Omens

I woke up from a nightmare today.

Got up and was ready for work while Erich was still sleeping soundly.

He woke up and I knew I needed to get into bed and snuggle with him one last time before leaving. Work was not as important as these times I spend with him. I know that.

As I am driving to work, a 911 Emergency Management Agency vehicle drove in front of my stopped car. It caught my eye in an unusual way. A few moments later I found myself behind that car. Starting at the words: Emergency Management Agency "Call 911." I was in a daze following this car until it pulled off.

On the highway I saw flashing blue lights from the airport. It has never disturbed me before, and now it's flashing in my side view mirror and rear view mirror. It eventually vanishes as I progress.

Then it hits me. A giant Bill Board. The words STAY SAFE are huge. It's a tire add that says "Stay Safe with Winter Tires." But the words STAY SAFE are burning into my mind. I start to look back at the omens from the airport. I try to write it off as a coincidence but then I look over to the truck next to me which says "SAFETY IS REAL." All Caps. Bold font. Across the top of the truck head, as the bed was gone. I feel my breath shorten.

"Life and Death" by the Dear Hunter starts playing on my radio. I am having trouble breathing.

I pull into the parking lot of my work. It only takes me 10-15 minutes to get here in the morning. I compose myself. I walk in to my office, next to a trampoline park. I am always greeted by their door first, but my eyes fixate on a detail that it normally doesn't fixate on when I see their door. In the corner of the door "No Weapons Allowed."

This could all be nothing. I listen to that song by the dear hunter often. Maybe I look at the tire ad frequently, and the truck was a coincidence. I know I have seen the trampoline sign before but because of everything else my mind decided to lock in on it. Maybe I do see the blue lights at the airport flashing but just never notice it. And there are some days where I have nightmares and want to get extra snuggles in.

Maybe, it's all a coincidence.

But on January 6, I didn't take the warnings seriously, and I am now convinced they were omens that I just wrote off. I don't ever want to write off that again.

Appointment today

Talking points:

I need to see  her more frequently or longer than these 30 minute sessions. It feel myself regressing with her schedule change.

I might have to quit my Master's program. I can't handle the stress. Too much stress. I am a failure.

I am actively avoiding almost everything causing stress. Avoidance is the number one thing I should NOT be doing, and yet... I cannot even look at Halloween decorations or watch things that are violent.

A sub-point of avoidance: I am avoiding my family.

Depression/suicidal thoughts are coming back. I get triggered by thinking I am dying, by feeling the pressure of a gun because someone is behind me, but now instead of fear, I just don't care.

I don't care about any of it.

UPDATE: She cancelled my appointment... Again... And I really needed her this time.

Haunted and hunted

The shooter is back in my dreams. I can't sleep at all. I wake up with a migraine. This has been going on for 2 weeks. I cannot escape him. He is continuing to hunt me. To haunt me. I cannot escape my ghost...

"Officers mishandled fort lauderdale airport shooting leading to chaos"

Article

I have no idea why I am alive...

Fight, Flight, or Hide

Today I took a long exploratory walk around my new office building. 

I looked at every nook and cranny. Opened all the unlocked doors and noted the locked ones. Throughout my survey of the space, I noticed that there are not many hiding places. Many of the classrooms are wide open spaces with tables and chairs; no place to hide behind or under. There was only one class room that had potential for escape, and it had two entrances/exits to it. Still, wouldn't count on it in a pinch. 

The Instructor office some hiding potential, only because I told myself to really check everywhere in there, and forgot to check a few places. I was seriously looking for hiding spots and, even noting a few to check on, I still didn't bother to check in those spots. I believe the layout of that space is probably good enough to look through quickly, but no reason to thorough check hiding spots unless there is a reason to.

Some class rooms have windows, but nothing in the rooms to really break the window. The chairs seem flimsy and there was nothing very heavy to throw at the glass. Also, we are about 2 or 3 stories high, and nothing but concrete below. Nothing to throw out to cushion the fall. Windows for escape would definitely need muscle and you would have to execute the landing perfectly. 

