I’ve posted about my journey of recovery and PTSD in the past. In fact, this blog was started for that and to help me my thought out of my head. Honestly, it’s getting pretty crowded in there lately.

I’ve known for a long time that my emotions were mostly shut down, except for the safe ones. “What are safe emotions?”, you probably didn’t ask. Well, anger is safe. Except for the violence it can let out. Maybe on special occasions a flash of amusement, but not much, that can lead to happiness and that’s always risky. If I’m happy something will come along and crush it. Satisfaction is usually okay, if it’s from something that I’ve accomplished. I like the feeling of completion. It just doesn’t last either. I mean what have I done lately?

The only other emotions that I feel regularly and recognize are sadness and love. Nostalgia is in there somewhere, for the lost innocence of childhood and feeling like I was safe. I don’t get envy or hatred; they take too much energy. Appreciation and gratefulness show up and punch me in the gut sometimes, when someone just does something nice. It really is stunning. Loyalty is strong. I may not keep in touch with people as well as I should, but I will drop everything to help a friend.

I feel like the slow kid in class who is trying to color, but all I have are the fat five color crayons that kindergarten kids use and everyone else is using the big 64 color set. You remember the ones, with the cool sharpener in the back. I just don’t understand. I can’t feel the rest. Are there anymore emotions out there? Compassion, empathy, fear? What is contentment like? I don’t trust it. To squishy.

Fear came up recently. It is likely why I’m awake at 3 A.M. writing instead of sleeping. I was talking to a counselor today, trying to describe why my lack of fear was an issue and admitting that I put people in danger because I lack the common sense of pond scum. I got people hurt and killed, put people in bad situations because I was too stupid to be afraid or think about them. I keep reliving incidents, walking into a riot with my partner, just the two of us. No fear, nothing can hurt me. But Stephanie, about half my size, with a daughter at home. Ed following me into an apartment with a shooter inside. Omar trusting me to get him out and holding his hand while he died. What about the kids I trained? Did they try to imitate me and my stupid, reckless behavior?

It feels like I was screaming; “Look at me! I’m too stupid to be afraid! You should be just like me!”

Shit it’s crowded in here.