Flashback

It happens suddenly. Sometimes, I can sense the approach, other times I am blindsided. When it manifests in nightmares, the aftermath is intense and all-consuming. Fear, fervent, fierce. Screams accompanied by sobs and shaking, hyperventilation. Regaining consciousness does not release me from reliving the memories. My self-control spirals out of control. When my husband is there, his voice helps me to outrun the terror, reminds me that I am with someone safe, that the physical danger has passed. He is patient and steady and shows me how to find air. He breathes with me, out and in, until my chest is less constricted, my pulse less erratic.

When it manifests during the day, it is just as unpredictable, but more complicated. It must be concealed; I must maintain a calm facade. It is far too personal to broadcast, hard enough to manage without judgement. On good days, I am vigilant. I can rationalize and talk myself through the more vulnerable moments. Other days, uneasiness simply will not subside. I am raw, jumpy. Everything requires more concerted effort, and I am more susceptible to triggers, both external and internal.

At all times, it is a struggle. It permeates, but I will not allow it to saturate, I will not drown in it. I refuse to let my sense of self stay subverted. I could not control what happened then, could not stop any of it, could not run him off. But now, even on one of my worst days, I can fight for my freedom. The things that haunt me cannot hold me. It is in my hands now.