Category

Living with Ghosts

Category

Cane Fields: the killing fields of my flashbacks

Sugar cane.  I hate the bloody stuff. Costa Rica and a bus full of happy, clappy tourists; my children are nervous-excited to be going on a boat tour up a crocodile infested river.  They are with their Mama whom they know would single handedly wrestle a crocodile to death if need be to protect them, so nervous-excited rather than scared.  I am staring at the fields of evil.  The tour guide whitters on about the harvest season.  I stare in blind horror at the fields of thick cane; there is a wilderness at the cane’s base which I know harbours snakes, rats and a violent death.  Macabre terrible death. Before the war I think the sugar cane fields were not a place you wandered into without a machete.  It’s where the boys went to find snakes and huge boa constrictors hid before sliding out to find its prey.   Really,…

Friendship with PTSD Katie – in Turkey

Stella loves people.  When she asks a stranger, “How are you?” she actually wants to know, and I suspect that the worse that individual is doing, the better.  A dead Aunt.  A malignant cancer.  An affair with a secretary buried in a closet opened just for her: JOY! It’s not that I don’t like people, it is that I need quiet. My work in investment banking, on an acre trading floor, bank of 7 screens and two phones constantly by my ears; to simply be able to unplug, switch off and walk away from the world for a little bit is the survival skill I have learnt. So I scowl at strangers, I keep a book close by as much for defence as anything else.  I leave it to Stell to be the “nice one” on our travels around the globe. Stell likes to “see the sights”.  I can do…

#PTSDChat How can we make sense of Paris?

Who else woke up this morning with the sound of rapid fire, choppers and the smell of that fire strangling the mind, choking the life from our limbs: not the fire normal people think of but the fire storm of automatic rifles pointed at our vulnerable bits by men who want us to be very dead in a very messy way? Dead Philosophers are where I go when I cannot make sense of the world I live in.  When humanity yet again betrays all hope of sanity and sanctuary from evil. Socrates was the Philosopher who gave us the idea of “Soul”.  A concept of Self that is separate from body and mind; a divine and precious existence that is as infinite and inviolable as air.  The Oracle had said, “Know thyself” – a statement that had sunk into the consciousness of all around him, he picked that statement up…

FlashBacks Triggered & Tragic Relationships

The platform is rapdly filling with angry, frustated people.  I can hear their anxiety; it is a clarion call clanging in my head that I can’t escape.  Her blood is on my hands, on my clothes and in my nostrils – it competes with the anxious screams I hear all around me.  The walls of my mind are caving in and I can’t breath.  My vision dances with snakes and stars disrupting the reality reel running in front of me on that train platform. Funny how a trip to a fun park with my two young children, the stuff that other mothers (normal mothers) dream of, is a nightmare in the making.  I am not normal. I will never be normal.  But why can’t I just pull off a day like this, just once, without feeling like I’m barely holding on with my fingernails dug into the sides of the…