I spent a lot of time secluded in my bedroom when I wasn’t walking around the neighborhood at night. After my first time being shot, something in me changed. See, many people develop phobias after traumatic experiences. But me? I was the fool who often developed infatuations with things that hurt or almost kill me. Two men, bang, pain, lots of blood, nighttime, cops, baby, run home, and here I am finding peace in drifting through these same streets all night.

Before you jump to conclusions, yes, my mom took me to see a pediatrician shortly after. We didn't have the best or healthiest relationship, but she genuinely loves me. She just had problems. We all have problems at some point in our lives. Don't judge us. I never told her what happened but she noticed the wound wasn’t healing right. She kept it clean but she was afraid it had gotten infected, and she was right. However, it was just a mild infection. I eventually recovered just fine - well, with the obvious exception of PTSD.

Fearing a potentially violent reaction from my mom, my doctor asked her to step out so he could check me for hernia. I had started puberty and she couldn't really argue with the fact that I would be uncomfortable with her staying for that. He was a good doctor. He could be trusted and never did anything to me. I really respected him. I loved him. I often wished he was kin to me.

Doc knew my mom had a temper and he had covered for her a lot. He didn't want me to end up in foster care because he didn't want to subject me to potentially worse. Sure, there was a chance that my life would improve but the times weren't very generous. There are some truly bad people hiding out there. I went to school with some foster children and, my god, I thought I had it rough with my birth mother. Most of them ended up running away from home. It was sad.

He closed the door and, to my surprise, he took a seat and stared me in the eye for a solid minute before speaking. I thought I was going to get checked but he brushed my hands away from my waist.

Doc: [serious] Have a seat, Adam. I want you to look me in the eye and tell me the honest truth. Be straight with me.

Me: [baffled] Y - Yes, sir.

Doc: Don't be afraid of her. I'll protect you. If I have to, I'll raise you as my own son, okay? I promise.

Me: [nervous] Okay.

Doc: Did your mother do this to you?

Me: [stunned] Huh?!

He took my arm, twisted it so that my palm was facing up, raised my sleeve, and squinted at me. He was looking for even the slightest sign of trouble, and the look on his face made it abundantly clear that he was genuinely worried for my safety. He was angry.

Doc: [seething] Adam, give me just a yes or no answer. I know what this is. Did your mother do this to you?

Me: No. I wasn't home when it happened.

Doc: Where were you? Did she throw you out?

Me: No. I was babysitting.

Doc: [puzzled] Then how…?

Me: It was my fault. They told me not to stand in the window after dark. But our friend was late coming home and I was worried about her, so I went to the window to look for her. Some guys were standing outside, then I woke up laying in my own blood.

Doc was furious. The creases in his forehead deepend, and I could tell he wanted to wreck the room. It seemed to take everything in him to keep his composure. That man really did want to rescue me but the evidence just wasn't compelling enough. I was small and rambunctious, I had bullies, I got into a lot of fights, and I played sports. Every scratch and bruise could be attributed to kids just being kids.

Doc: Okay, we're out of time. Keep this card in your pocket.

He handed me his business card and gestured for me to hurry and tuck it away while he checked the door. My mom had snuck off to use the phone so she could check-in with her job. That day was one of her good days, but it could quickly go south if she was late. She was already exhausted and walking on eggshells at the job because of my behavior. The doctor had to finish up quick. He stepped back over and hugged me.

Doc: [whispering] My pager number is on there. You page me 911 if anything happens, okay? I love you, Adam. Don't you ever forget it. I'm sorry you lost your dad and I can never replace him. But I'll save you whenever you need rescuing, understand? I'll come running whenever you need me! Anytime!

I didn't have enough time to respond. I heard my mom's voice as she neared the door. She was having a laugh with one of the nurses as they came down the hall. He hugged me again and ushered me out the door in a hurry.

