I dont remember exactly when the hallucinations began, but I do remember the first time I was in a ball on the floor crying my eyes out because of the flames and screams, which apparently only I could see.
My dad found me. I dont know how I wouldve pulled through if he wasnt there telling me it would all be okay. That I was going to be fine. Afterwards he kept bugging me about seeing a doctor or a psychiatrist or a priest or someone, anyone, who could help me with the horrible images in my mind. At first, I wasnt very keen on the idea. I didnt like hallucinations, but I didnt like being told I was sick either. I didnt feel sick at all.
He told me it was post-traumatic stress syndrome. That I was experiencing it due to the horribke car crash my parents died in when I was a kid.
He gave me some medicine and the hallucinations went away. And so did my dad.
