Glimpse of Ambiguity

I’ve heard people talk about Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder as what happens when a charming individual is inserted into a war situation where they are constantly at fear for their life.  They would be hearing repetitive sounds of ammunition showers going off overhead and all around them. I have spoken to a few different people who have experienced PTSD; they described that the “textbook” description of PTSD is incorrect. They prescribed PTSD as the taste, the feel, the smell, and the sound, all triggers, as much different. Often times when re-experiencing PTSD a person may have mental reactions, cold sweats. The description of experiencing PTSD seems as though it was what I was experiencing currently, but not PTSD.

It was the physical reaction I was having while examining my arm.  I was wishing for not having another opportunity. I had promised my son that he wouldn’t ever find me like he found me three days ago. He rushed me to the hospital where they detained me, well no, not really detained me but they ended up forcing me to leave against the doctors’ recommendations; what do they know.

I didn’t receive phone calls from my friend. I will call him. Whatever the circumstance, he never needed to call me. I called often enough. I don’t think he would call anyway. It has been five days since I last called him; my friend.

It had happened that my son was stopping over to borrow a couple of tools; he was fixing something at his house, I don’t know. I had a nagging back injury that I had been recovering from for years. The night before my son, Sam, had called to ask if I had some sort of tool. I wasn’t certain at what point in time he was going to be stopping over, it should be the next day. In the morning I woke up and my back was, once again, causing exceptional pain. I am not sure if the pain came from the weather, my mattress, maybe akin with the order in which I slept. But I could hardly move. My friend had left off some things that I thought we were going to be able to last me till the end of next week.

After only a short period of time, I realized that one dose was not going to resolve the excruciating pain I was feeling currently in my back. So one dose turned to a healthy two too, which then turned into a third. After the quick third, I set myself up for a fourth.  Measuring out the fourth I’m realizing that there will not be enough for a fifth dose so I felt that I may as well include the rest of the tiny fifth dose that along with the fourth. My guess is Sammy came through about half an hour after I had taken my fourth dose. Evaluating my arm again and exploring my phone for my friends number I remembered my promise to my son.

My traumatic disorder placed me into a scenario where I was not thankful for not overdosing. I was not grateful for my son being traumatized in his saving of my sensitive, frail and sore body. I was not pleased that I was forced to endure the withdrawals, the continued pain, and the emotional pressure of being a burden and child to my only son. As much as I remembered the sincerity of my promise; I knew a solution to all that I was trouble.

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