# PTSD



## Lester Burnham (Mar 9, 2009)

She sat across from me in one of the two Queen Ann’s. Her eyes were fixed to the floor and her shoulders slumped downward, as if burdened with the weight of unspoken tragedy or just lowered in silent resignation.

I had read her admission notes and was already writing the psychosocial in my head before I asked her any questions.

_22 year old white female, complaint of cocaine dependence. Patient admits to ETOH and poly-substance abuse since age 11. Began using intranasal powder cocaine 3 years ago and has been using I.V. intermittently for the past six months in amounts averaging from 1-2 grams daily while binging._

I didn’t need the chart to tell me she had likely been supporting her habit with dancing or hooking or both. It came with the territory. So did some other things, but that would wait for the moment.

She was a pretty girl. Even with the raven bags under her eyes that strangely accented her wan skin, and the track marks in the soft tissue at the bend of each arm, she had a beauty that almost overshadowed the ravages of her addiction.

Almost.

She was shivering, but didn’t say a word. I went to a linen closet and got her a blanket. She wrapped herself in it without speaking. 

I would get past the preliminaries with her as quickly as possible. Like all addicts, she had a story that went past her drug use. That story was my job. The rest, the drugs she used, how much and when and for how long was just the requirements for documentation; _an insurance matter. _But it was a matter that had to be attended to.

I wish I could tell you that these matters are great and mystical puzzles; that it requires real intelligence and finely honed skills to figure it out. I can’t though. One look at her and I had a pretty good idea what the story was. Something, somewhere in her life had caused her enough pain, enough trauma, that she would stick needles in her arm to keep from thinking about it. 

Something had robbed enough self worth that she could crawl naked on a dirty floor scraping up the money for her habit from a crowd of drunken lechers. The only trick was getting her to talk about it.

I would do that. I had my ways. But I still had no assurances it would help. Addictions have a way of forgetting the things that cause them and moving forward on their own volition. When repressing the trauma is killing you, though, the only answer that makes sense is to get it out; to face the demons as it were, and talk.

And talk she eventually did. _About her father._

He started touching her at age six. That progressed to other things as he continued grooming her; using her.

And along the way he taught her, in his own way, what all fathers are supposed to teach. Her worth as a human being.

For him, her hand was worth five dollars. Her mouth twice that much, even more if she “finished.” Other parts of her body had their value, too. And he paid for, _owned_, all of them.

_For ten years._

He trained her well enough. Eventually, when she wanted money or other things, even booze, she came to him. She would tell me later that it made her feel special, even powerful.

But that illusion of power eventually played it’s way out, and you could see the results all over her life and all over her body. Every degradation she ever suffered had ultimately traveled through a spike and up her arms. Every violation a prescription for more. Humiliation and abuse became a deviated septum and hepatitis C; Every needle mark a thousand unshed tears.

That power? It had lead her to my office, unable to look me in the eye or even to tell someone, anyone, that she was cold.

Two months after she left treatment, a month after her father began serving time, I got the call that she was dead. It was an overdose, of course. They found her splayed out next to a dumpster. Whoever she was using with just dumped her onto the pavement to avoid problems with the law.

I’m sure the coroners report gave drug overdose as the cause of death. I think it was a homicide. Her father murdered her when she was six years old.

It just took her 16 years to figure it out.


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## silverwriter (Mar 11, 2009)

Lester Burnham said:


> She sat across from me in one of the two Queen Ann’s. Her eyes were fixed to the floor



Ouch. I imagine having one's eyes fixed to the floor is a painful process. 




Lester Burnham said:


> and her shoulders slumped downward, as if burdened with the weight of unspoken tragedy or just lowered in silent resignation.



I'd go with either one or the other. Both are powerful enough on their own, and putting 'one or the other' in there just makes me feel like you, the author, couldn't choose which one you liked more.



Lester Burnham said:


> _22 year old white female, complaint of cocaine dependence. Patient admits to ETOH and poly-substance abuse since age 11. Began using intranasal powder cocaine 3 years ago and has been using I.V. intermittently for the past six months in amounts averaging from 1-2 grams daily while binging._



I'll ask - what's ETOH? I'm sure I could figure it out if I thought about it or Googled it, but if you don't want distractions in your story, only use acronyms you're absolutely positive your readers will be familiar with.



Lester Burnham said:


> So did [some] other things, but that would wait for the moment.



