Tales of a Traumasita

     Chapter One - The Early Signals We Ignored          Steve entered our world the same way most teenage friendships begin; through shared rebellion and the easy magnetism of adolescence. He and my brother met when they were in junior high, and from the start, their connection pulsed with recklessness. They were inseparable for a time. Not the kind of friendship that builds trust- but the kind that courts trouble.        They tried to steal a car,  directly in front of my mom's work. Armed with only a screwdriver, they were inside the vehicle mid-attempt, when squad cars surrounded them. Police with shotguns drawn ordered them out. That moment, with my mom witnessing it all from inside her building, sealed Steve's fate in her eyes.         He was the only friend my brother ever had who wasn't allowed in our house. Not ever. "I don't like that kid" she repeated. "He's got something in him I don't ...

    I sensed your absence long before the phone rang. The familiar rhythm of your daily life fell silent, replaced by an unsettling void. My customary morning text,  "Good morning beautiful",  remained unacknowledged, lost in the stillness. An ominous intuition clawed at me, insisting you were gone.   Desperate, I dialed my best friend, my voice trembling with dread. "Something is wrong. He hasn't checked his messages in two days." Her soothing presence usually grounded me, yet the palpable tension gnawed at my insides, intensifying my fear.   Fifteen agonizing minutes later, the inevitable call came. When your oldest son's name appeared on my screen, I knew. "I'm sorry Janine. Dad's gone. My brother just found him." Ten words. Quiet. Final. The world didn't just shatter- it vanished.    In an instant, the room transformed into a cacophony of chaos, the piercing wails erupted from my core, reverberating off the walls. I collapsed to my ...

       In the flickering glow of the gallery, a painting hangs on the wall. At first glance, it's an arresting piece; an interplay of brilliant hues, sharp contrasts and soft transitions. A chiaroscuro masterpiece. The light catches the edges, illuminating bright reds and golds that pulse with life, while shadows creep along the corners, hinting at a darkness that refuses to be forgotten. For a moment, one might stand mesmerized by the luster, but the shadows speak- softly at first, then with increasing weight, as though they had been woven into the inescapable currents of time, lost in memory. There's more to this work, more than what the eye first notices. It carries a duality, a tension between light and dark that is as inherently human as the spirit that resides within.       The addict is like the painting, vivid and heavy with the flexibility of radiance and despair. In them, there are fleeting moments of luminance that rings with authentici...

    It stands a foot tall with a mere 3 inch circumference, but it's presence was undeniably powerful, radiating an energy that commands attention.      It surged forward with a relentless bone rattling force. Our bodies trembled beneath it's weight, each resounding clatter echoing the sheer power and inevitability in it's path, as if nothing could stand in it's way. It's fierce determination and unyielding spirit, leaves an indelible mark on everyone it encounters, proving that true strength often comes in small packages.     The sharp, high pitched squeal of the closet door creaking open through the stillness, an unsettling sound reverberated, evoking a profound sense of dread and invoking a visceral, spine chilling response.     Each note of that discordant noise, felt like a warning, a harbinger of it's unwanted presence slinking into the room, where shadows twisted and lurked. The air thickened with an unsettling cringe, as if the v...