the "Inside PTSD" collection:

  1. inside ptsd
  2. inside ptsd, the mad list
  3. inside ptsd, backstory
  4. inside ptsd, fleeing
  5. inside ptsd, two
  6. inside ptsd, remediation
  7. inside ptsd, three, rage
  8. inside ptsd, transaction costs
  9. time shift, inside the ptsd
  10. time shift three
  11. time shift two, still inside the ptsd
  12. inside ptsd, the addiction episode
  13. survive vs heal
  14. inside ptsd, body knows
  15. inside ptsd, body knows, part one
  16. one hour
  17. that same afternoon
  18. inside ptsd, more than a recollection
  19. inside ptsd, body knows 2
  20. acceptance.
  21. inside ptsd, the addiction episode, part 2
  22. inside ptsd, the addiction episode, part 3
  23. inside ptsd, a student of trauma
  24. inside ptsd, the addiction episode, part 4a
  25. inside ptsd, the addiction episode, part 4b
  26. inside ptsd, the addiction episode, part 5
  27. inside ptsd, more than a recollection, part 2
  28. acute
  29. inside my midlife ptsd
  30. one day—the daylight part—inside ptsd
  31. inside ptsd, mere survival
  32. inside ptsd, economics
  33. one day, at night, inside ptsd
  34. on the outside, looking in
  35. inside ptsd, in the wind
  36. inside ptsd, in the wind, two
  37. a is for anxiety
  38. inside ptsd, the last match
  39. inside ptsd, addicted to addiction
  40. inside ptsd, outside looking in
  41. Day Three, Haunted
  42. inside ptsd, what it is
  43. inside ptsd, it takes time
  44. inside ptsd, the plea for understanding
  45. before the aftermath

possibly related

one match

sometimes it all came down to a single strike of the match-head against the half soaked flint stripe along the bottom of the pack. rain may be falling, trucks may be racing by and spraying your roadside rest, the wind may be menacing in its innocence, but you have to light that match. That one match is the difference between eight minutes of a well-protected smoke and utter dejection, the calamity that will bring ruin into the day, rubble it will take days to climb out of.

protect that match little brother, as if sanity depends on it. assess the wind and turn against it, sheltering a tiny pocket of ground-level atmosphere against the elements, pat dry for the 200th time the sodden matchbook, roll the red tip against the only dry spot of clothing left, and strike!

the enormity of that fork in the road on a massively post-traumatic day was everything. it was portent for survival, it was would we eat or not that day—tabacco sustain us—and would we get picked up by someone not foul and driven on further away from here where danger accumulates upon the unmoving. Moving you're always harder to catch.

Strike! pray in the same movement, hesitation will kill but the wrong alacrity will extinguish the flame on the after-stroke, before it makes it to the tip of the hand-rolled, and the tiny pinnacle of that all too brief life of fire will be all the smoke the whole day gets. Without that cigarette to smoke—without that mythical protective shroud—the demons slide closer. They can be patient now b/c i am defenseless. My survival is in grave jeopardy yet again, and i am powerless to prevent it, whatever torment it is today.

the mind

The mind, dear mind, is forced to deal with circumstances and situations it'd rather not: body is alerting all who would listen that the cold is seeping in and that's a threat. eyes report no cars passing, no way out but walking miles simply to get to the next overpass for a bit of shelter from the wind. there's nowhere to run, and we're exposed.

body wishes for warmth, brain wants to stand down the body's overwrought defense systems, and mind wishes to contemplate all this—or forget—anywhere else but here.

Strike well boy, the last match, strike well.


Share on: TwitterFacebookGoogle+Email