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PTSD

PTSD is not something you get over.

It is when soldiers get tired of hearing their own shots fire

Into a purple horizon of nothingness.

It is when assault victims are scared of becoming a statistic

And their brokenness is suffocating

It is when fear compels the mind to change

And it willingly obliges.

PTSD is when the darkness of human nature becomes evident

It is when it's stronghold is suddenly

More prominent than the beauty in the world

It's brash fingers create a vacuum

That ***** the sanity from your mind

Until you wake up in the middle of the night screaming

"Don't shoot me!"

"Don't **** her!"

You see him and now he is with your little sister

Taking her into his Jeep

While you stand there, watching

Tied up because you can do nothing about it.

This has not happened

And probably never will

But you are crippled by paralyzing bouts of anxiety and guilt and fear

From which your mind cannot console you

You can no longer hide the loss

That this event, this person, this illness

Has placed strategically within you.

It is when you will do anything to get these memories to stop playing on repeat

An endless loop maybe ended by alcohol

Check

Cutting

Check.

Promiscuity

Check

Anything that will eliminate cycle of not knowing

Of reliving

If only for a short time

Even pretending you believe in God

Because it makes it seem like there is a reason for this confusion

But then you begin to question why God would do this to his child

So you digress into darkness once again

Left feeling unsure.

PTSD is when you stop repressing memories

And they come back so forcefully that they knock you to the ground

Leaving you bruised and ******

Leaving you lost.

PTSD is different from other sicknesses

Because you do not feel sick

You feel there

Like you are in his bed again

And his room smells like mushrooms

That is actually a field of grenades

Waiting to explode throughout your small body

You remember the tone of his words

Slipping from his lips as though they are snakes

Strangling me, leaving breath unable to escape

This is not sick

As you feel no symptoms

But an altered state of consciousness

You do not even realize you are disconnecting as it happens

But this is Hell

This is war

You are broken

And the worst part about it

Is that you must understand your triggers

Your dissociations

Before you can get better.

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Written by
jfrank0816
Published
Nov 26, 2014
Lines·Words
66·422
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