Hi everyone, it's been a while since I was last able to visit. I was pleased to see that the diary is up and running. I decided to post my story publicly because I want to share my experience with others that care enough to read about it and that understand the many sides of PTSD. I am now a mom of three girls, one of which is a 6 month old baby, so I won't be able to write everything at once, but that's what a diary is for, no? So, here it goes.

I think it was the year 1993...I had just turned 21 and was enjoying my life working as a waitress and partying the nights away. Believe it or not, I made good money and didn't have to be at work until 4 pm, and I took advantage of that! I loved the restaraunt I worked at, it was full of my friends, both employees and customers, life was good!

On Sunday night I was the last waitstaff working (I often worked double shifts and closing shifts) when a couple came in as I was about to close the doors. I had ordered my bloodymary already in anticipation of closing, and I could hear my bartended Alex mixing it expertly as I pondered serving them. It was five minutes until closing but I had no plans that night and didn't mind taking one more table. My bartender was still there, my busboy was there, the cooks were there and the new dishwasher was there too, it was his first night. I asked my manager Scott if it was ok to take them and he said sure, if I wanted to - so we were in business.

I lead them to the fourth of four tables leading from the door, directly in front of the windows, I think I remember it as being table 44 (I can't believe it was 13 years ago!)! I think I took and drink order and food order together after chatting them up a bit and my busboy Eric took them some still-hot chips and salsa (it still reminds me of this night every time I try to enjoy tortillia chips!). I decided to punch in the order on the machine in the kitchen so I could apologize to the cooks as I ordered. I was standing at the machine when I heard someone scream. As I look back, I think it was the female customer, but I was already going in to shock. As I left the kitchen to see what was going on, I saw a man jump over the partician that separated the dining area from the rest of the restaurant. When he did that, he knocked over one of the plants that sat on to of the partician, and I remember thinking, is he going to pick that up? The dirt on the carpet was like the Twilight Zone, it was never dirty - it looked so strange. The next thing i know, there is another man, yanking my bartender out of the bar. Alex is stammering and his hands are up and that's when I see the Mac - 10 to his head.

You are doing great. That was an awesome start. Amazing what things we remember the most, eh? Great job, and keep going!

Well done Miander... well done. A short part of the story, and I am sure your most likely running off the dial about now. Please remember, ensure you have read the information within the trauma diary forum, ensure you follow the guidelines to be kind to yourself, or this will impact you worst than it needs too.

Well done, keep going.

First off, thanks Nam for your words of encouragement and to Anthony - you are right as usual. It is not as bad as it used to get, I only find insomnia and an increased anxiety level are bothering me (still), minor flashbacks. Nothing like it used to be with the horrible night & day mares, crippling fear of everything so I couldn't leave my bed, difficulty breathing, etc. etc. Thank goodness time does help for some, me included.

Ok, back to work.
When I came out of the kitchen and saw Al with the gun to his head, I remember thinking, "why does that guy have a water gun in the restaurant, and why is he holding it to Al's head? Why is Al so scared?"...Things went in to slow motion and my hearing got fuzzy - I saw the couple being herded toward Al and his captor by yet another man. Then I heard the man with Al shout "where's the keys to the safe mother******?!" and Al said "I don't know what your talking about" in this really funny voice and the man cocked his hand with the gun back and brought it down across his face so hard, the blood ran bright red before his head went straight. I heard the woman scream and that's when I dropped to my knees and put my hands over my ears - humming a hysterical tune that I didn't recognize. My eyes were squeezed shut and I waited for the robbers to realize that I was there and that I had seen what they were doing and come for me. I think I stopped breathing and squished myself as small as I could get, every nerve screaming for me to run. I was in this crouched position when Al and his assailant pushed by me, into the kitchen. I involuntarily opened the eye closest to where they were passing and I saw drops of Al's blood mark their path; I swear I could smell his fear and the assailant's rage. I stifled the cry of hysteria that was trying to escape and took a quick breath, only to hold it so I could hear what was going on in the kitchen - directly behind me, separated by a swinging door.

Enough.

You are doing great. You deserve a break.

Miander... wow... well done. I can already imagine your intensity levels going up from just that. Take your time, please go steady and not over do it... you've done so well already

I was looking at my post and it struck me that the way I have been writing has been like I am writing a fiction novel, not like I am writing about my life (one of the main trauma events that happend to me). I don't know if this was my way of trying to protect myself or what, but it's weird.

My heart rate has been picking up just logging on the internet, I think getting this all down is effecting me more than I'd like to think. I'm here, so I may as well continue, but hopefully in a less narrated fashion.

So there I was, sitting in front of the door to the kitchen, crouched on my knees with my hands over my ears hodling my breath, straining to hear the nightmare that was unraveling behind me. I heard my manager Scott come out of the back office, I heard the tone of his voice change as he must have seen the blood on Al's face, the stranger holding him and the gun in his hand. I heard the gunmans voice demand the key to the safe again and I knew that this was escalating. I heard Scott tell him in a shaky voice "sure man, I'll give you the key, just don't hurt anyone, ok?". I don't know what happend next, all I could hear was the gunman yelling and then I heard rapid gunshots. I knew Scott had been shot because I heard him grunting when the bullet hit his kneck, then the grunts turned to moans of pain, disbelief and dispair. I am criing now because I really liked Scott, we spent alot of time together and we were friends, not just coworkers. I hate that I heard that come from him, it was the most awful noise I have ever heard.

Wow Miander!

You are much braver than I. I like how you are writing it. You aptely describe what was happening and exactly how you feel. That's great.

I was wondering, do you see this in third person mode? (as in you are watching yourself going through this but you are not there?) I'm just curious because that is how I see myself when I recall anything.

Bec

Hey Becvan - I am pretty sure that the third person viewing is a way to protect ourselves...It's weird but I guess it makes it easier to re-live. Thanks for your compliment, I have a tendency to bash myself to a pulp over everything I do, and I am doing a number on myself over this diary.

Ok. So after Scott was shot there was muffled comotion (the gunman was behind the kitchen, in the office) and then it happend, more gunshots and screams. I knew Al had been hit because I heard him when he yelled "oh god" in pain, but I didn't know at the time that our new dishwasher (his first night, father of four), had been shot too and was dying. The next thing I know, the door behind me bursts open and I hear the woman customer scream again - I had forgotten that there were other people around me, I had become so focused on the kitchen. The killer grabs me by my arm and yanks me to my unsteady feet and in a voice that sounds far away (even though it is painfully close) yells for everyone to get in the kitchen. I am so afraid that my feet won't obey me and I will feel the pain of the gun but I practically run into the kitchen to escape the killers grasp. As I enter the kitchen, I see Al and he is pale and holding his stomach. The blood on his head doesn't compare to the blood that I now see on the floor. There is a terrible mess of crunched up tortillia chips mixed in the pool of blood that surrounds Scotts body, the sight of it horrified me so badly, I looked away before I knew if he was still moving or not.

I'm done for now, I think the hardest part of the whole experience for me was when I saw Scott and I knew that he was going to die. I still live with the guilt that I didn't help him, that I didn't drop to the floor and make his last moments filled with love and comfort, instead I let him lie on the filthy floor in his own blood and chips, choking on his fear and knowledge of death.