[ ] = cut



Lester Burnham said:


> She was a pretty girl. Even with the raven bags under her eyes that strangely accented her wan skin, and the track marks in the soft tissue at the bend of each arm, she had a beauty that almost overshadowed the ravages of her addiction.



This one is purely a personal nitpick: "raven" just sounds flowery to me and I'm not a big fan of flowery - especially in serious writing. When people have eyes like that, they're usually dark. 'Dark' is a perfectly adequate description.

Does the narrator work with a lot of girls like her? I feel like "she was a pretty girl, but then again, most of them were" is missing somewhere in there. 



Lester Burnham said:


> She was shivering,




She shivered,




Lester Burnham said:


> but didn’t say a word. I went to a linen closet and got her a blanket. She wrapped herself in it without speaking.




Isn't this a clinic or some sort? Wouldn't someone have given her a blanket before the narrator came on the scene?
 


Lester Burnham said:


> I would get past the preliminaries with her as quickly as possible.




'Would get' rubs me the wrong way. Did the narrator want to get past them quickly? Or would s/he simply try for the sake of the girl?




Lester Burnham said:


> The rest, the drugs she used, how much and when and for how long was just the requirements for documentation; _an insurance matter._


_

'were_' just the requirements; insurance _matters_.

There are multiple facts there, so they should be in plural.




Lester Burnham said:


> But it was a matter that had to be attended to.



Again with plural. Getting the documentation is a (single) matter, but the way you've written it would make it sound smoother with treating it plural. _But they were matters that had to be attended to._



Lester Burnham said:


> I wish I could tell you that these matters are great and mystical puzzles;




Use of 'matter(s)' again so soon after using the same word in the previous sentence.




Lester Burnham said:


> Something had robbed enough self worth that she could crawl...




I feel like this is missing 'from her' or something similar after 'self worth'.
 


Lester Burnham said:


> Addictions have a way of forgetting the things that cause them and moving forward on their own volition.




I know what you're trying to say here, but I would much rather see a sentence that begins with 'addicts' instead of 'addictions'. Addictions don't forget, the people who experience trauma seek to forget by getting addicted or doing whatever else.




Lester Burnham said:


> And talk she eventually did. _About her father._



She cracked and talked during their first meeting? I'm not in the field, so I don't know the reality, but I find that hard to believe. Then again, this is non-fiction, so...



Lester Burnham said:


> He started touching her at age six. That progressed to other things as he continued grooming her; using her.



I'm assuming you mean 'grooming' as in the way a perpetrator grooms a victim, not in the literal 'he combed her hair' sense. This is another possible word where people not familiar with the subject might get confused.



Lester Burnham said:


> Every degradation she ever suffered had ultimately traveled through a spike and up her arms.[/qoute]
> 
> 'Spike' is dramatic, but I'm assuming you're talking about a needle, and 'needle' is probably the better choice.
> 
> ...


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## Lester Burnham (Mar 12, 2009)

All I can say is wow, well, that and thank you!  I have posted several pieces here and this is the most thoughtful feedback I have gotten.  I really appreciate the effort you gave it.

This was a rough that I wrote out in about 30 minutes.  You have given me much to consider in the rewrites that I will post here.

ETOH is alcohol.  And no, no one would have offered her a blanket unless she asked.  This was a residential, not medical facility.  When I say "that power" had lead her to my office, I was actually trying to say that it had lead her to addiction and the need to be in my office.  Guess that fell a little short of my intent, at least with you.

I had already decided in the rewrites to personalize her a little more so that the reader has a chance to care about her.  Thanks for affirming the need for that.


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## silverwriter (Mar 13, 2009)

I'm glad you found the comments useful.  

And check on the blanket. I've never experienced a residential facility at any level, so I wouldn't have a clue...


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## The Backward OX (Mar 16, 2009)

Queen Ann’s

The only time an apostrophe is used is either to indicate ownership – the Queen's tiara - or in place of removed letters – it’s raining for it is raining, let’s go for let us go, that type of thing. "One of the two Queen Anns" is simply a plural just like cats and rats and elephants.


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## Deleted member 33527 (Mar 18, 2009)

Damn, that's good, Lester! I really liked it. Especially the last sentence. It's so true when it comes to these kinds of victims. They feel worthless, like leftovers. *sigh* Very sad. I have nothing bad to say...good job!


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## Lester Burnham (Mar 27, 2009)

Thanks Dreamworkx.  I came back here to post the rewrite.  I hope you like it.


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