Delayed Reactions: Depression and PTSD

In the week before I had to go to Chicago to give evidence in my rape case (for those who are just tuning in, I wasn’t the perp, it was vice-versa), I was like a five-year-old with developmental disabilities. I talked like someone had taken an axe and hacked off my frontal cortex. After two minutes of talking to me on the phone, a friend asked if I was OK, and I just said… long pause… NOPE.

Now I’m back from Chicago, the piece of shit is in jail awaiting his plea bargain, and I should be on top of the world. But now I’m having FRANTIC depression… running from one…