There are several ways out of the space, but only two lead out of the building completely. One is an emergency exit near the back of the building, one is near my office, down a hall to the back entrance to our space. These are the most likely ways to exit. There is also an exit in the back that leads to a utility room and up to the roof. That might be a great way to go if all else fails, but we would still be stuck on the roof. The other exit is through the front of the office, to the lobby of the building. That is risky as there is a lot of open space and large glass windows, but it is an exit.

Conclusion:

If anything happens, I should take an exit nearest to me. I shouldn't risk hiding, as I would be found instantly. If the exits are blocked, I should try a window escape and hope for the best. It's survivable, but I might not get very far based on the height and landing on concrete. The last thing I should do is hide, and if I have no choice but to hide, I should hope that I can make my way to the instructor's office, or just get under a desk and hope for the best.

I honestly want to believe I would be able to fight my way out, but armed with only pepper spray, it seems unlikely. So I have to hope that maybe one of the many gun enthusiast in my office feel better about taking on a situation like that. 

This is how my break today was spent.

Prolonged exposure at SDF

Thursday, June 29th, 2017. Almost 6 months since the incident. I was back at the airport.

It was on our calendar for a full week. I wasn't sure if this was something I was ready to do or not, but I didn't feel scared or nervous waiting for the day to come. It was an eerie calm. I felt ready to tackle it and see how far I could push myself.

I think I need people to tell me to stop pushing myself too far too fast.

I grabbed Erich from work at 4PM. We were supposed to meet at SDF at 4:30. Naturally, on the drive, we started talking about if either of us were nervous, and our feelings about the whole thing. He started describing some things: "I am glad the baggage claim doesn't have carpet. I remember the carpet vividly and hope to never see it again!"

That's when I remembered. Vividly. That's when it all tried to come back to me, and I tried to stop thinking about it. I couldn't stop the intense pain in my chest and the blurriness of the road in front of me. Where did my breath go?

I proceeded to have one of the most intense and powerful panic attacks I've had in months. Luckily we made it to the parking lot in time for it.

Our FBI Victim's Specialist meet us there in the parking lot. She was right on time. I composed myself and we went in. I did warn her of the earlier panic. She is very professional and handled it perfectly. I was able to stop shaking within 10 minutes of our initial meeting. We went inside. Unfortunately, from the parking garage to the inside of the airport, you go up the stairs from underground. Up the stairs, to the baggage claim... Yeah, that happened. We immediately continued on up to the main lobby of the airport and was only in that area briefly. My heart started to pound but nothing more than I could handle. We were there, literally, only seconds.

So we walked around the main lobby. We found the meditation room; which I had no idea existed. We sat there. We calmed ourselves. We felt good. I checked in with Erich. He was ready to go. The VS checked with both of us, we were ready- to explore other parts of the airport!

We walked to the ticketing area. Sat there by the stairs leading down to baggage claim. I eyed everyone who walked by. I know that sounds rude but I did. I had to look at their bags, look at their pockets, look at their faces to reassure myself that nothing was off about that person. A few kids ran by, and the announcements made us jump, but our anxiety levels were around a 3/4 the entire time.

We walked to the Comfy Cow - a local ice cream chain that happens to be in the airport - and decided to distract ourselves with a cool treat. That brought us back down to a 1. We then made our way down the stairs to the Tourist Kiosk, knowing that the claim area was feet from us. We looked at our shoes. No carpet. Believe it or not, knowing I didn't have to see carpet there was a huge relief. I tricked myself into believing I could do it. 

With the encouragement of each other and our VS, we inched into the area. A loud bag slammed behind us and we inched a little faster, then found a good pace. My feet looked fine on the ground. I could see a loose thread hanging off my clothing. But where were Erich's feet? I looked over. I saw the chairs next to the baggage carousals. Our VS was asking what my level was. My vision blurred again. My voice left me. Was I a 5? Was I a 9? I tried to stutter out the words. She asked 3 times. "Fi-five? M-m-maybe 6?" I looked up to Erich, and then to the carousals. 10. I was at a 10.

I lost it.

It all came back. The gun. The shooter. The man in the brown shoes. The red on the carpet. The feeling I was going to die. 

We were in the area for 3 minutes, but who knows how long it really was. When you are faced with these things, time has no relevance or meaning. You are in the past, present, and future all at the same time. I collapsed outside near the passenger pickup lane. My body was shaking. I couldn't breathe. I have no idea what my thoughts were. I was dying. All over again. 

