Like every other day...

The fireworks have been blasting for over a week now, here in Fort Wayne.  And we are still two days away from the 4th.  Not that the holiday will end the madness.  For me, it is that.  Madness.

Both Amos and I do not do well with fireworks.  Each of us are felled by our PTSD, made insensible by the trigger.  It is a comfort knowing that we are not the only ones felled by PTSD at this time of year, albeit a small one.

When I am on the phone or with someone, it is easier to shove the fear below the surface.  But when it is just Amos and I, each pop, rattle, and BOOM makes me jump and long to crawl into the recesses of my closet.  I just don't understand why my neighbors like having such deafening and overwhelming and frightful noises in their backyards.  But, boy oh boy do they ever like them.  SIGH.

The first of the year is also difficult for the same reason.

It is hard for me to this of this as a holiday.  I mean, holiday have little meaning for me since I am home all the time, home and not working.  Home and alone.  But the celebrations drive me to despair as the fireworks start even as dusk is still falling until after midnight.  Hours and hours of torture for me.

One of the questions I dread are about holidays.  What are you doing for ____________?  I don't have an answer because I am usually not going anything any different from any other day.  I don't have special plans for meals.  I don't have plans to go out.  I don't have visitors coming.  The day of the holiday will be like every other day of my life.

Unless it is one with fireworks, where the flashes of light bring unwanted flashes of memory to my mind ... and body.

SIGH.