Living with PTSD is like living in a house with paper thin walls
with your memories shouting in every room
I remember when my mom gave me her cell phone
and told me to call 911 if he hit her
I remember being trapped in the backseat of the car
as he wrapped is hungry hands around her throat
it was the first time i saw him choke her
from that angle
I remember my little sister screams
as they rumbled up the roof of the car and into my ears
I remember my trembling fingers unable to move
sometimes when I look at her i still see the disgrace in my betrayal
because i never had the courage to dial
Living with PTSD is like giving someone else the remote control to your life
and they just won’t stop pressing rewind
you abuse is their highlight reel
and it never stops being just as real
as the first time your no became a yes
and your questions
they remain answerless
because your mom doesn’t believe in therapy
that’s for the crazy people
she pulled me out as soon as the diagnosis
ripped the blindfold from her eyes
how could she have been the one
to make her straight A student fail
how could her love for him
have made me the crazy one
I was always the one that helped her cope
I always gave her hope
she thought she took the brunt of the abuse
“how could i know, shani if you never told me?”
how do you look her in the eyes and say
“mom i thought you were in on it too”
the thing about PTSD is people reserve it’s seat for battlefield trauma
but they forget that sometimes
the war can be at home
i remember the times i came home relieved to find my mother alive
how can a child thrive
when it’s almost impossible to survive at home
i thank god for my friends that make sure no one burns incense
when i’m around
my father always burned them after a binge
and sometimes just the smell of them…
sometimes i remember the sound of breaking glass
sometimes i remember the feeling of unwanted hands
sometimes i remember the the smell of blood
sometimes i cringe at the color red
sometimes i’m not sure why i’m crying
it’s probably just another repressed memory clawing it’s way to surface
but remember the next time you call someone crazy
that you’re lucky to have nothing to forget
remember not to make fun of the kid that wets the bed
because sometimes your head causes dread and your body doesn’t know what to do
remember, that i’m just trying to remember to forget
