This short story is a great tribute to people who have suffered. I thought the demonstration of how to help a person regain safety was encouraging. One step at a time from a person who has been there. I’m very lucky to have found my Vic, he has encouraged me to grow beyond the dark times with loving kindness.
This prose piece could be triggering for readers with a history of trauma and flashbacks.
It is the flood of emotion that always makes me flee. I am scared, angry, unsafe, fighting panic and the need to flee like a wounded gazelle being chased by a lion. The triggers are unpredictable but the reaction is not. It is like someone is ripping my chest open, using a rib spreader, exposing the fragile membranes around my heart to the glare of light. I clutch my hand to my chest, as though I can hold the gaping edges of my body closed the way one would the sides of an unbuttoned shirt.
Gratefully, I make it to the sanctuary of the bedroom before the tears start to escape. I do not turn on the light. The key is to make myself small. I sit on the floor, back against the bed, feet…
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