In November 2017, I wrote a piece regarding PTSD after getting floxed. The following is that piece, resurfaced:
At 22, your accomplishments will vanish and mean nothing. You will be left with only a very raw version of yourself, one that you had kept hidden behind your previous shell. You’ll be left in a constant state of confusion, wondering where the foundation of your house went and why you’re only left with windows.
At 23, you’ll wonder why you ever did anything at all. Was it for a sense of accomplishment? Was it for the foundation of your house, a guarantee you would be okay? Was it all just a placebo your parents and your teachers fed you when they didn’t know how to tell you that none of it mattered? Why was Accomplishment so ingrained in your psyche, its importance a stark contrast to everything else? Everyone else who did not worry about Accomplishment seemed to have everything that came with Life while you were stuck alone in a room of windows. They’re all looking at you. “She was the wonder girl, she could have gone to Harvard, be a doctor, do great things. Look at her now.” Laughter, chaos, a spinning room, and then silence.
You’re alone. Your legs are gone. Your windows are broken. You try to get up, but there’s no way. You scream for help, but you can no longer feel your tongue, your throat. Your past is so far away they’ll never be able to hear you, but you crawl to them anyway. You have no other choice. You embody chaos, and nothing.
You bite into an unmarked chocolate and feel the rush of a familiar taste: amaretto. A mix of almondine coffee, a creamy strange flavor that comes out of nowhere with a taste in stark contrast to everything else. It was Accomplishment. It was Past. It was you, coming back…. to some other sense of being. You were becoming a 2.0, a stronger version, and you are going to build a new house.
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