Doc: Okay, Mrs. Washington! He's all set and in good health. You can pick up his prescription from the desk. And you, Adam, stop picking at those scabs and this won't happen again! Your body is going through a lot of changes and you're going to get pimples in a few places. Just keep them clean and they'll go away, okay?

Me: Yes, sir.

Mom: Thanks again, doctor. I'll keep an eye on him and let you know if anything goes wrong.

Doc: Great! I'll see you folks next time.

That day was strange. Nothing went as expected. Doc saw me, knew I had gotten shot, and couldn't do a thing about it. Mom bought me food on the drive home, a rare treat, and didn't give me the usual beating before she left for work. Because she couldn't afford to burn the gas that week, she caught the bus, she didn't get harassed, and she even made it in on time. Hell, I even got to play video games before bed without being disturbed by someone trying to break in the house. I didn't do too bad, right?

Don't get ahead of yourself. This is when it gets really good. Remember when I mentioned having PTSD? Well, get ready for a wild ride through a crowded city because that shit is anything but a good time. See, this night is when the nightmares finally took hold of me. I fell fast and hard. Sure, I had a lot of nightmares before - but these were all new, all different kinds of nightmares. They were haunting and corrosive to my mind. Maybe I'd have outgrown them if they were really just dreams. But these were composed of traumatic memories, and it's not easy to come back from that.

It started with me walking the streets at night, like any other night since the bad habit began. And everything was routine for a while. I found peace in the silence of the night, the moon was suspended high in the sky, the stars winked at me, the crickets chirped happily, and the stray dogs moved along like I wasn’t even there. It was a mild summer night and it wasn’t even humid. Things seemed to be as good as they could get for a dream about a peaceful walk through the ghetto. But it didn’t stay that way. As I walked around in that peaceful period in my dreams, the world began to change around me. Night changed to day and the neighborhood I was in changed to the neighborhood that came before it.

There I was in my old neighborhood. I was on the south side of the street and approaching the old gun house. I don’t know why I was walking there, that house terrified me as a child. The wind picked up, blowing against me and pushing me back toward the west. No matter how hard I fought the wind, I could hardly make any progress. I turned to cut through the wind with my shoulder, in hopes of making myself significantly more aerodynamic, and out the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of a large, round Caucasian man. He was a cop. He was wearing a cop’s jacket at least. But something wasn’t right about this guy, so I tried to run.

I started to panic when the wind seemed to be pushing me back with every stride. And, strangely, this big SOB was able to run against the wind just fine. Actually, he was getting faster! What part of the game was this?! This didn’t make any actual sense! Like, even though I was just a kid, I could easily conclude that physics doesn’t work this way. But it felt so real that I hadn’t yet realized I was stuck in a nightmare. And as I continued to struggle against the invisible force drawing me closer to this man, I started to have difficulty breathing. The air became extremely thick, the clouds faded, and the sky got dark.

The pressure was unbearable. My eyes stung. My movements were slow - like I was underwater. Then my hearing faded until every sound was muffled. The light continued to fade as the giant ball of White fury behind me dissolved, and I found myself back at the bottom of a pool. The harder I fought to survive, the deeper I sank. And just as my vision went dark, I woke up, gasping and sweating. I didn't sleep for the rest of the night. I didn't do anything but sit there and stare into the dark, rocking back and forth.

I became a slave to the darkness that night; a friend to these monsters in my head. I fell into a pit that no one should be in. The night I got shot, I fortunately won the battle - and I thought I was lucky. But my nightmare made it painfully clear that I was losing the war. And I had absolutely no fucking clue how crushing that defeat would be.

Not only had I drowned before, I was drowning in my situation. My nightmare showed me that no matter how desperately I ran, I couldn’t escape what was coming to me. One day or another, one way or the other, I would be a casualty of this war. I was just another child soldier, conscripted against my will from the time I was born, trained only to kill and die in accordance with the rules of a power I would likely never earn the privilege to meet; a power that would never march with me. I really was on my own from that moment forward.

(To Be Continued...)