PTSD acts as a hidden cloth on your surroundings. A secret club of hyper-alertness plaguing, the micro-unconscious.

I shifted my body to the left square of the triple-padded couch, sitting up to the best of my ability, making room for the incoming wave of friend arrivals.

A moment to wash off the anguish of the previous night. A moment of solitude to process the spiritual pain I had just endured. A moment of cleansing escape from the barrier defenses my nervous system was now required to hold.

I could feel the anxiety of my homecoming anticipation increase, as we approached our door. The weight of blood between my left shoulder wound and the sticky nightgown cohesion was failing.