Hallucinatory Tribulation Vol. 1 [Anthology]

Fireworks in July

Fireworks. I absolutely hated the damn things. 

I wasn't the type to rain on anyone's parade or complain about innocent things that I simply didn't care for personally, but as I listened to the irregular explosions going off incessantly around me, I found it extremely difficult not to make the commitment to raise hell every time I saw a fireworks stand or a citizen getting excited about celebrating the fourth of July.

It wasn't some arbitrary reason that I disliked these loud noises either. I knew I was completely founded and valid in my distaste. I had served in the US military during battles and wars a large portion of our country didn't even realize were going on. I suppose as long as the fighting wasn't affecting American lives, it didn't warrant their attention. Either way, I had been there...I had been stuck hiding out in war-torn cities in other countries, gunshots and explosions all around me while me and my men wondered if today would be our last...

Another loud pop outside my window sent me hugging my legs tighter to my chest as I sat curled up helplessly in my bed. I took in a deep breath, slowly letting it out before inhaling again. I wasn't an idiot. Obviously, I was safe here in my room, in my home, on American soil. I was well aware that there weren't men, women, and children seeking me out for the sole purpose of ending my life. I knew I was safe, but...

A string of firecrackers went off in my neighbor's yard, followed by the happy cheers of their children while I thrust my hands to my ears, cupping them tightly to escape the noise. There was no fleeing the fireworks though. I could go to the countryside, where people had free reign to shoot their explosives as they wished, or further into the city where multiple business scattered all throughout were hosting their own shows. I could sit where I was and blast my stereo to try and drown all of them out, but the problem with that was that I could still feel them. 

The vibrations shook me each time they were set off and the chance the music would lessen at the same moment yet another rocket was shot into the air remained; as did knowing that cranking to such a volume might have the music stir these same feelings in me. At least if the house was somewhat quiet, I could keep an ear on what was going on around me...know that I was safe, that there were no intruders. 

I didn't even have the luxury of simply going out of state during the celebration because they. Were. EVERYWHERE. I couldn't very well fly to another country the four-five times a year during which fireworks were so prominent either, even if I could afford it. New Year's, Memorial Day, Veteran's Day, Labor Day, July fourth... How ironic that several of these were meant to honor people like me, huh?

I rose from the mattress and strolled into the kitchen, trying to ignore the battle reminiscence happening outside. I'm safe. I'm safe. I'm safe... The mantra repeated over and over in my head as I desperately focused on putting together a sandwich which I knew I wouldn't feel like eating. Post-traumatic stress disorder was a horrid condition. It was hard to explain to people who had never suffered life-threatening trauma before. A flush of anger reddened my cheeks every time I heard such ignorant comments as:

"Why would he do that? If someone tried to shoot me, I'd-"
"That's their own fault! Why would you keep going back to someone who's beating you?"
"He's so stupid. Why can't he see that he's being manipulated?"
"I wouldn't be scared if I was raped and saw the guy again. I'd just kill him."
"If they were really raped, they'd have come forward before now. They'd have said something."
or my favorite: "Why does it bother you so bad? It happened ten years ago!"

And the thing is, some people will go through the same struggles and never develop the disorder. There really was no rhyme or reason to why some people's brains reacted the way they did and others didn't. My guess was that some eventually did get better while others were just really good at hiding it. Some, I had witnessed, even became a completely different person despite insisting that none of it had affected them. It was more common for children from abusive homes or who had suffered said trauma while growing up to develop PTSD. Whether people want to believe or not, the mind is highly influential, even up until twenty-one years of age, when the brain has finally finished forming.