PTSD IS NOT AS MUCH FUN AS IT SOUNDS
LIFE IN THE FAST LANE
I had a Leave It To Beaver childhood and a Laura and Rob Petrie kind of marriage, and still, doctors tell me, I have symptoms of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, or PTSD. I must have been scared, and scarred by my childhood, as we all were, and my psyche is going for the gold.
But, what does that mean? In my case, an editor who writes inside a lovely three and a half sided work station that rises just above my shoulders as I sit at my PC, with dozens of writers and artists outside my walls — it means I will scare the pants off of you if you sneak up on me.
Don’t whisper my name. Somehow, some way, the word Carol whispered is the equivalent to shaking a dead mouse in my face. A young graphic artist with a Jesus hairdo and a smile tried it, and I almost brought him to the floor. I’m not usually that on-point. With the balding Telecom guru, I merely threw my arms in the air, shook my hands in his face and gasped. He back-stepped out of my cozy cubicle so fast he almost tripped over his own loafers. “I always have that effect on women,” he said, by way of apology.
He must be a live-and-learn kind of guy, because when he stops by to check on my possessed phone, which speaks Spanish to him when he calls from “the office,” he stands outside my area and clears his throat until I look up.
After my first assault on an innocent victim, I thought of posting a sign outside my walls. But the name and initials of my PTSD disorder escaped me. It isn’t something I want to dwell on, after all. And, all I could think of saying was something like this:
Please excuse me, but I have STD and if you whisper anything behind me I’ll tackle you and scream in your face.
Chalk it up to a startled creative of a certain age, but that part of my brain that keeps acronyms straight wouldn’t cut me a break. Sexually Transmitted Disease, STD; or Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, PTSD all sounded the same to me.
Besides, this message is better. More startling. Shoot, I bet it would even keep thieves away. At the end of my spell, I refrained from printing that sign. I decided I wanted to keep my new friends, and my job.
If ya like it, hit the heart below, I want to know if I made you smile. If you want me to write for you, get in touch here. I’ll get back to you.