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PTSD: A Narrative Fiction

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I woke up in a cold sweat at 3:00 in the morning to the sound of gunshots and screams, but as soon as I rose up from my bed, I knew that I couldn’t keep doing this. I can’t let my PTSD control me, it comes with horrible episodes of scenes that I have never even encountered, it scares me, and my daughter. If my life continues like this, then I won’t end up with a happy ending with her and I together, but rather with me sitting in a mental hospital and only being able to talk to her through a window. As much as I love her, I could scare her, I’m even scared. I needed to figure out what these scenes meant. I then forced myself to sleep, wanting the visions to end. In the morning, I woke up early to make breakfast for my daughter. Tiptoeing

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