I always thought of PTSD only as something people in the military experienced. Diving for the ground when a vehicle backfires or someone sets of fireworks, waking up in the night, sweating and screaming, hearing bombs and gunshots where there are none. I’m beginning to understand mine. I thought all of this was just grief, but my therapist tells me it is quite different. 

Last night, I was browsing through Facebook before bed and I saw this article about funny breastfeeding mishaps which was accompanied by a couple of photos, before you even open the link. One of the photos was of a baby’s face that was all discoloured, like blood had pooled in certain places… It looked far to similar to Daxon’s on the morning I found him and I was instantly sobbing uncontrollably. It felt like I’d just found him all over again and I had to relive that horrible day. Horrible day…that doesn’t even come close to doing it justice. There are no words to describe the nightmare of that day. Every adjective diminishes the true horror I felt. I still feel. There was a short period where I was mostly able to block those images out, of him lying face down in his crib, of how his body felt in my arms, of the smell of his vomit as I made the futile attempt at performing CPR on his mottled little face…. But now I see it all the time again. For the last week or so, I see these things out of nowhere and I just want to die. 

I can’t finish this right now…


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