I didn't see him at first, I was rushing through the underpass to get to my next appointment at the other side of the city. Something called for my attention, perhaps a rustle or a cough. l glanced over my shoulder and there he was. Alone. All alone. Laying on the ground, half out of his sleeping bag, fully asleep. One brief look was all that was needed set my mind racing. My WarKid head saw him as the dead Argentine that 10 year old me saw. Laying alone. I was afraid then as I was on this day that he would leap up, hit me, bite me, chase me. Falklands Fi, facing 50, saw him alone and vulnerable. Wondered about his health. An addict? Thought about popping into a nearby café and getting him a bacon roll and hot sweet coffee to wake up to. WarKid won. I rushed on.
The picture was with me for most of the day and deep into the night. The following day I put in a Skype call with my PTSD therapist and talked it through. I'm so glad we can keep in touch wherever in the world we are. She talked through both stories with me and helped me to understand about the flashback and feelings associated with it all. Neither of the men actually did jump up and chase me or hurt me. With some clever therapy techniques we've worked towards moving it from being a traumatic memory to a bad but stable memory. That was a heavy session. I came out feeling wrung out. Exhausted. Tearful. Shocked at such a horrible story, I've never spoken it out to anyone before. Feels good have done it. Strangely my eyesight/ vision seems much clearer and fresher. It was never previously bad, but this is a keeper.
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