“Room—room—let me off!

As I attempt to get off an undersized elevator that has just gotten four people too (and four men) too crowded, I try and get my way off of it when suddenly I hear the guy explaining the fact that the lady freaking out is a PTSD survivor get interrupted by this chunky, scruffy-looking bastard suddenly speak up:

“Ignore that bitch, she just don’t like people, with her dumb-ass, black-legged, uppity—”

“Hey, man, don’t talk what you don’t know!” I snap back.

“Shut yo’ nappy-head ass up,” the dick says.

“Man, fuck you!” I say as the elevator closes. I can still hear him when the elevator kicks up and moves again, so I fire off a last “Fuck you!” for good measure.

My next door neighbor—both of them, actually—would probably be very confused had they heard me cursing like that when I finally managed to get onto the eighth floor and into my apartment. Fact is, once the rage at that narrow-minded wide-assed prick wore off, I was terrified again. There were a few too many people on the elevator, and no matter how much I tried to say that this reaction my body was having was all in my head, it wasn’t working. If there hadn’t been the second elevator coming, I would have climbed up the stairs—all the way from ground level—just to avoid being shut up in small crowd again. Righteous fury died off as soon as I got into my unit, and I was glad I spent my $8 discretionary for the paycheck on Bob Marley sodas and my meds.

It’s not wide knowledge in my building that I’m a PTSD survivor—no one needs to know that sort of thing unless it’s asked for or if…well, if something like that on the elevator happens again. And if it happens, I ask that it not be bandied about, because there will invariably be dicks like that guy. …if he finds out I’m going to bullshit something about a hard and fast tour of duty that wrecked my head, because he had that same air that I got off of my ex—the one that eventually escalates into “Just freeze, and it’ll be over faster and you won’t get quite as hurt by it.” (Disclaimer: THAT DOESN’T WORK.)

My mind keeps blanking out now. I’m not sure what I should do or if I should do anything in the first place. I’m kind of wanting food, but after that I kind of think the egg sandwich this morning might be enough—but then I remember how that could go all slippery-slope on me and that I need to keep fed.

…see, this is why Bob Marley sodas were invented.

*pops a top*

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2 thoughts on “/VENT

  1. Gerry Larrison says:

    According to a pilot study published in the latest issue of the peer-reviewed International Journal of Healing and Caring, veterans with high levels of PTSD saw their PTSD levels drop to within normal limits after treatment. They reported that combat memories that had previously haunted them, including graphic details of deaths, mutilations, and firefights, dropped in intensity to the point where they no longer resulted in flashbacks, nightmares, and other symptoms of PTSD. The study involved veterans from Vietnam, as well as more recent conflicts. ,

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