A Prelude to PTSD

So it's Independence Day.
That's all well and good.
I'm all for it. I even enjoy the fireworks.

What I do not enjoy is neighbors randomly setting off explosives.
The pretty, sparkly things are one thing, but the ones that just let off a loud bang and that's it - well, that makes me want to find a closet and pop whatever pills I can find to make me pass out til it's over.
In a weird way, I'm reminded of my dog from when I was growing up. A big Golden Retriever who, during thunderstorms, would tuck tail and run to the bathroom. We'd find him shaking in the bathtub, clearly a safe place, or he would run down to the basement. That's me tonight.
Allow me to explain:

Some years ago, I was involved with a man, Kevin. He was about ten years older than me and was, at the time, the first one who said he loved me.
He had his problems, but I was young and didn't care, mostly out of fear of never meeting someone who would feel that way about me again.

So, we were engaged.
He had his problems.

One night, he was extra fidgety trying to get to sleep, so I gave him his space and went out to the living room to crash on the couch. At least this way one of us would get some sleep.

I awoke at 4AM to the sound of a gunshot.
So much for him.

Not to gloss over it all, you can probably imagine, maybe.
I still can't hear sudden gunshot-like sounds without freaking out.
You'd think I'd be over it by now. Guess again.

So there you have it.
Off to self-medicate and sleep it away.

Happy 4th all.

I promise I'll be more chipper tomorrow.
(And oh yeah, Sox lost, but the Yankees are down 18-1 right now in the eighth, so it's ok, right?)