeletons can be fragile. I, however, absorbed the storms of the world bare-bodied, building the fortress walls of my ego to an abnormally colossal and solid scale entirely on my own.
Because that fierce independence forms the bedrock of my inner self, my world does not easily dismantle now, even if an other steps in to stir it up or shouts in a foreign syntax. Because a chilling certainty that "I am the master of my world anyway" serves as my baseline, another’s difference approaches me not as an "attack" threatening my existence, but as a "thrilling adventure" worth spectating and calibrating.
From a Passive Victim of Trauma to a Sovereign Player of the Narrative
My past trauma was a tragedy I never elected to experience. Confronted by that violent reality, I was a mere spectator and a victim, forced to endure it helplessly. Now as an adult, however, meeting, clashing with, and calibrating a polar-opposite other is a "risk I willingly choose."
The dynamic act of plunging into the unpredictable universe of an other while completely free of deficiency is akin to a liberating scream uttered by my subconscious. It is a sovereign will to completely shed the state of a passive victim from the past and seize a powerful narrative agency, declaring: "I will handle and conquer this beautiful chaos (difference) crashing into my life in my own way." In a world where evading trauma has become the supreme virtue, I am instinctively pursuing the sheer ecstasy of writing my own happy ending while controlling the chaos of clashing and breaking.
The Other as a Door to Open the World, Not a Adhesive Bandage
One of the errors committed by many who endure CPTSD is wandering in search of a "perfect savior (a proxy for a parent)" to heal their wounds, only to plunge right back into the mire of deficiency. Yet, the explorer inside me never begs an other to become a savior. For I already know how to endure and survive alone, a lesson carved deep into my very bones.
To me, therefore, an other is not a pathetic adhesive bandage (the filling of a deficiency) to slap over my trauma. They are a monumental door (the expansion of existence) that enables me to escape the harsh, melancholic room of trauma where I had been confined, allowing me to march forward into the wide world. My sense of fluttering excitement upon looking at an entirely different being and thinking, "This is going to be fun!" is a heart-wrenching signal that my soul harbors a life force potent enough to finally crave a wider, more multi-faceted universe beyond the narrow fences of past trauma.
Conclusion: To the True Protagonists Whose Scars Have Transformed into Cast Iron
Possessing a healthy and solid ego does not mean a smooth, pristine condition untouched by a single scratch, like a flower raised inside a greenhouse. A genuinely solid ego is one that has personally stitched and reinforced the very places where countless wounds and fractures occurred, becoming as unyielding as cast iron against any impact. Just as flesh that has absorbed an arrow matures more firmly around its scar.
The CPTSD inside me was never an iron cage trapping me in fragility. Rather, it was a harsh mentor that raised me into a veteran explorer equipped with a heavy emotional stamina—one belonging to an entirely different dimension compared to the spectators in their rooms mindlessly fiddling with calculators of cost-effectiveness.
Carrying numerous wounds does not disqualify one from becoming the protagonist. On the contrary, the narrative of a truly magnificent protagonist always initiates from a deep scar. I pay homage to myself—shredding the receipt of trauma, standing wholly whole alone, and now willingly hoisting the sails toward another’s cosmos. For I am still in pain, and I am still covered in scars, yet precisely because of that, I am the true protagonist of my life, equipped to navigate the uncharted universe more fearlessly than anyone else.
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