Max was sleeping next to me. I was taking a nap. I work up around 4pm. Max woke up too.
Then he started breathing heavy which turned into gasping for air. I was saying out loud Max it's ok Max relax. Then he stopped breathing.
No matter what I write here, say to others, how I feel day in and out - this scene comes back a few times every day or week and lasts about 30 seconds to a minute. I feel completely helpless. I feel I could have done something. I grid my teeth. I have no tears. I feel pure helplessness and anger. And it goes away. This is the only time I don't cry.
This infinite loop is what I think something that people call PTSD. It doesn't matter what name or diagnosis it is classified under since it hurts. What happened on December 20th was the worse few minutes of my life. It completely makes sense why this infinite loop runs inside of me every once in a while. I might have to live with it for the rest of my life. And maybe that is the last lesson Max taught me - a visual lesson of memento mori.
I love you, Max. I miss you.
Then he started breathing heavy which turned into gasping for air. I was saying out loud Max it's ok Max relax. Then he stopped breathing.
No matter what I write here, say to others, how I feel day in and out - this scene comes back a few times every day or week and lasts about 30 seconds to a minute. I feel completely helpless. I feel I could have done something. I grid my teeth. I have no tears. I feel pure helplessness and anger. And it goes away. This is the only time I don't cry.
This infinite loop is what I think something that people call PTSD. It doesn't matter what name or diagnosis it is classified under since it hurts. What happened on December 20th was the worse few minutes of my life. It completely makes sense why this infinite loop runs inside of me every once in a while. I might have to live with it for the rest of my life. And maybe that is the last lesson Max taught me - a visual lesson of memento mori.
I love you, Max. I miss you.
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