I was down, on the ground, not knowing what would come next, and not knowing how long it had been. Eventually I started gaining more control. Our VS and Erich had been talking to me. Reminding me that I was safe. I started focusing on their voices and I came back.

Unfortunately, the way back to the garage was the way we came. I knew I couldn't step foot in the airport again. Not that day. A security officer guided us around to a street area (which had NO WALKING signs all around). She gave us permission, plus being with the FBI helped too, so we were able to get by without stepping back inside.

We got home. My mom came over to fix my hair up for the first day at my new job (That Friday)! Then the fireworks started. From Thursday until... I believe they are still going on tonight, I'm sure. Cue panic attacks for the following nights. How I made it through the first day of work, I have no idea.

My brain makes everyone around me someone to fear

Last night my husband got frustrated at the dog.

He crawled into bed and was mad that the dog wouldn't move or something like that.

I was already laying down. Hearing his frustration triggered something in me. I was now afraid of him.

The fear isn't rational. I know it isn't rational. I kept telling myself it is not rational. But my brain kept playing possibilities in my head. He is going to kill you. He has a gun and since your back is turned, he will shoot you without you knowing. Maybe he is going to start hitting you or choking you. I got so uncomfortable by the thoughts, without saying a word, I went to the couch with a cover and pillow.

He came out to get me. I was already silently crying, as soon as I saw his silhouette. I feared him being near me. What happened next?

He gently told me to come back to bed.

He tucked me in and kissed me.

He offered to sleep on the couch and let me stay in the bed alone.

He apologized for being upset over the dog.

None of those actions scream violence. None of those actions say I should be afraid of him. But my brain couldn't stop picturing him doing unspeakable things to me. I tried to mentally fight it. I made him stay in bed with me, but the fear was still there. I didn't feel safe. My brain was going over every possibly scenario of him snapping and taking it out on me. 

I got up once more. To shut the door to our bedroom. I tried to tell myself that maybe I was just nervous someone would enter our room and that's what I was really afraid of. We never sleep with the bedroom door closed, until I have moments like this. Then the door needs to be shut. It offers me just a small amount of peace to get me to sleep. It worked. I eventually slept.

My husband is not violent. He is gentle. He is sweet. He loves me and cares about me in ways I've never experienced. He literally was ready to take a bullet for me. No one cares about me more than he does. So why is this fear here? Why does this trauma effect my perception of the one person who would never hurt me? 

I hate my brain.

May is Mental Health Awareness Month

Credit for pictures goes to Shawn Coss and you can buy from this series at Any Means Necessary.

So I am going to do this differently. I discovered this series recently and related to so many of the pictures. So I am going to showcase a few of the pictures and tell you how they relate to my mental health.

This is one that I didn't go into much detail about, yet. But for a while - at the airport - I truly believed I was dead. I thought that I was dead and I was merely a ghost. It's a weird feeling, thinking you've actually were the one shot. That there was no way to survive that mess alive. But somehow I did. 

When I first got home, I didn't leave the house for almost two weeks. The only time I left was for my Psychiatrist appointments. Even after that two weeks I hated going outside, or to places/stores/restaurants/back yard or anywhere outside the comfort of my home.

EVERYTHING Made me anxious. Noises especially. I was almost immobilized by my anxiety. I just kept thinking that at any moment, when I let my guard down, that would be the moment I would die. The anxiety of death, of something bad happening to me or Erich, or of leaving the house and being out in public was powerful.

With anxiety, I was also terrified to be around other people. Socializing or being out in public made my anxiety spike. The only person I was comfortable with was my Husband. Eventually other people coming around to take care of me, helped ease this anxiety. With baby steps, I am now able to be out in public spaces.

When having a dissociate episode, Acute Stress or Post-Traumatic, I felt like a stranger in my own body. I felt like everything around me was fake and that I couldn't see the true reality in front of me. I still don't know if I have fully explained this feeling, although I've written about it several times. It's unreal, thinking you are not real.

Ah... Insomnia. Something I've been battling with off and on these last few months. Eyes wide, scared of the darkness, scared of the nightmares, wanting nothing but rest... If you read my previous post you know it was something I was suffering from to the point of being a danger on the road. It's miserable.

