Traumatic Experience On The Beach

Suddenly my eyes flew open, the coldness slowly lingered away. My body felt warm. Almost as warm as how my mouth felt the last time I had sipped on my grandmother's tea. My grandmother always told me to have faith and to believe in the end everything would be alright. I felt the frigid saltwater against my skin. “Where am I?” I thought to myself. I couldn’t quite recall what had happened nor where I was. All that I could recall was hearing screams of innocent children and parents trying to comfort

Sitting on the beach 3 years later, I let my pale skin burn to a crisp in hope to bring home a tan that my friends will be envious of. A drip of sweat fell down my cheek and I peered out to the massive waves crashing onto the gentle sand. The overcast clouds reflected a gloomy reflection down onto the waves. I watched as the tide pulled on the sand in different directions. The sand, not being able to resist

I could feel the breeze skim through my hair as my loose shirt caught the brisk air behind me. This was my sanctuary, the feeling was bliss. I made my way home, bracing myself for the approaching argument I was about to have with my mother. That feeling of pleasure left my body as quickly as it arrived. I stepped into the front door, and closed it behind me as quietly as I could, maybe she wouldn't notice I was late home. But before I could even take the first few steps inside, I heard mum coming from the kitchen,

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,

I looked back at the ocean one last time before the sun left. It seemed to give off heat waves. I then turned around and started on the short sand trail back to my car with Jeff. As we approached the wooden picket fence, sand found its way into my sandals and between my toes. It felt like dirt.

The sweat in my head starts to run down to the corner of my eye and I immediately start thinking of a single thing, the ice cold Frio River, I suggested to my friend that we should start heading towards it so we did. By submerging in the water, my nervous system instantly reacted to the temperature but soon after, relief. At the bottom of the river floor I feel the rocks smoothed out by the water along with the algae and every so often some young fish that thrive there. Along the end of the “section” of the river there’s a little wall where water falls down from to another section, while sitting there I can feel the strong pressure of the water hitting against my chest, consequently, I reach a point of relaxation incomparable to all

It was 5:00, it’s crazy that we had been walking for hours and it hadn’t even felt like it. As I peered between tall trees, I saw a waterfall way out in the distance, the two of us decided to head that way. It took about five minutes to get to the falls and it was breathtaking. The setting sun floated just above the rocks behind and around the stream of water sloping down the mountain side.So there we stood, on top of the world, in front of a pink and orange sky as the constant sound of water crashing into the lower river filled my ears, I was in awe. Allegedly, Erin felt the same way because neither of us said anything for at least ten minutes. I felt as if I could stay there forever. I pulled out my phone to take a picture of this gorgeous view, but time after time each picture turned out bad and not what the actual scene looked like. I realized at that moment that some things are just too great to take a picture and I think that is the way things are supposed to be. The fresh breeze was back again and it was even colder than earlier . I then realized just how cold I was and checked my watch, it read 5:45, the perfect time to start heading back to the

Traumatic events can be classified into two, in which the law enforcement officers responded on violent acts and the traumatic events that they witnessed or experienced (Carlier and Gersons, 1994 as cited in Nirenberg, 2009). They can experience trauma on long-term effects which might result in substance use, family problem and might decreased job performance (Regehr et al., 2012 as cited in Nirenberg, 2009). Moreover, while the officers continuously encounter such events, they still have their limits on resisting the effect of these events (Chapin, Brannen, Singer, & Walker, 2008; Patterson, 2009 as cited in Nirenberg, 2009).

As I sat down and closed my eyes. I was imagining the tropical moisture grasp my skin which brought the cooling sensation to my body. I could feel the light breeze swiftly make its way to me every so often. As I took a deep breath I felt something odd of this situation. The humidity was greater than most tropical islands. And instead of the refreshing scent of the ocean, the taste and smell of sweat of multiple bodies filled my mouth and lungs. My mouth and lips were dry as a desert, I could feel the hard chapped film creating on my lips. I was dehydrated and quenched water. The confusion of where I was, became set off when an alarming whistle blew and I heard “Get up Ali!” in an aggressive voice; I realized this was no tropical island paradise, rather the soul sucking atmosphere of the John Champe High School wrestling room. I am back into reality as the voice of my wrestling coach ringed back through my head.

Look at the footprints across the vast area of the beach, so short in existence. Here one minute and gone the next, washed away with the ever turning tide. These footprints imprinted in the sand tell a story that is mine, the changes in my life thus far. A change that once impacted upon my life was never to be the same again. For just this one moment time would stand still. It was just me and the ocean, nothing more, nothing less, everything else but the rhythmic pounding of my feet upon the sand would lose significance. A sharp buzz rings out from the other side of my eyes, awakening me from the disturbing visions that plague my dreams. For a brief moment I am convinced that it is all it is, a nightmare, and then the reality

The cold soft sand in between my toes feel unique as I walk down the beach. The crisp air came off the lake as if it were an air conditioner blowing in my face. The sky is half full of clouds, as they pass the sun my arms fill up with goosebumps. The chill goes through my body like an electrical shock. When the sun is not covered by the puffy cotton candy clouds, there is a heat sensation on the top of my head indicating that it is midday. Although my prediction of the time is a little bit off, I can tell that the temperature is rising. I did not know how to react to the different temperature changes. I begin to observe the people around me. The children are swimming, they excitedly play almost like puppies wrestling. There

3:00 P.M., the frigid rain darted down similar to ice shards and I could hear the merciless howl of the wind. Every step soaked my shoes as I walked down the flooded brick road, I felt myself beginning to drag my feet through the icy water. In spite of the weather, today is quite a memorial day, my war acquaintance back approximately 40 years ago has died peacefully in his deathbed, even the weather reflects the atmosphere flawlessly. 15 minutes till the funeral starts, I began to sprint and on every step a splash of water shot up, soaking my pants.

The beach chairs around me wait slowly to get filled up. Rubbing on the wonderful tanning oil that smells like the coffee beans my mom uses in the mornings for her coffee. There is sand everywhere, in my toes, on the towels, and on my skin. I run into the water to rinse off, as I get the water gets in my mouth, and it's almost as if i took a tall glass of water and added a jar full of seas salt to the water. I get back out of the water and the sand on the bottom of my feet feels like with every step I take the sand is moulding my foot. I get back to my beach chair and lay back down. The sun is out and beating on me like I am in a tanning bed with the lights, and the lights are just on me. The sky was so blue its almost as if someone had painted

When I was a child, my late father and I would spend every moment of the summer season on the sparkling white sand of the beach near our home. We would dance knee-deep in the icy surf, kicking up the surface so that the droplets glimmered like diamonds in the sunlight. We would lie on our backs and stare at the sky, until the swirling clouds began to take on fantastical shapes. We would grip imaginary weapons and spar, swinging tomahawks and thrusting swords like the most violent of fantasy pirates. These idyllic days went on and on; a never-ending cycle of azure skies, frozen forever within my mind. My earliest memories are filled with images of my father in these moments, laughing as he kicked up the warm sand and twirling a golden compass around his pinkie. And, now, as I stand on the same beach, feeling the same heat radiating under my feet, almost fifteen years later, I can’t help but think of him. I can’t help but think of him, and all of the pain he instilled into both himself and everyone around him during the final years of his life.

Terror screamed through, veins and pounded at my heart. I stumbled backwards. I tripped and fell down into the sand. My weight shattered the thin layer of water scattering droplets into an airborne constellation of salty tears. They shimmered red against the moon held briefly before cascading back down upon me. The beads of liquid viciously tore icy wet streaks across my skin. Pain