Can You Tell Me?

I. Introduction A. Attention Getter – Today, I am going to talk about something that is not talked about enough; Post Traumatic Stress Disorder or PTSD. For those of you who do not know, PTSD is defined by the Nebraska Department of Veterans Affairs as “a psychiatric disorder that can occur following the experience or witnessing of a life-threatening event such as military combat, natural disasters, terrorist incidents, serious accidents, or physical or sexual assault in adult or childhood.” (“What is PTSD?”) B. Tie to the Audience – I am sure that there are a few people in this class that have had a family member or friend suffer from PTSD.

It couldnt have been a worse time, especially for the children. Being sent home by their teachers, school children began walking the routes that they would walk everyday. That day the cold front was rushing through bringing ice and snow along with it. The children, wearing nothing but mere under clothing, had no way to keep warm from the

When I heard Jessica crying and saw the dog looking into my face I told him “Georgie go see why Jessica is crying”. Next thing I knew he went off running and she was quiet so I went to check on her and there they were in the bed sleeping, he comfort her. Even though a snow storm was coming, she decided to go on her winter camping trip anyway. It was like something was calling her out there. But in the event of her wilderness trip she was starting to feel better. There was a positivity her in her life that was growing and the depression had started to fade by the activities she is doing. Her experience of sleeping in below freezing caves, digging out of a snow barricades with the help of Jackson and Hailey. She was doing things her and her dogs would never have dreamed of. She admits that her very cold and freezing adventure has helped her appreciate the beauty of life and her winter wilderness experience. She was starting to feel like she belong and was appreciating the value of her life and her surroundings. “A Blizzard under blue sky” gave her a new lease on life and a spark of rejuvenation.

I took my suit jacket off and hastily shoved it into my backpack. I smiled as the air hit my body and started to dry the sweat that had gathered from wearing the suit jacket for three hours. Looking outside I saw what I expected. The grey lifeless clouds of the English winter hung over us and the almost freezing temperatures,

Fear closing in, darkness rippling around you, pooling dark waves of anger, torment, pain, memories flash, memories so close you can taste, feel them. Lost so very, very lost. The shuddering seizes you in its cold iron grip, you can’t scream, run; all you feel is the pain. This is just a small glimpse of what it is like to suffer from a crippling mental disorder such as Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.Just a small glimpse of what it feels like to relive your worst memories over, and over, and over again, a never ending tunnel of fear and loneliness.Now in the content of this research paper we will delve into the tunnel of pain and dissect a disorder that has traumatized so many, and attempt to defeat your worst fear, your own memories.

The wind is harsh and piercing as the gusts reach up to 50 mph. Even layers upon layers of clothing do very little to protect people from the harshness of the cold unrelenting wind. The snow on the ground would blind them as they trekked across the barren wastelands of snow and wind. As they all began to peal back their layers of masks to speak, the pain of the fierce wind immediately ran across their faces. It felt as if a stroke of lightning had ran across their faces and down their throats with every breath of the icy wind. Each one speaks with the same raspy bark from the brutal cold ravaging their vocal chords. The wind laced its way through their clothes like it was not even there and chilled them all to the bones.

Three days earlier on a wintery morning. I walked out of my warm apartment, as the cold breeze instantly smacked me in the face, even with my woolly, Christmas themed sweater and thick, quilted coat I was still cold. The sky was washed with grey clouds, as the ground was covered in crisp, white snow. The wind whooshed and whistled past my ears giving me the shivers; I quickly ran through the deep,

"Do you ever see yourself, fantasizing, about snow?" She asked, unaware of the ignorance, that seemed to protrude, across her face. "We live in Texas, obviously." I snickered, as she shot me a look of annoyance, "I know." She began as she rolled her eyes, "To better explain it, have you forgotten the feeling of snow, not your mind, but your body, the feeling of it laying in your hands."

The cool winter air stung my face as I exited through the ski lodge door. Board in hand, I stepped onto the powdery snow. After each step I took all I heard was crunches and crackles from the snow compacting underneath my weight. I nervously made my way over to the top of the bunny hill where a tall, beat up looking man named Dave stood. He looked as if the cold weather had made him age quicker than the rest. The earnest look on his face caused me to shudder in fear. His eyes pierced through my soul as if warning me not to go through with this. I took a deep breath as I realized how

With those memories, come the attacks. The times you lose control of yourself, spewing threats and insults as a blind rage takes over. I hear a second voice behind your tongue somehow. Yet, even when you direct the venomous words towards me, I know I cannot turn away. You don't really mean me any harm, no.

The day began with the sun rising above the trees and my surroundings becoming perceivable. Five o’clock was about to strike the clock and leaves began to rustle as the wind blew. Jake Hall and I sat in our ground stand, concentrating on any movement. The dreary cold morning had me crossing my arms, trying to preserve any body heat I had left. The breeze in the morning helped nothing at all, as it just muffled my ears and a burning sensation felt on my cheeks. Jake’s dad, Dave, seemed to be perched against a tree across from us just barely in sight. The day marked the beginning of November, I could feel the stinging from the gelid morning, the motionless time, and the epinephrine from the hunt pumping through my body.

“victims find themselves reliving the traumatic event, often to the point of being completely unaware of their current surroundings”

It was a warm fall day in early October, a day that I recall quite vividly. The smells of the transition from summer to fall were in the air, accompanied by the sounds of birds singing and the wind blowing through the trees. It was on this beautiful day that my existence was almost terminated. A quick hunting trip could have ended my life.

It was a cold day, so cold that your arms start to sting as if a needle is impaling the surface of your skin. The wind applies a force which feels as if your face is oozing with thick crimson red blood. The gray puffy clouds covered the sky and dropped small snowflakes onto the road’s surface. A man stood there, freezing, clearing the coat of thick white snow from the concrete road. His nose runs with a river of snot that floods out when the cold wind strikes. His sense of smell is heavily clogged by the slimy snot, but he can still smell the scent of the steamy hot chocolate which sits on the top of his snow covered car. His feet start to numb because of the cold flood which soaks through his boots to his white, silky socks. His feet feel as if he stepped into the freezing cold ocean. As if he fell through ice and he was stuck standing there. The vast pile of the ice white snow feels almost like a quicksand around his black rubber boot. Foggy figures of people shovel the big piles of snow off the sidewalks. They scrape and pick at the glossy white ice which sticks to the sidewalk like a little boy clinging to his mother's side. His feet still sting as if he was stepping on pins and needles. His hands are damp with sweat from grasping the curved metal shaft attached to a socket which holds the blade. The blade cuts holes into the thick powdered snow which is removed from the endless pile. The jet black shovel is filled with slushy snow and crystal shards of ice. The end of

Years have passed, my teenage years, even up until present, as an adult, the past seems to creep up from deep inside my soul to the surface on every January and the reflection of that memory makes my heart ache. The questions of why run through