The truth of living with PTSD

Went to McDonald’s for lunch before my doctor’s appointment. A guy walked in, same skin tone as Joe, wearing a backpack with baggy pants. Went straight to the bathroom in the kiddie area. 

We were sitting in view of the bathroom. Very suspicious. Management caught the guy going in too. Obviously he was up to no good. 

Fast forward 20 minutes. The manager knocked on the door, set the alarm off. Still didn’t jar the guy. Finally knocked on the door again. He came out about 10 minutes later. 

He stood 10 feet in front of me ordering his good. He moved like Joe. He talked like Joe. The way he wore his backpack was like Joe. My friend even said he was like Joe. He was on his phone and I could smell him. I started to shake. 

My heart felt like it was coming out of my chest. I was starting to sweat. I started to get a rubber band feeling on my head. My throat was getting tighter. My chest was getting tighter. I felt like I was going to pass out. The room was getting smaller. I felt like I was on a merry-go-round. I could feel the food I just ate about to come up. I just froze. 

My friend had to go outside for a call. I sat there. When he came back in I had on my sunglasses to hide my tears. 

All I could say is “we have to go. We have to go now.”

If we would have sat there any longer it would have been a full anxiety attack and an emergency room visit. 

When I got in the car, I won’t repeat what I told my friend but the words were not kind. If anyone would have heard them, I wouldn’t be writing this blog. 

That’s what living with #PTSD is like. It’s a freaking nightmare. 

I went to my appointment. Even just talking to the doc about what happened I started crying and apologized for the rest of the day.