the "Inside PTSD" collection:
- inside ptsd
- inside ptsd, the mad list
- inside ptsd, backstory
- inside ptsd, fleeing
- inside ptsd, two
- inside ptsd, remediation
- inside ptsd, three, rage
- inside ptsd, transaction costs
- time shift, inside the ptsd
- time shift three
- time shift two, still inside the ptsd
- inside ptsd, the addiction episode
- survive vs heal
- inside ptsd, body knows
- inside ptsd, body knows, part one
- one hour
- that same afternoon
- inside ptsd, more than a recollection
- inside ptsd, body knows 2
- inside ptsd, the addiction episode, part 2
- inside ptsd, the addiction episode, part 3
- inside ptsd, a student of trauma
- inside ptsd, the addiction episode, part 4a
- inside ptsd, the addiction episode, part 4b
- inside ptsd, the addiction episode, part 5
- inside ptsd, more than a recollection, part 2
- inside my midlife ptsd
- one day—the daylight part—inside ptsd
- inside ptsd, mere survival
- inside ptsd, economics
- one day, at night, inside ptsd
- on the outside, looking in
- inside ptsd, in the wind
- inside ptsd, in the wind, two
- a is for anxiety
- inside ptsd, the last match
- inside ptsd, addicted to addiction
- inside ptsd, outside looking in
- Day Three, Haunted
- inside ptsd, what it is
- inside ptsd, it takes time
- inside ptsd, the plea for understanding
- before the aftermath
there's a diner outside Omaha i haven't been to, but i know it's there. that grounds me, that and envisioning the logistics of getting, a secret destination the demons don't know where i can stand down a few, back against the nougehyde corner, weak coffee hydrating my soul; breakfast is a small-h hoped for pleasant surprise; and tabasco, pray have tabasco.
waitress comes, i test her accent, i wonder about her lives, her sense of home, her quiet-time aspirations. i realize i have to move soon, but that's built-in. moving keeps the demons, and the hunters, weeks (or hours) behind.
i got 40 minutes for a pre-smoke breakfast right here in the middle of somewhere...
ice, with my water
the water glass frosts; i ask what time of year it is. why did i come here now? i needed to, the quick answer. Everything is as it is meant to be my practicing brain avers. but i don't want to practice, not here, not today.
i want to not do anything. i want Nothingness as the container for my refulgent infinity, cosmic marriage, yang into yin, no crosses borne.
Casey [respect :bow:] said, there are five things in this one neighborhood to consider. Sight, what we see, is Light. What we hear is Sound. What we smell is Earth, what we taste is Water and what we feel with our skin is Air. I love paucity of words when i see one—ride the Breath.
Yes, that! Check in w/ your Five. Where are you at now? I'm jaggety, thanks for asking. I didn't dance last night b/c everyone was in Seattle. Bless them all, dervishes i love.
More coffee. sip. i sip about thinking and scan my water-glass, then the nature-scape out the window. I am alive: fact. fuckin' A.
That means, a) i survived the latest attempt; a') question, of the serious type: am i being preyed upon right now? Orient. Survey (the verb). Breathe, Stand Strong.
Feel the Air and taste the Worlds with my mouth. Wet, are we safe?
Am i in Nebraska? I cannot say, for real, contract and nda signed, plus, meeting w/ a dealer in safety; i'm buying two shares, trading time on watch in exchange over a handshake.
scan the vicinity, feel the air, sense... known danger is not close, perceptions are calm. breathe. oh yeah, remember to breathe.
who did i get here?
great question, seriously. what is your lineage? how did you get to this moment? have you intended any of this or are you vassal to circumstance?
across this vast world, creatures dart to stave off oblivion, to carve out a half-score dozen more breaths, before the next threat looms present.
Evade collision, when you can.
coffee, may i?
there's a girl at the counter—civilian side—she's fidgety and thin, manipulating her coffee mug 13 times a minute, drinking one in ten, looking over her shoulder out the windows that wrap half the distance to the backside. the nails on her right hand are trashed; the ones on her left are pristine, a bright red tribute to a sister w/ a small skill. there's a bruise, too, forearm, defensive wound.
i step up and ask for more water, glass in hand, and say hi to the girl. i try to let her know i'm a survivor too, b/c i'm lonely, and maybe she is too. she whirls toward me so quickly she near smacks into me, then back over her left to the parking lots and the dust and the hot sunlight outside. who's stalking her?
i must be summer, or spring at least, and Nebraska, right?
i pick up the menu to see if an address looms large, orient, and order toast to cover my tracks. rye, always rye.
remember. remember to breathe, on the hot slow days in the middle of somewhere.
live again to live another day.