*I have this character rolling around in my head. I’m trying to get other things out, Fundy Bay Book 2 most importantly, so it’s hard to have this little voice poking up, wanting to be heard. But she’s here. Quiet, but insistent. I don’t know her story. I don’t even know if she’s in the same world as the Pack. She wants out, though, so I’m going to take time when I can and write down what she says and share it with you all. She’s happy with that. For now.*
It’s hard to pick out the one threat you should pay attention to when you have PTSD and you’re an empath. Your walls are down, or if you’re me, they never developed properly in the first place. I was so young when it happened. And people don’t believe in empaths these days. So I can see monsters everywhere and no one listens to me.
Most of the monsters don’t pay me much attention. My instincts are to hide. Always have been. If that doesn’t work, I freeze. And I was broken a long time ago. As prey, I’m not much fun. Nor am I important. Monsters have busy lives. Why bother with something so inconsequential as me? Mostly I’m left alone, so it’s a giant pain in the ass to see threats all…the…time. Hyper-vigilant, the outpatient therapist called it.
I hugged the wall, kept my head down and tried not to attract any attention.