inside ptsd, in the wind


the usual

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 ...

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inside ptsd, in the wind, two


a small salad and bottled dressing

i settled for a corner booth, good sightlines and two exits. i thumb the menu hoping it opens to sacred text, but treat the dinner options with reverence. i eat today. bless.

thousands of centuries of humanity living day to day, eating when possible ...

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on the outside, looking in


i think it's quite likely so.

my parents had no idea what was coming my way after the robbery; none. it has never seemed blame-worthy, b/c it's not a trait or skill that exists, i would guesstimate, in more than a third of the population. there are ...

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one day, at night, inside ptsd


the night is

and so am i, still.

i take stock, assessing my daily toil.

did i show up to Love today? actually, i did. so i got lucky to be writing this now.

was i kind? yes.

did i feel joy? luckily, yes!

was i decent to my body ...

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one day—the daylight part—inside ptsd


the day hits

sometimes it hits hard, a 3am nightmare contorted into its own pain, vigil from then till dawn, jagged sleep broken by 6am mechanisms—a half step behind the rest of humanity before eyes are fully open. None of this forgives the day's duties, of course, nor ...

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