Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, PTSD, for those of us who are bosom buddies with that bitch, is something that affects many people for a vast number of reasons.

I have it because I was abused. Most of that abuse occurred as an adult, but some of it occurred as a child, though spanking a child with a paddle back then, wasn't considered abuse. It sure felt like abuse, but more specifically, it transmitted a lack of self-esteem to me that I took with me to my adult life in a series of choices that it took a while to "grow out of." It also took nearly dying to finally say, "Fuck this shit. I deserve better."

While there are things I still flinch over like pulled hair, I also have nightmares and moments of genuine terror over things that for most people aren't a reason to have a panic attack.

Today, I was talking with a friend, who is struggling with ghosts of a life past, and realized that PTSD has terrorized so many of us -- man, woman, child.

For me, that brought up things I can't get past. Hair pulling for some reason is one of those. The other night, Mike was playing with my hair, which normally I love, and he pulled it a little and I cried out. My hair is getting long again, so I find when he's kissing me, half the time, I'm pulling my hair out from under an elbow and wincing. I think having my fibromyalgia so up in my face is leaching up these half-remembered memories, and most of the time I can observe, but sometimes, they go clanging through like the proverbial bull in a porcelain shop.

Sometimes, I find myself googling for where in the world is Zip. I've found him and seen where he's been jailed, not surprisingly. He's been married. He's had a child. He's gone deeper into his psychosis and sickness. Then, I am filled with horror that I didn't report him for all that he did to me and other women. I think I was so filled with horror that I couldn't run fast nor far enough away. When he went to Japan, I figured that he'd offend someone and end up dead.

No such luck.