PTSD

This is what most people think I went through when I say PTSD:



Well, that's partially true.

If you delve deep enough in my head...

... you'll see the EXACT same scenario.

However, I never have been to war... of that kind.

I've never been in fatigues.

I've never been in the military.

I lived in the projects...

... during the drug wars.

The architects built the layout to include a cul-de-sac.

This made the neighborhood "safer".

All the "homes" were two stories with multiple bedrooms and meant to replace the towering apartment complexes.

The front yards had trees, a water spout, plenty of grass.

Backyards were grassy, too. With a little area to put your barbecue grill.

The dream was to allow an easy transition into "normalcy".

Sure, the folks there fell on hard times... we all do.

And this was a low-cost alternative to get people into the mainstream society.

We were happy, struggling, and still had hope... in our kids, schools, and neighborhoods.

People planted flowers and small gardens, sold homemade freezer pops and cookies... and caramel apples in the Fall near Halloween.

And then, the people stopped coming outside to sit on their porches.

Mom would tell us that it was too dangerous to go outside.

And then, cars... lots and lots of cars.

The streetlights were shot out.

Police patrolled the area... faces I didn't recognize... and didn't look like mine.

I was told to go straight to school, then right back home.

Then, I was pulled out of my house in my nightgown.

Police dragged me to the porch, outside, and my Mom was crying.

My dad (stepdad who I had known most of my life), was pinned down by some strange man in blue.

He pushed my dad's head into the ground.

Told him not to move.

And never once... did the man look at me as I shouted "STOP!"

My dad told me to quiet down.

I looked... in horror... as cops drove up and walked all around me... in my house... in my room.

I couldn't remember anything... when asked if I lived there, I had to take a few moments to think before saying, "Yeah."

And just like that... just like a flash of light... they all walked away.

The man in blue had taken the cuffs off my dad and walked away.

It was like the end of a play.

Everyone left the stage and just... disappeared in their gleaming white vehicles.

Only one man took a moment to place his hand on my shoulder, and say, "I'm sorry, we got the wrong house."

We never spoke of it, again.

To this day, I feel like I struggle to remember the details.

I do remember the feelings.

And war IS hell.