Friday, February 26, 2016


My recovery is progressing but I am still sensitive to fight (slash) flight when a loud or startling noise bursts off. 

theboy dropped UNO shoot, the game that shoots a random number of cards out at the press of a button every 3–5 presses, the plastic-on-wood-floor clatter sparking off a "JESUS FUCK!" as a bolt of fear shot through me. 

I was lying against the couch, knees on the floor while reading my tablet when it happened and I shrank into myself, curled into my body with my arms and fists pressed against my chest as I waited for the panic to bleed off. 

theboy's instinct to run out of the door because he scared me kicked in but, worried for my distress at his going, he was asked to stay in the house. 

Then ... then he came over to me and said "breathe, Daddy, breathe ... it's okay". He then gently pulled my hands and arms away from my chest to let me know it was okay, that I didn't have to still be in the fright pose.

That he can do that, that he cares to do that but that he has to do that makes me so very angrysadproud.


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