Menu

January 2021

​

It is deeply personal, the struggles of PTSD. It’s a memory playing on a rickety projector always in the back of your head. It rattles and creaks, squeaks as it spins, but it doesn’t stop. 

The video that plays is black and white, the tape skipping and the film dirty. You can hardly see the picture from below the grime. Your eyes wrinkle and shake as you squint when the screen suddenly blazes with color that nearly blinds you. The picture become crystal clear as if it’s happening right in front of you, only a few feet away and at the tip of your fingers. It’s impossible, like staring into the sun but cold all over. And you can’t look away. 
It never ends, black and white then color again. Black and white then color again. Black and white then color again. Until you can’t take it anymore and the projector explodes. You try and shut your eyes but their glued open, forced to watch the glass break and your mind come undone.

It’s deeply personal, the way it kills you everyday. It’s a fight with impossible stats not in your favor. The projector keeps spinning, the film keeps playing, and nothing ever changes.