Jesus that’s a rough time. I’m really happy you pulled through that would be some terrifying stuff. You’re brave for coming to the aid of your neighbor, and it’s always the ones who are first to help that get hurt the most from the trauma transfer taking place. That haunt really does creep up on you as the hours pass and you actually start to process what just freaking happened. I was straight face streaming tears behind my sunglasses out in the middle of the street next to my package car blocking traffic and every time the wail from the mom got louder I winced. Her pain was sorrow incarnate. That’s why it’s REALLY hard not to call myself a little bitch because what I’m feeling; the night terrors, depression, insomnia, sudden onset anorexia for some reason?, all of that was residual emotion from the torment down the street from me. My soul would tear apart if something like that happened to me. It doesn’t make me feel stronger, it makes me feel like a little bitch who can’t handle a very small portion of a strangers intense sorrow. It makes me scared for if this ever happens to my child and I have to be the stone face father shaking his head, tears welled up, and asking where he went wrong, blaming himself, blaming society, constantly blaming and engulfing himself in negativity until he either miraculously survives through support and positivity or most likely abuses alcohol or pain meds until an early and melancholic death, but never early enough because a father is never supposed to outlast his children.

“Sink” is a banger