“What does PTSD feel like?”
Like having tunnel vision. I say.
Like fury roaring in your ears. I say.
Like echoes in a ravine. I say.
Like floating above yourself. I say.
Pressure. Enclosing. Pressure. Enclosing. I say.
Like rising vomit. I say.
Like there’s no escape. I say.
But words fall short every time.
For me, PTSD attacked through images. Images I couldn’t stop rising up from the deepest recesses and fogging my brain and taking over my functions.
The deep blue of the nightshirt I wore during labour.
The creased hospital sheets in front of my eyes.
The tips of my fingers turning white from the effort.
Words don’t even come close.
But then, this:
This hit me square between the eyes. “This”, I thought, “This is what it feels like.”
Thankyou. Thankyou, Georgia. From another time, another place, another perspective, you perfectly captured mine. And put it to rest.
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