Safe

I don’t understand why they call it Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. The P and the T and D make sense, but not the stress. Stress doesn’t begin to describe what I feel. It seemed like such a simple decision. I need shoes. Actually, I desperately need shoes. I would just leave work early and go to the mall and buy shoes.

As I stepped out of the office, the bus was waiting as if it knew my mission. And despite the typical crowdedness the Muni usually offers me, instead there was a seat. Not just any seat either, but a solo seat. So I sat, headphones on, as the bus slowly crawled down the hill toward Union Square. I looked out the window and away from the action inside the bus. I could hear the yelling, but still I ignored the altercation around me. I had a goal and a destination.

As I stepped off the bus, I expected the swarm of holiday shoppers. I breathed slowly and deeply as I pushed through the crowd, reminding myself of my errand. I made it all the way in to the store and up the escalator and then it hit. The rush of anxiety, the feeling of being totally overwhelmed and this was beyond stress. My hands began to clench and I wanted to leave. I forced myself to wander the floor, touching shoes. But I knew there would be no success. I couldn’t open my mouth. The tears were already forming and all I could feel was shame. There was Christmas everywhere: Red and green wherever I looked. I could feel the rush of warm begging me to remove my coat. And I knew as the warm began to turn into pools of sweat I had to go.

I flew out of the store and onto the street and began to walk. I wanted to wander aimlessly until I felt better but knew I had no choice but to walk down Market Street to the bus terminal or I would be forced to take the night bus, which drops me off blocks instead of feet from my car and there would be more anxiety. As I made the walk down Market, I tried to ignore the faces walking by, but in every face I saw him. He was here in San Francisco. He was walking behind me. He was walking towards me. I couldn’t stop seeing him. My heart raced as the fear became paralyzing. I slowly let my gaze become unfocused as I continued walking, so I could no longer see anyone.

The sweat began to dry and my feet reminded me the shoes I was currently wearing needed to be retired. And I was desperate for home, the isolated sanctuary that protected me like a soft cocoon. How I wished I could metamorphose into a butterfly. There were months to go before my wings would develop and I could fly under the soft rays of the spring sun. But for now it’s tears. Not stress, just tears. Just like the deep drops of a winter rain, my tears flowed from the same dark place from within. And as I stepped inside my fortress of solitude the tears rolled down my cheeks as if to create a moat to protect me inside. And for now I am safe.