PTSD & boobs

PTSD totally sucks and has nothing to do with boobs, but we'll get to the boobs. I was looking through a Facebook posting today with the yearbook senior pictures from Portage Central High School in 1980. It was the other high school in Portage, and I attended elementary and junior high with with many of the kids. There was quite a bit of a rivalry between Portage Northern and Portage Central in those days, so it's probably a good thing that some of us had been classmates. Otherwise the actual occurrences of violence could have been worse, and I wouldn't have dated as often.

I went to Portage Northern for 3 years and did not graduate. The reasons for not graduating are many and too boring to repeat. The wonderful thing was that I escaped to live with my paternal grandparents in Florida. They had no intention whatsoever of supporting me if I didn't finish high school. That turned into graduating from Riverview High School in Sarasota and eventually Florida State University in 1987. If it wasn't for Grandma & Grandpa, none of that would have been possible.

While looking at those senior pictures tonight, it was another reminder of many of the hardships in life that I've faced that hopefully few if any of these young people dealt with in any way. One of those was what caused the PTSD. Having Post Traumatic Starvation Disorder really sucks. Anyone who has ever been told that popcorn or tomatos is a meal would definitely understand. Not having food at hand or the ability to eat meals puts me in a panic mode of Post Traumatic Starvation Disorder.

People who are abused often try to do the same or to do the opposite. The seeds of the lack of food come from hereditary insanity. There is no other explanation than to call it what it is and was: insanity. It's probably a good thing I didn't have kids. They would have to eat three meals a day, sitting at a table and be doted over continually to eat, eat and eat.

Today was coincidentally a time when hardship created a situation of fearing where the next meal will come from. Believe me, the thought of not having access to a decent range of vittles sends me into a panic. It's really not as bad as I'm making it out to be, but it's enough to give me flashbacks of bowls of popcorn without butter and tomato sandwiches without bread. The biggest reason for this lack of edible resources is something that I cannot mention for one specific reason that you won't know. But it is just another example of the neglect and abuse by a family of half-witted hillbillies rearing its ugly head to further complicate my life even at 47 yo.

It was nice to see that many of my friends from that time got class pictures and hopefully never even considered for a moment the prospect of subsisting on tomatos or popcorn. There were also several of what you could call girlfriends. There were at least one example of each base from the backseat romp. You know the routine from the Meat Loaf song where getting from first, to second, to third base and to home is the goal. Right there in a high school I didn't even attend, I had the bases covered. Damn, some of those wenchs had low standards!

One of the girls in that old yearbook sat across from me in study hall in 7th grade. This wasn't just any girl, she had boobs, big boobs. It was funny, because I told a female friend of mine about it the other day. After about 35 years, I wondered if she remembered me as the short kid who stared at her boobs each day for 50 minutes. My friend assured me that girls, and especially girls with big boobs, are used to "the boob stare".

I never got to any of the bases with the girl from study hall, but I hear she's single...