sometimes you just gotta' row

there, Here. pane one.

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Gleefully strolling the boulevard when, inexplicably, the sidewalk opens and you plummet. Uncontrollably. Helpless. Without logic, cause or warrant. The Life you’ve known has been forfeited for an unknown replacement. Complete with shackles.

Henceforth each boulevard step is fraught with fearful anticipation. Dutiful protective mechanisms attempt to prepare you for the next terrifying certainty. A state of hyper-alert becomes your way. Pervasive and perpetual. Walking becomes a fearful experience. Once filled with wonder, boulevards are a war-zone. A jungle of feral anxiety. Stairs, sidewalks and garden paths; guilty by association.

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) from the sudden tumble. complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (c-PTSD) from the constant state of fear born over a month or a lifetime of stepping.

An anxiety-based state of being kicks in the door and takes over. You learn to develop masks as shields so you might function. Out there, in that jungle. Masks for lovers, jobs, children. Each one adds the heft of its complexity to the daily load. Over time and circumstance complexities intertwine and, beget more complexity and weight,

Anxiety, of its plethora of variants, as described in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM). Might even be referred to as ADHD, though it doesn’t share the same page in the DSM.  By any other name…

A tipping-point morning arrives. The accumulated mass of complexity weighs more than your capacity for buoyancy. One or ten masks too many and, Life is mercilessly calling for yet one more.

Nope. Just nope.

Your condition thumbs forward through the DSM until it finds depression. You’re not in Kansas anymore.


Written by glh

March 18, 2018 at 16:22

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