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"P.T.S.D. does it ever leave? A simple image flipping the flood gates open. The heart pounding like Hoover Dam. Falling and drowning in the rushing tidal wave of nerves opening twisted tears, years, no decades later, P.T.S.D. "She is not there, she isn't there! Girl, rise. Heart hurts. Blood and sand. Broken ear drum, pounding pain in melody with an old flour mill. 'Tick tock the clock on Mill' 1:56 A.M. Vomit, blood, the pain. "SHES NOT THERE!" I love you my friend, forgive me, I am sorry, do I have to say "Thank YOU?" Is this the missing piece? I am sorry! I love you! Please forgive me! Oh my GOD. Yes, the answer is YES. "THANK YOU" .... I survived. I am not dead. P.T.S.D." I hate that it hurts. I am angry. I am furious. I always let it go. P.T.S.D. your a thorn." ~WOLFEAGLE