Sirens, PTSD

Day 630.

Today in therapy I asked to cast my PTSD aside, or do I need it?

What is it preventing me from doing? - So much!

It prevents me from being reliable to myself. I cannot rely on my energy levels or my ability to go and perform basic tasks, visit supermarkets that I used to frequent.

As we examined where I want to go, that I am not, I have a space around me that I want to expand into. It’s tangible and as Aline guided me into it, I trusted it and suddenly the normally quiet suburban spot, was filled with sirens. The sirens of emergency responders “Can you hear that?” - yes she could.

And there I was, right back at the imaginings of the moment when Luke was discovered dead, the sirens, a symbol of the futile response of the emergency responders, as it rang out into the world that Luke was dead.

The imaginings of that moment rush through me. Was Marlon hiding evidence? All the lies and all the sloppiness around my poor Luke. The sloppy police, the sloppy Marlon. The not tending to my boy, the nonchalance, as if he was just another dead junky on a bedroom floor. He was, but he was also my child.

And so, I was, and in writing this am, right back there in that moment crying, sobbing bitterly.

The moment that haunts me was upon me once more.

Will those fucking people ever come and tell me what really happened? Unlikely, as they steep in their denial and shame, leaving my questions unanswered. Will my imagination be left forever filling in the gaps?

There’s my PTSD moment, well one of them.

Whenever I hear sirens, wherever I am, it brings me to a freeze, I am numb, I can’t hear or see and the imaginings of that scene run and run and run……

I will have to do something, someway, somehow, to find my answers, because this isn’t going away. That will be the moment when I meet and stare death in the eye on behalf of my lost boy.