The things I see.

It happened while we walked to the bus stop.




The toddler takes a final step off the stairs, landing firmly on the ground with her little shoes. But I see it in my head: she falls, smashing her front teeth in to the pavement. The ordeal flashes through my mind. A frantic reach out to a neighbor, or a trusted circle, a terrible trip to the doctor. Blood flowing freely. A flash of what could have happened.

No. Not right now. That's not right.

"Momma!" she yells, "Footpwints evewywhere!". I see her scampering through a bit of snow no one else has walked on. (It's a special thing to children and grown ups alike). In my head, I am treated to a vision of her falling on a nearby rock and cracking her head. She stands up crying, blood running from her head.

I blink it off as I walk. Not right now.

My neighbor whom I have regrettably come to dislike bellows, causing me to startle as I try not to look at him. He's annoying. I don't do that easily - disliking someone. His voice sets my teeth on edge, and something about the way he talks to his child and other children bothers me. He complains a lot. He is never happy.

I blink off my startle, not right now I say to myself. Music in my ear offering a moment of distraction.  It's Ministry. Today felt energetic and mildly in need of angry music. It serves. The bus arrived, there she goes. Running off, eager for her day in school. As she runs I can see my annoying neighbor pushing her in to the street nastily in my head.  Of course he won't do that. It would be the last thing he did.

But no, not right now. Go home. The toddler is too cold. She doesn't like  gloves. Go. Get back inside. It's safer there. The music is there, the laundry needs to get caught up today so you can be done for the weekend. You wont wash a load until monday. It'll be handled. If you do it all today you won't have to worry about it. You'll have managed it.

When I'm in the kitchen I see myself willingly touching the burner with it turned on, burning myself. Or cutting my hands with the large knife. This is supposed to be my sanctuary, but here we are. Still seeing things. Hearing things. Did you know that? I hear things as I see them. But the dinner must be cooked. Someone wants juice, better get two cups. They'll both want it.

Sometimes I can see the sky burning as we drive. Billows of smoke and flame filling the sky in a brief moment before it's all blue (or gray, this is fucking Washington after all) again. I stare at my phone, scrolling through idle things to avoid looking back up. I want to see the sky though, and the trees as they tickle the blue with their needles. Those pine trees. Back home they'd be palms.

In the shower I see it. I'm falling, I've died. I'm on the bathroom floor. No one finds me until later. Matt is crying, sobbing on the floor. The girls don't get it. Zoe might, but River wouldn't.

I see that in bed a lot too. I'm laying there in bed, dead. Or I'm in hospital. The doctors are telling Matt I was so sick, there was nothing they could do.

I can hear Matt yelling at me in a way he wouldn't ever do. His hand is raised in a threatening manner. I'm crying, cringing against the wall.

But none of this is real. I tell myself daily, "None of that is right. You are here. They are fine. Breathe the good air. The floor beneath you is real. He still loves you. You'll get through this."

This is every day. The weed helps some - sometimes the moments are briefer, or less vivid. I wish they would stop. When it's really bad, visions of how to make them stop come. That's scary. Because on occasion, for a moment, I want to do those things. That's why I talk to a therapist and take their drugs.

I keep a strict routine. There is strong comfort in that routine. When it has to change, it's upsetting. Everyone suffers while I am pissed and unable to ground myself. When he's home, its easier, despite his leave-it-for-later methods.  He offers, I think without realising it at times - a grounding presence.  It's easier now that he seems to get it. I don't get asked as often, churlishly, "What is wrong with you? nothing is that big of a deal!" Usually, I have to say it. "Hold on - I'm having a moment" I might say. But usually I say nothing. Does he get how often I see things? He does it too but won;' talk about it.

I cannot keep his balance, I can barely keep my own.