My PTSD Story, the Healing of Animals & You

I Think This Is a Problem

I close my eyes, but there is no rest. I see the picture in my mind with every blink. Dead, blown-up bodies. Blood everywhere. It’s a still-life black and white photo that never moves and is always there whenever I close my eyes.

Each day, every day, a steady diet of these things - horrible images. Even among the terrible there is worse. And it makes no sense which ones stay with your forever. But they do.

It was a few years before I realized what I was doing, or even that I was doing it at all. I always sat near an exit but facing a door. I appraised every person who entered the room. Suicide bomber? Not suicide bomber? Were they wearing a jacket in warm weather? If it was cold, was their midsection big and bulky, not fitting the rest of their form?

Where’s the glass? The goal of a suicide bomber is to shatter glass. During a suicide attack more people are killed by flying shards of glass than anything else. The purpose of the nails packed into …