Like so many others who live with PTSD or other chronic illness, people often ask me, “What does it feel like?”
It doesn’t matter if it’s cold, hot, sunny, snowing or raining
There is no telling when it’s going to strike.
Are they alive or dead?
Is that pain real or echoes from pain long ago that
Resurface with a memory?
It’s like being held hostage by your mind
Thinking that today would be the day I am free.
I look like everyone else
I know the difference between right and wrong.
Yet in my head, I sometimes can’t remember
The last ten minutes of my life, or what day, year or time it is.
Are those smells real or is that a smell from a place and time
when I was being held against my will.
Am I really hearing the sounds of helicopters, planes, cicadas or birds
Or it that the sound coming from a place that no longer exists and
Should never be talked about?
I want so much to be like everyone else.
So I will keep pulling myself up the rope,
Out of the clutches of PTSD and all the skeleton hands of the past that
Keep trying to pull me down.
I am like everyone else only my job is to live so I can live.
For now, that’s all I can ask of myself if I am going to have a future.
©Alexis Rose, photo: pixabay
Thank you for reading my books: If I Could Tell You How It Feels, and Untangled, A Story of Resilience, Courage, and Triumph