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The Ghosts of White Sheets
How PTSD turns a luxury into a nightmare
“I must stop remembering… The more I remember, the greater my agony. These thoughts stuttered in my mind… I must be more watchful, I told myself. I must shut them out. I couldn’t always keep this up.”― Sonali Deraniyagala
After hitting publish on yesterday’s post I found myself unable to sit still. My anxiety had me feeling like I was climbing out of my skin. So uncomfortable.
I took the dog and went on a walk.
Not my normal, gentle, hey-I’m-living-in-a-disabled-body kinda walk — this was a WALK. You know, at a brisk pace, with purpose and too far to travel without paying for it later (today). But it was good, what I needed.
I came back too exhausted to care — a sort of numbness that was a reprieve.
Then, while I was in the shower, the dog drank way too much water and puked up her breakfast on the bed. So, hey, we got clean sheets last night.
Clean, organic cotton sheets that I found on sale for only $30 at Costco.
Like, these are the whitest white sheets I’ve ever owned.
They are hotel white if that makes any sense.
As in, they remind me of the white sheets in that hotel room in Salem 8 years ago where I was raped. I’m hoping I…
