A little story about PTSD and finding one’s way through reflection and seeking the right kind of help. Often, the wounded turn to drugs and alcohol or high risk behaviors to drowned out the unwelcome thoughts and emotions. That only serves to further bury the living in the ninth ring of hell.
I parked in a small lot behind the building and paused to compose myself. The rhythmic thump of my heartbeat in my ears grew louder as I stepped out into the heat. The ramp to the double glass doors was a tunnel collecting the roar of traffic and distant construction. A fine sheen of sweat collected on my forehead and the small of my back. The distant sound of guns filled my mind, and for a moment, I stood at the door with one foot in reality and the other in a distant past.
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