 This one is pretty self explanatory. When I get anxious, I start to panic. Then I have panic attacks. I am averaging between 1-3 panic attacks a day. The BusPar helps keep them at bay, but sometimes an attack can be triggered by nothing at all.

Everyone, meet my ghost. This is the image I relate to the most. Feeling chained to him. Have him being in control over me. The emptiness I feel inside. How it's bigger than me. Monstrous. This is the epitome of how I feel living with PTSD.

Last... Depression. This is how I've been feeling lately. This is how I feel now. This is the drowning feeling I've been talking about...

No official diagnosis for many of these things. I know I am depressed, have panic disorder and anxiety, and PTSD, but the other things - like Cotard Delusion and agoraphobia didn't last, and I guess that's also why I don't talk about them as much as my present diagnosis. But I understand how it felt living with those temporarily. I feel like a nutcase sometimes. Like I truly don't know what's in my head - which illness is controlling my thoughts. All I can do is try to keep pushing forward. I am going to keep trying as long as I can.

I encourage you all, to look through his full set of pictures on his Facebook page. This was an inktober challenge, so there are 31 mental illnesses that he drew and showcased.

I die every day

I guess I only have myself to blame. I put myself in these stressful situations. I started my day with espresso, I went to a big, loud event with lots of people in a neighborhood that recently had some shootings, I tried to be a mediator when my family was arguing, and I picked up that book again. I can only blame myself for ending my already intense day with a book on an intense subject. I can only blame myself for dying again.

As you can see from the entry that proceeds this, I had a PTSD episode. I can only blame myself. I was the trigger. I was reading the story and thinking about my weekend. How many times I freaked out because of how dark it was outside or in a room I was occupying - remember, I am scared of the dark - and then like magic, a panic attack comes over me. I've been getting better at handling my attacks. Learning to breathe is the biggest thing - but that's a whole other thing.

After I put the book down, I turned on my side. I started thinking about why I was scared of the dark. What is the connection bridging the attack that happened in daylight inside a lit airport, to make darkness so triggering for me. I figured it out - as I laid on stomach, with my head tilted to the side facing my ghost. It was because that's all I could think about when I was waiting to die. I was thinking about the blackness that comes after your heart stops beating - the nothingness. I started to cry. I just wanted to go to bed.

As I crawled into bed, with freshly washed sheets, I couldn't stop lying like that. On the stomach, head to the side, facing my ghost. I thought of his shoes. I thought of Terry's shoes. I started going back there. I couldn't stop myself. I couldn't stop remembering Terry. Everything around me seemed hyper-realistic. It felt like a reality beyond our own, that wasn't meant to be seen. Like looking through a telescope, pointed at a camera lens, that is pointed at a magnifying class. I could see into something that we ignore everyday, a reality that is just out of sight to the untrained eye.

I was there again. I could see him in front of me. I was still on the edge of the bed but his shoes were right in front of me. The ghost's shoes are pacing back and forth from our area. Terry is already dead, I can sense it. I know what I am seeing is not real, but yet it is real to me every single day. Erich helps me snap out of it. I didn't realize tears were streaming from my face. He was asking me questions, but I couldn't communicate with him. Even a simple head nod seemed impossible. That's when the paranoia kicked in.

So what was a PTSD episode like this time? It was a massive panic attack. I mentioned earlier that I am getting better at handling my panic attacks. I can keep them under control to an extent. This, however, I am a slave to. It's like my brain and body forget how to breathe. My breathing is short, fast, and erratic. No amount of preparation can keep me in control. I then think I am going to die.

When I say I think I am going to die, it's as close to literal as I believe you can get. I truly, honestly, believe that I am about to die. I can vividly imagine the gun going off at my head. I know I can never fully put into words how it feels, because it's a feeling most people never experience. Having your brain work so hard against you to make you believe that each moment, a gun will go off and then the blackness will set in... It's something I don't think anyone should have to experience.

I am crying as I type this out because I know how I felt yesterday. How terrifying it is to feel that way. To feel that way almost every day right before a panic attack. To feel that way almost every minute during an PTSD episode. I am not me during an episode. Looking back on what happened last night, it feels like it was a completely different person it was happening to. The me I am now wants to go and hug that girl. To tell her she isn't going to die. To tell her that everything will be okay. To lie to her until she feels better. I am in tears now because my heart breaks for that girl, and I know next time I see that girl, I still will not be able to help her.

