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PTSD 6
Posted by GMGittins
16th Feb 2014

Welcome to another PTSD blog, another flashback.

I'm about four years old. I'm standing in a room full of noisy children, running all over the place. I'm looking around me, trying not to look where I really want to look - at the tables.

"She wants you to think she never has food like that, DON'T YOU?"
"She'd love you to think we're peasants!"

I move my eyes.

There are long tables, with a paper plate by each chair! Paper plates! With colours on them!
There's a paper cup by each one!
There are plates of sandwiches made of white bread, cut into shapes! We're not allowed white bread, dad says so - so what does it taste like?!
There are little paper cases with frilly coloured edges, with coloured jelly to eat! And my favourite colour, red! Red, shiny jelly!

I watch my little sister through the huge square window. She's in a room all by herself. The room has a bed inside. Someone is explaining things to me, so I must show that I'm sensible and understand what they want me to understand.

"She'll have a lovely time! She'll have so many toys to play with! Like this one - isn't he lovely?!"

I look in a matter of fact way at the gorgeous toy dog. He stands on a wooden trolley with red wheels. There's a red handle. He has big shiny eyes and a red tongue, as if he's puffed out with playing with you. He wears a red harness. He has curly fur.
She'll love him. I'm too old to play with him, and anyway, I'm not allowed.

(Just like in school, next year - remember staring at the colourfully painted wooden toys that everyone loved to play with as a treat? Only they weren't for children like you?)

"You can't play with her because you're not allowed. No-one else is allowed. Only the nurses are allowed in."
(But what if I wore a pinny like them? Couldn't I go in then?)

I daren't speak to them. So I just stand there.
I don't know what else to do.

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