Desperately Trying to Forecast the Wild Storms of PTSD

Sometimes you can feel the change in the air while the sun still shines. You see the colours shift in the sky, the clouds getting darker, growing heavier.

Sometimes you hear the distant low rumbles long before the storm hits. And then, when you see the first flash of lightning, you know that the storm has finally found you.

But you can still breathe. You understand that the storm has its own journey to travel, and it will soon pass you by.

And then there are the times when the storm gives no warning at all. The sudden clap of thunder overhead reverberates deep into your chest. You don’t know where it came from, there’s no knowing how long it will linger.

You wait. You watch. And you wait some more, the storm seeming to hang in the air. Every explosion of sound echoing through your head.

 

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I may be writing about my day, but I’m not writing about the weather.

When the skies have been clear for so many moons, the unwelcome assault of a thunderstorm quickly unsettles the delicate balance. But I’ll tell myself that no storm can rain forever. And that the sun will always rise again.

The years have taught me to stay in tune with the signs. Gently intercepting when triggers threaten.

But today, the turmoil came out of nowhere, so I have no answers. Today, the turmoil drew me in and wore me out, so I have no reserves. With not a trace of warning, how can you possibly challenge what you cannot see?

PTSD, would I be able to fight you any better if you were in my mind, not his?

I feel betrayed by my senses. I am quiet from the ache. And this thought, that I should have seen it coming, that maybe I could have prevented it. I simply can’t shake it.

 

 

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