I feel like I have more to say, but I just can't right now. I am too emotional and I have to put on a fake smile for work. Please, everyone who is reading this, go hug someone you love right now. Please do that for me. Let everyone in your life know that you love them. Pray for those who cannot find love in their life. Pray for me, because I feel like I will not feel love today.

That small line

I've been sitting on this thought for almost a week. I haven't really been able to put into words all that is going on in my head lately. I've been pulled towards stories of mental illness. It's a new magnetism I have picked up. I seek out stories of disaster, heartbreak, and tragedy at the cause of untreated mental illness. As a sufferer from mental illness myself, I wonder what makes me different than the people I read about?

This weekend I picked up A Mother's Reckoning. I mentioned doing so in my last entry. What made me actually do it is all profits go to mental health charities, including Mental Health America (MHA), National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI), American Foundation for Suicide Prevention (AFSP), American Association of Suicidology (AAS) and Brain & Behavior Research Foundation. I have to admit, I am not very far into the book. I will definitely dive into it soon, but I after making the purchase I've been questioning my own brain health and what keeps me from crossing the same line others have crossed; the line that stops me from becoming one of these tragedies.

I imagine myself sitting at the edge of the line. I am there alone on my side, but look out and see so many others on the opposite side: Columbine Shooters, Virginia Tech Shooter, DC Snipers, Sandy Hook shooter, The Facebook Killer, Aurora Theater Shooter... It's massive on the other side of the line. The person staring directly at me is, of course, my personal demon, The Fort Lauderdale Airport shooter. They have all been accused of mental illness and shooting their victims, or participating in a mass shooting. Most of them went into it knowing they would kill themselves after. Shootings, suicide, and mental illness. It's been a slight obsession with me lately. I can't help it, it's apart of my magnetic pull.

I've read their stories many times trying to understand them. Trying to figure out why each and every one of them stepped over the line. Why are they on the other side, and I am over here? I have been wondering if it is inevitable that I will end up on the other side. Not that I would ever kill anyone else. Let me say that again: I will never kill. Not an animal, not a human, not even annoying flies buzzing around my head. It's why I chose to go vegetarian; it's why I am a humanitarian. But I have to admit that the thought of killing myself has been coming up often. But why?

I think it's just apart of my journey. Just a phase where I ponder the meaning of life, of living with mental illness, and living with survivor's guilt. It's something that I know will pass and even now, the thoughts are more passive than anything. Typing this all out scares me. I am scared of the stigma that will come about me even talking about the line existing. Talking about the thoughts that come into my brain. But that's just it. We all need to talk about it. We cannot allow mental illness, and all that comes with it, to be swept under the rug. We have to bring awareness to it. The more we stigmatize it, the less likely we are to seek help, the more likely we are to cross over.

With that said, I am going to do something extremely scary. I am going to post this blog's link for everyone. I am going to open up my thoughts, my suffering, for all in my life to read. With this act, it will be my first step on the road to helping others out there. I will talk about it openly, and if they choose, they can talk to me about it openly. Then we can help and support each other. I am also signing up for peer support specialist training, if I can find a date that I can attend! If I can save one person, that would give my life meaning...

Until then, I will sit on my side of the line, and look out to those who were so unlucky to be sitting opposite of me.

Safety

I am obsessed with the idea of feeling safe. I need to get my hands on a tally counter or something similar to see how often these thoughts come up a day.

Lately, I suppose I haven't been feeling too safe in my home. I keep imagining (to the point where I make myself audibly gasp), that someone will break into my house and kill me. Then what would my reaction be if confronted by that person.

For example, sometimes when I am showering, after Erich leaves for work, I just imagine the door slowly creeping open. A man walking stealthily through the house, and opening the bathroom door. He points a gun at me and I turn around and face him. I imagine not begging for my life, but for him to please at minimum to call my mother and let her know what happened, so Erich isn't the one to find me. I wonder if there is any reasoning with a person like that, but I cannot help but try and imagine it. Then I imagine what it will feel like after the gun goes off. How do I fall to the floor/shower? How does the blood splatter? Would he shoot me in my head or chest? Will he turn off the water after?

