[ WP ] She 's safe in the fire .

The PTSD was harder than any blow, hiding it harder than disguising the handprint shaped bruises. The pain was sharp and clear and even more pervasive than his touch. The fear was ever present, but it was worst in the shadows. The darkness embraced her fears and spawned new ones. 
 After a year and a half she struggled to breathe. Facing each new hour required monumental effort. Feeling broken and damaged is exhausting. The therapists say her fear is valid and that the disassociation is something that will not ever go away. It is her brain's way of protecting her from the fear. Fear simply overloads her brain until she shuts down, goes away, loses time, dissociates. The doctors say there is nothing left to try. She will live in fear for the rest of her life. And that fear will keep her locked inside the prison her past built. 
 She prays for just one day without the cold fear the numbing chill of fear. If she could just have one second of safety, just a minute in the light, she could feel whole again. 
 One more breath. 
 It hits her like a truck and feels much the same. Suddenly, the world stills, the pain is mounting, the fear rolling in like the tide. Her eyes fall on the gas can. 
 Bad idea. 
 Is it really? Fight to stay present. Fight to end the fear. Fight to keep the dark at bay at last. 
 The contents slide over her skin smooth, silky, and heavy. This feels like control, like finally feeling like I have the power once more. The lighter is comforting and light in my grasp. The light beckons. The flames rush over me, the sound of it in my ears is thunderous. My breathing is still labored but strangely calm. I am safe here, in the fire.
