In a few days I’m doing something I rarely do. I’m gonna share my 25-year torment. It’s very hard to talk about most times and others not so much, but always, always hard to share very much. Some times it is so fresh for me it’s like it was just this morning, while other times I’m in complete control, have my composure and I can speak without difficulty.
There have been countless moments in my life, so tiny but so monumental. It’s funny how a split second can cause something as simple as a scent to set me back center stage starring in my own nightmare. There I am with my back glued to the front of subway train rushing out of control through that damn morning reliving flashes of the horror. It’s as if frames from a film are the graffiti plastered on the walls around me. I smell something, see something, hear something, and there it is crashing down on top of me crumbling me to nothing. The screeching of the train is eerily similar to the surreal sound of that damn morning. How can they be so similar when they are so different? I know it’s symbolic, but in all honesty, the rushing train, the screeching, the chaotic graffiti, none of it even comes close to truly expressing the pure horrific pain and terror of reliving my worst moment in life.
I don’t even know if anyone will take the time to read my story, but that’s not really what it’s about. I’m doing this to heal and stop the torture. I think it’s so I can forgive myself for not knowing. If my story reaches someone that knows the pain and I some how help them heal too, then if nothing else, the exposure will be worth it.
The Beginning – Blessing or Nightmare?
