Last night I packed a box of books and DVDs. As I was tapping the box up I had what I am know calling PTSD flashback but others may call a memory of taping up boxes last summer. Then I started to remember all the accidents that occurred last time I moved.
The shelves falling on my foot (I swear my foot started to hurt and turn purple at the memory of the trauma), falling down the stairs, scrapping up my leg, furniture falling on me bruising the whole side of my body and my grande finale hitting my head and ending up in the E.R.
As Tigger, the cat I was saving, and I stare into the bathroom mirror, the same mirror where I first inspected my head wound, I still see the fading scar running horizontally across my forehead. The shock and pain comes rushing back and I feel faint. I sit down on the floor and take a deep breath.
I no longer want to move.
Michael I can bring you some bubble wrap, knee & elbow, a face mask and a helmet to protect you.
ReplyDeleteThat is why we have men in our lives :) we do the actual packing of the boxes, they do all the moving
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