Australian author Olivia De Zilva realised watching basketball was a form of therapy for her complex PTSD, as she learned to exist with people again
I tried everything to find salvation in 2024. The ringing bells of religion didn’t save me, nor did a reformer pilates class.
I had just moved home after two years studying in Brisbane where I had cultivated a failing herb garden and learned a new bus route. It was only when I returned to Adelaide that I realised I had no idea who I was. I thought it was a quarter-life crisis, but the friendly psychiatrist in her powder-blue scrubs said it was complex post-traumatic stress disorder (CPTSD).
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