She grabs an ice cold green tea from the subzero. It’s 3am now. Everything dark outside her windows, her reflection in the glass all she can see. She has become almost unrecognizable in the past year. Round. Ugly. Aged. She turns her back to the outside. Not proud of the new look. Sipping her green tea and debating turning on all the lights so she wont have to look at herself again. She’s not scared of the dark. She’s just scared of the dreams. The memories. They haunt her in the daylight just the same as the night. Her brain is her worst enemy. Replaying it over and over again. Trying to fix what cannot be fixed. Trying to understand what she will never comprehend. So many intrusive thoughts. She knows its the PTSD. She’s had it for four years now. Festering in her prefrontal cortex. A nightmare. One that grips her while she showers, makes dinner, drives her car, takes out the trash, records her patient’s vitals, grocery shops, vacuums the carpet, mows the lawn, talks to the teacher, zips up a coat, writes out a check, changes the sheets on her bed, vomits up her dinner…so intrusive that she screams out sometimes “Shut the fuck up brain!! Oh my god SHUT UP!! I don’t want to think about it anymore! I don’t want to think about it! Stop thinking about it! God dammit STOP THINKING ABOUT IT!” she shouts. Then she cries. She’s always crying. Or eating. Crying and eating. Trying to stay sane.
The flashbacks subside for a moment but her gut tells her he’s up to something. She can tell by his texts. Manufacturing evidence. He’s ready to attack again. Carefully biding his time until he files his next court case. Abuses her by proxy. The American court system is his patsy. His arm – the law. She’s never going to be rid of him. Not in this lifetime. But still she fantasizes about love. About a handsome man with ocean eyes. He’d protect her. Hold her at night. Stroke her hair while she shivers. Be her rock when she breaks down. Sing to her. Make her laugh. Try to impress her with his stories. Remind her that life is worth living.
His mere presence would knock her ex off his game. Force him in to submission. His intellect…his success…his desire for her proof that she’s not worthless. She’s somebody if she can catch Jared’s eye or better yet, his friendship. But it’s all just a fantasy really – one Jared refuses to fulfill anymore. He’s so distant. No longer a good escape. And the PTSD is so bad – so intrusive that she cries most days. In a place thats closed off from the world. Where she no longer listens to music. She just exists. Waiting for the next attack. Praying the next ten years fly by. Wishing her children’s childhood away so her ties to him will be over quicker. Not going to concerts. No trips with friends. Doing nothing because she feels like nothing. Just a punching bag filled with bad thoughts.
Her friends all abandoned her, in the worst time in her life. But she can’t really blame them. There’s only so many times you can say “Oh wow, he’s such an asshole!” before you start questioning her. And she feels all that. She knows thats what you’re thinking at the other end of the line. She must be exaggerating. She’s stretching the truth….he cant really be doing all the things he has done. He can’t keep getting away with it. But he did, and he does. And she’s angry at god, but he’s not listening either. He abandoned her too. Left her with these thoughts in her brain. Thoughts she doesn’t want to think. Memories she’s forced to relive. Puzzles she’ll never sort out. She prays for relief – assumes it will come when her children outgrow her. When her boys become men. There’d be no way left to hurt her then.
But she dreams nonetheless – of finding the California sun and starting over again. Pick up where 1992 ended and find herself. Find peace. Find Jared. And for a moment – just one – she’s ok. Until the next time her brain tells her to duck an imaginary fist. Until the next time a police officer is at the door. Until the next time she’s summoned to appear. Until the next time….and the next time….and the next time….and the next time…and the next time….and the next time….and the next time…and the next time….and the next time….and the next time…and the next time….and the next time….and the next time…and the next time….and the next time….and the next time…and the next time….and the next time….and the next time…and the next time….and the next time….and the next time…and the next time….and the next time….and the next time…and the next time….and the next time….and the next time…and the next time….and the next time….and the next time…and the next time….and the next time….and the next time…and the next time….and the next time….and the next time…and the next time….and the next time….and the next time…and the next time….and the next time….and the next time…and the next time….and the next time….and the next time…and the next time….and the next time….and the next time……and the next time….and the next time….and the next time…and the next time….and the next time….and the next time…and the next time….and the next time….and the next time…and the next time….and the next time….and the next time…and the next time….and the next time….and the next time…and the next time….and the next time….and the next time…and the next time….and the next time….and the next time…and the next time….and the next time….and the next time…and the next time….and the next time….and the next time…and the next time….and the next time….and the next time…and the next time….and the next time….and the next time…and the next time….and the next time….and the next time…and the next time….and the next time….and the next time…and the next time….and the next time….and the next time…and the next time….and the next time….and the next time…and the next time….and the next time….and the next time…and the next time….and the next time….and the next time…and the next time….and the next time….and the next time…and the next time….and the next time….and the next time…and the next time….and the next time….and the next time…and the next time….and the next time….and the next time…and the next time….and the next time….and the next time…
PostModernQuill Unbound. 