Time Doesn't Always Heal .....

  So; I'm in this house today, checking, emptying and resetting my boxed mouse traps. It's fucking chaos! Single mother. Apparently not the sharpest tool in the box.

  Welfare job. Four or five little kids ~ one of whom appears to have been schooled in the fact, since my last visit, that she shouldn't be calling me " Dad "!

  That was freaking the fuck out of me, last week. Dear little chavvy. All but hanging onto my hand as she chattered away incessantly, in that totally earnest way that they have at some small age.


 She was there again, today. Still couldn't catch a word of what she was on about. Bless her. One room. Five kids and the mother. I'm trying to pop my boxes. Bait. Set. Position. Get the fuck out.

 What I'm getting is little chavvies handing me boxes. Picking up boxes I've primed ~ thus firing them off. Woman's saying something about some fucking thing. Flies? No flies here. Kiddies? Swarm of them. No flies though. Tuning out .....

 Noticed one or two of these chavvies is toddling around with a little, plastic replica of a sawn off, pump action shot gun, with a pistol grip. Toys kids get these days, eh?

 I was thinking of my own, real thing, which I have beside me at home, here. Woman was going on about flies, still. 

 That small section of my mind that I could spare for her, right then, was causing my mouth to say; " Sounds more like someone had died in that room. " 

 I was trying to concentrate on the setting of the trap I was holding right then. Kids flowing around my feet. Then, I felt a prod, beneath my lower, right rib.

  I swear to fucking christ; For a split second there? I Shit Myself! I had so much going on around me ~ ye have to realise that I live in an environment of calm and tranquillity. Pretty much 24 / 7. I have to. Or it's back on the Heavy Sedation .....

 And I have the short barrel of a Mossberg, pump action, 12 bore shotgun stuck under my ribs ..... My chest cavities contents are about to exit via the back of my fucking neck ....!

 Next second, I'm sort of laughing in this womans face. Saying, " Jesus! ". Laughing. Mentally willing the switch Not to trip the other way, so I'd spiral the floor, a wreck.

  Fuck. I'm trying to breath right, now. That was ten hours ago. " The Incident " was nearer to twenty fucking Years ago!

 This is why they say I'm suffering Chronic Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. It's on going. It'll never go away. I'm fucked.

 Shit like this just reminds me how fucked I really am.