I just walked out of one of my PTSD groups because I felt that I didn't belong. I was the only one in the group that has not seen any combat, yet I am haunted by the same demon that haunts them. The Past. I have been up since 12:38 a.m. because of an horrific nightmare that is hard to share.
My wife came to get me yesterday for an 8 hour pass so my Demon chose to feed on my inner most intimate thoughts. He disguises Himself to terrorize using my dreams as a tool much like a terrorist uses an IED to accomplish their mission. Lorri, whom I have been married to for the last 5 years, came to me in my dreams much like she did in reality, yesterday.It was a truly beautiful day, despite tropical storm Faye. I will no go into great detail, as vivid as my dream was. I had called Lorri to find out where, exactly, she was when a Tuscaloosa Police car approached the building to 137. My heart sank, for I knew that something bad had happened. I could feel it. It is amazing to find a partner that you are absolutely suited for. A team operation. We spent the better part of 2 and a half years together, 24/7, driving for a large trucking company running almost a quarter million miles. We are connected beyond belief.That is the best word I can use to describe our relationship. I believe God put us together for a reason. That is why I am still alive, physically, today.She is the one that has been holding me up, keeping my head above the insanity pool, not allowing me to slip from her grasp into the grave. The police officer came to me and said no words. None were needed. He drove me to the accident scene on the get off ramp of University Blvd. Lorri's Toyota was a heap of smoldering, unrecognizable metal. I frantically began to scream her name over and over. A lone ambulance quietly sat just beyond the wreckage, lights flashing. I approached the medics, their heads bowed in respectful solitude. Tears began to flow. A medic opened the side door and motioned me inside the vehicle. I seemed to float up to the jump seat at the head of the gurney. My heart had been ripped from my chest my throat raw from screaming Lorri's name The medic pulled the sheet back to expose a grey-haired man of about 80 wearing a WWII flight suit with the name DeBarge stenciled above his left pocket. I began to howl bolting up in bed scanning my surroundings. I began sobbing. Thank you God, thank you God. I quickly got out of bed, washed my face with a cold rag and walked into the hall towards the nurses station. James, the nurse on our floor asked if I was okay He could see that I was upset and opened the door to the porch and let me sit outside then left me alone. James knew, instinctively, what I needed. The tears came and I cried until there were no more tears left. This PTSD is a lot tougher than I had thought. Sometimes I am afraid it will be too tough for me to handle. Sometimes. theblogmeister