When I am in my basement, I imagine something similar, but my urge to hide overrides my urge to reason with him. I try to figure out what is the best place to hide if an intrude forces his way in, upstairs. Should I grab my animals and take them to another room and lock the door? Should I try to escape out the window? Should I lay flat and play dead? In this scenario I always imagine the choice I make being the wrong one and him finding me and shooting me.

Obsessive thoughts.

I just cannot shake them. I still constantly have the thoughts that I have posted about previously, but I never realized how often I have them in my own home. My home is supposed to be safe, but I guess I never fully feel safe there either. Will I always have these thoughts? Will they keep me safe, or are they just taking up useless space in my mind? Will I ever feel safe?

There is too much ugliness in the world. Too many attacks, shootings, and evil doings. I don't think I will feel safe anywhere in the world.

Another terrorist attack in Europe

I know I didn't write yesterday. I just was exhausted from writing. I also feel like I am starting to become redundant. But today, there was yet another major terrorist attack in Europe. Sweden to be exact. And now I am terrified.

I feel like I am about to start bawling my eyes out. My medicine can only suppress so much. My PTSD shadow is here. I feel like the shooter is right behind me and will kill me. I am at work and I am alone and I am freaking out.

I just need to go some where and hide for a while

The Ghost known as PTSD

I want to clarify something. In my last entry about it, I may have been too fanciful describing how my ghost feels and acts. Although everything I wrote is true and is what I experience, it might diminish what I am actually going through. In this entry, I am going to be straight forward. 

You know that feeling you get when someone is hovering over your shoulder, breathing down your neck. I feel that. That is where the shooter always is. On my left shoulder, hovering over me, watching everything I do. This isn't a delusion as much as it's just a sensation. If I turn to look over my shoulder, I expect to see someone there because the feeling is so real, but I know he isn't there. So why my left shoulder? Because that is where the bullet would have entered. Where he was towering over me. Right side of my head to the floor, exposing the left side of my head. It almost feels like the shadow of him has weight. Like that side of me feels heavy. It's always the left side of my head. Almost never the right side. I am thinking back now and even when I hear a noise on my right side, I think I still feel the gun on my left.

The gun sensation. It is as close to real as any imaginary friend I've ever had. I don't think I was one for imaginary friends, I don't remember having any. It's hard to describe. I am sure it feels completely different than having an actual gun to the back of the head, but it's almost real. It starts with intrusive thoughts. Usually thoughts about someone coming in and shooting me from behind or something similar. I have these thoughts several times a day (or maybe all day?). The medication usually keeps them at bay, but if I get stuck on one of those thoughts too long, it starts to materialize. I start feeling a pressing pain on the back of my head. I start to feel what I believe to be the cold metal of the barrel. It does feel like it presses into my head, and the thought actually causes a headache (or maybe the headache triggers the thought?). Either way, it doesn't stop until it goes off and "shoots me." It usually only happens if I hear a loud noise, or vividly imagine a loud noise. Then, after realizing I am not dead, the headache starts to go away. 

My crying fits are suppressed. I am sure my medication suppresses it. There are moments where I am so upset I want to cry but can't muster it up UNLESS I am really bothered or upset by it. I've tested it with sad movies and thoughts. It's officially very hard to make me cry. I did cry at my sister's reveal party and my movie friend date.

My panic attacks have been suppressed as well. I still get nervous, jumpy, and panicky. Those moments just go away faster. My panic attacks last mere seconds if not less than a minute. Except at my sister's reveal party and the movie friend date.

What I am saying is, that the attacks, both crying and panic, have gotten so much lesser. But the fact that I still feel the ghost over my shoulder and the gun to my head is still worrying. The intrusive thoughts are impossible to get rid of as well.

The Ghost

I am being haunted. I have a ghost who hangs over my left shoulder. He is a long black figure with big eyes and jagged teeth. He gnaws away at my head and threatens me daily. Some times he does nothing except exists over my shoulder. Other times he creeps around in dark corners and shadows and lurks in the unknown. The one thing he does often - the one thing I hate most - he holds a gun to my head. He will aim that gun all day if he has to and if someone slams a door or drops something BAM, the gun goes off and I am dead for half a second.

