The Hit: A Story of PTSD

Raijean Thomas           

 

 

 

     Wednesday, October 21, 2015 started just like any other autumn Wednesday. The sun came up and the school aged children left their homes and headed to school. Most children that left for school made it to school, sat down in homeroom and went about their day. I woke up, made breakfast, took my cousin to school, but I never made it to school.

 

     I didn't play hooky and head towards the beach. I just didn't make it to school. I did however come close. I got off the bus half a mile from school, approximately a 10 minute walk. Less than 10 minutes later tires would screech and I would find myself lying in the street across from my school.

 

     I turned my head to see my right sneaker about 10 feet away and my phone above  my head. I was dizzy yet intact. I lifted my head and felt an arm tugging my own. I was lifted to my feet, I collected my items, and I was on my way. At least I thought so. I had just wearily crossed the double yellow lines on the road on my way to school when a crowd of people burst out of the building. Rodriguez, the most personable security guard at my school, ran down the stairs to me and immediately started talking. I heard his voice not his words. I just kept nodding.

 

     Before I knew it I was surrounded by a crowd. The Sheriff from down the street came, The Police were called, EMT came. A million people surrounded me and they each had their own voice. All I heard was the screeching of tires playing over and over in my mind. Each time the impact hurt worse. I looked up to see myself still in the street, legs mangled and my torso open. But this time blood, crimson, flowed onto the asphalt, seeped through my light gray pants and covered the champagne bumper of the car.

 

     I was taken to the hospital at 8 a.m. and discharged at 1 p.m. That day I  was fortunate. I left with a scrape on my right elbow and a few minor contusions. I was ok. The next morning pain was my alarm clock, waking me up before the sun. With almost everything, second day pain is worse. This was no exception. I had a prescription for some painkillers but first I would have to get it filled. My legs were sore but the 4 block walk was worth it.

 

     The minute I stepped outside of my house, it's as if the pain intensified. I waddled more than I walked but I made it to the pharmacy. I filled the prescription then I wanted to cross the street to go to the Chinese restaurant. I found myself standing at a 3 way intersection. A school bus passed  forcing me back several feet. The walk signal was not up so I dared not move. I was standing on the sidewalk but still I had not seen the bus. But why did it sound so loud? Before I could get off that corner two more school buses, larger than the first, passed in addition to a bunch of cars. I heard the screeching of tires and when I looked up all I could see was my body pinned to school bus like a starfish. I was its sacrificial Jesus, but unlike Christ I was not willing. I did not want to give up my life and die a painful death so that others may live.Yesterday I just wanted to go to school. Today I just wanted to go to the Chinese restaurant. Tears rolled down my face and I pulled my body in as tight as I could. “Less of me to get hit,” I thought. I wiped my face and cleared my vision. By the time I looked at the walking signal, the clock only had 4 more seconds. I could not walk. That made me cry some more. Would it always be this hard for me to cross a street?

 

     My mother sent me to school by myself when I was nine. She told me that if I would walk her specified route, I would be ok. I did and I was. I never got hit by a car or injured. If I did get injured it was a minor scrape because I was running my mouth and didn’t see the uneven sidewalk.But here I was almost 18, left frozen on a corner, every next step a battle in the war of the street.Ridiculous, right?

 

     Wrong. Its called PTSD. (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder).PTSD is a mental health condition triggered by experiencing or seeing a terrifying event. When many people hear PTSD, they think of War Veterans. They as a group have tended to see some horrendous acts that haunt them for a while. But PTSD victims aren't just veterans. They are doctors, who have seen small children die, victims who have gone through trauma, and even bystanders who haven't even experienced bodily harm.

 

     Yesterday in the hospital, I was fine. My pain was limited and I was happy to have my life. Physically I was a-ok. Today the mental aspect found me and rendered me useless until I could find a way to ignore it. I don’t know how long I will be plagued with PTSD but it can be a lifelong thing. The condition may last months or years, with triggers that can bring back memories of the trauma accompanied by intense emotional and physical reactions. PTSD is a personal war. There is no cure, only treatments.

 

 

 

For More Information on PTSD See: National Institute of Mental Health : PTSD