The flashbacks are like déjà vu. Again and again and again....
They trap me in the past. They push me back when I try to step forward. They force me to relive. To re-feel. To remember.
They bring me right back. To the day. The moment. The sounds. The smells. The emotions. The touch. They’re not a dream. A vision. A memory. They’re my reality. As visible today as they were months ago. As though it were happening right before my eyes. Over and over again.
I’m told its the PTSD. To me, its something more. To leave them - those last moments of him and I - is to leave him, alone, on that bathroom floor. To walk away. As much as I want to, I can’t. My mind just won’t let me.
I don’t want to forget. I want to remember. I need to remember....
A small streak of blood on the bathroom wall. White powder on the carpet. Water hitting water as the shower flows into an already full bathtub. The sinking gut feeling of impending doom. Steel grey lifeless eyes. Blue and cold lifeless lips. Ambulance and police cars, lights ablaze. A stranger stating hope is lost. An empty chair. An infant’s cry. A wife’s scream. A widow’s sob.
This is the backdrop on which I try to live my life. Rebuild my life. This is the soundtrack which blends with the sounds of today. This is that day’s legacy which I rather would forget. My past and my present.
The flashbacks are like déjà vu. Again and again and again....
No comments:
Post a Comment