I've named him: The Shooter.

On January 6th, 2017 I was traveling on vacation. I was to go on a cruise that was a Christmas/Anniversary present from my Father-in-law. It was free, we only had to pay for the flight. I was so excited. We nearly missed our connecting flight from Atlanta to Fort Lauderdale but we ran fast and made it with no time to spare. Our bag, unfortunately, did not make the flight in time and we had to wait down in the baggage claim for it to arrive. During this time, a traveler named Estebon Santiago decided to carry out an attack that the FBI officially classified as a terrorist attack. Many people were injured, 5 people died. 1 person died right next to me. I will never forget.

I will not go into more detail than that in this entry. This entry is not about the event itself, but rather the haunting I am experiencing from my ghost: PTSD. I was officially diagnosed with Acute Stress Disorder (ASD) on January 20th. It's been about two months since that diagnoses - it's officially PTSD.

The first two weeks following the incident, the ghost had a body. He would follow me, stalk me, come up behind me and put me back on the floor of the airport. I couldn't stop him. He was strong, he was physical (it seemed so in my head) and he never stopped trying to get me. He would stick his gun to my head and I could literally feel the heat and pressure from it. He would press it harder and harder until BAM it went off and I was dead again.

After he shot the gun, he would leave me temporarily to mourn - and mourn I did. I have never felt such a mourning in my life. The pain in my chest, the tears that would pour, the thoughts that wouldn't leave me be. I would mourn for hours and then lock myself up some place I felt safe... Not many places did feel safe.

After a while my ghost decided he needed to step it up a notch. He decided to try possession. He would sneak in the shadows and make an alarming noise; that would put my body in a state of shock. He used my shock to sneak into my mind and make me travel through time. Where I was, what I was doing, none of it was real. It was all a trick and I am at the airport about to die. I would try to see my house, but I would see the airport carpet and The Shooter's shoes stalking me. I would hear the shots, clear as day. I knew I was still there; that my life after the airport was a coping mechanism. I was about to die. The bullet was entering my brain.

These moments last an hour, minimum.

After receiving help and trying to deal with it, I was determined to get better. I had to get better. I wanted my life back! I had to find ways to exorcise this ghost from my life. I would try going to the grocery store and he would whisper in my ears: Any minute I will walk in as a stranger and kill everyone in this store. You better find the exits or a good hiding spot or you will die. Then he clutches my lungs and squeezes the breath out of them. He takes his fine teeth and starts gnawing at my heart. I lose control and have a panic attack.

These moments last 20 minutes, minimum.

I started medication immediately after my diagnosis. It was increased last week for now my ASD is now PTSD and my ghost, again, has decided to try something new to keep me under his control.

There was a storm last week. I loved storms. The thunder, the rain, the lightening. It's always so exciting, or rather it was. The ghost seized this opportunity to try and really get to me. He went outside and grew into the storm. As the thunder rolled closer to me, his shots did too. His shots seemed more powerful and I was paralyzed in a hysterical fear. I wasn't in the airport or in the past or in a store. I was in my bed and I was going to die. The Shooter was the Thunder and the Thunder was going to kill me. I no longer had thoughts at the time. No thoughts could enter or exit my brain, just pure panic and fear. I couldn't stop crying. I couldn't breath.

This moment lasted two hours.

The moments are getting fewer but they are still there. I have at least one crying fit a day. There may have been 1 or 2 days where I didn't cry, but that's it. I cry every day at least once a day. I can't stop. My heart hurts and I am still terrified.

As I get up in the morning, the ghost latches on me. I brush my teeth and stare my reflection down. Like a vampire, he doesn't have a reflection, but I can feel him sucking the life out of me. He follows me around all day. He knows the medication works to keep me calm, so he tries to fight against it. I feel defeated, and then take another pill.

This ghost is something I will live with. Probably forever. I have accepted this. It's only been 2 months but I know, I feel, he will always be there. Maybe one day he will not have any control over me. Maybe he will just be an observer, reminding me of how easily life can be snatched away. Until then, I just have to find a way to keep him at bay and to live through his attacks, one moment at a time.