photos by Patricia
Calm one moment, the next feeling sped up and uncomfortable. Each moment the feelings catapult like a see saw. PTSD becomes more than just words the mind separated from the body spews out. Though accustomed to the split, there are moments when sadness erupts for having such challenges.
My broken brain won’t mend. It won’t. I am stuck with me, and my tendency to move ahead in haste and fear, a fear always there as if to strike like a shark out of water.
Drawn to movies where that same ebb of low drumming foreboding courses through it, that is the stuff pumped through my veins; waiting for the crack of lightening in the most quiet moments. Waiting, on edge, at the ready…