_________

Sometimes I'm out doing my own thing when it strikes me. Maybe I'm driving back home from the bookstore. Maybe I'm out with friends at a bar joking around. Maybe I'm in the embrace of a man I care for deeply. Maybe I'm not doing anything at all. 

It strikes me like a hard slap to the face sometimes. I can't breathe. I can't stop my heart from beating so fast. I don't know whether I should bolt from where I am or try and fight it and act as normal as I can. My heart feels like someone is squeezing it so tight. There is no where to run. Some how this monster makes me face my sins. 

Look at what a piece of shit you are. It tells me.

Nothing will atone for my lack of competence. 

Other times it arrives softly. I blink once and suddenly I'm back in Afghanistan. A small breeze picks out out nowhere- a blessed relief from the sun beating down on you. And yet it makes no sense. Did I not come back to Washington  It is not the place of eternal rain?

Yet I feel the sweat collect and the breeze cool me. I know the familiar way the ground gives in softy when I walk through the grape rows. The air coming gently in grape hut protecting us from the midday sun. The feel of that kit, my rifle in my hands ready for the  crack of a gun. My shoulders- they feel so sore. My back aches.

And suddenly- just as quickly it arrives... it disappears.