Flurries of smoke and hot breath, fighting against winter's cold, fill the air as I walk down the sidewalk. I hear snippets of conversations that weren't meant for my ears as people pass me so I try hard not to pay attention. I try not to pay attention to the tension that keeps building up in my body. It makes my joints ache. It makes my hands shake and most of all it makes it hard to concentrate on what my professor is saying. My emotions are wearing thin as this fight or flight response wont turn off it's switch and let me rest. I can't sleep or eat, and when I do I dream of things that don't make any sense.
Like last night, I dreamed my boyfriend called me, ready to do something we haven't done in a while, and with a flushed face I drove to his house, excited that for once my desire is returned. The house was empty, all the more fun for us, and it was quiet. I climbed up the stairs and opened the door to his room, anticipating the events to come. It was dark, pitch black, nothing was visible. He had hung his black-out curtains over the door to his balcony even though it was the middle of the night, but his voice called me over to him. I followed it to the bed. As I got closer I new something wasn't right. Maybe it was the way he asked me to undress, or maybe it was the way the bed felt, like more than two people were on it. I told him I was going to turn on the lights and his voice cracked out a painful no. I knew someone else was in here and whoever they were, they weren't going to play nice. So I turned on the lights. Then a shot rung out in the night and the creature that had held a gun to my lover's head jumped off the balcony and ran away in fright that I might pursue. Which I might have, if my boyfriend's head hadn't been blown off by the monster's gun. I woke up with tears on my face, breathless and distraught. But overcome with relief it was just a dream.
This is what my mind sees when my eyes close, so I try not to sleep. Not that I could if I wanted to. My body is too under much strain trying to deal with this never ending anxiety. It's like my muscles can't stop moving, constantly twitching and fidgeting with my pencil. Making me drum my fingers on tables and bounce my knee, with no reason except the worry that keeps eating away at my health. It wont disappear. Even though I have no excuse for this mess that's running through my head it does it's laps anyway. I'm so uncomfortable. I feel alienated and I can't seem to keep a decent conversation with anyone or trust the ones who have gotten past my awkward social skills. So I think it's time to rid myself of PTSD.
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