Last night I found myself struggling - against my will as always - with PTSD symptoms out of nowhere (seemingly). They like to do that, attack you when you least expect it. What was supposed to be an awesome night downtown, turned into me crying in a parking lot with panic and all the fun that goes with that. Now before you pause here to get all sorry for me, please hold on for a second - this story is actually not about that at all. But I digress.
Not wanting to ruin everyone elses night, I called the person I knew would come to my rescue. I stood on Cesar Chavez feeling silly and sorry, when suddenly my hero comes pulling up, whisking me to the safety of a warm car and an empathetic ear. They listened to me, asked all the right questions, and took me straight to Whataburger for fries.
Before we went inside, they exclaimed, "Oh, I'm not wearing any pants!" I looked down and bursted out laughing at the leggings + reindeer t-shirt + fuzzy boot ensemble my rescuer was wearing. In their haste to come help me, they ran out of the house with their nighttime clothes on, not bothering to change into something more befitting of public viewing. "I just knew you needed me, so I ran out the door in this!" they said.
I laughed until I cried, thanking God for blessing me with such a beautiful, caring, and goofy sister.
My sister has always been there for me, saving me with her witty humor, strong will, and love as fierce as anything I've ever seen. I know that no matter what happens, no matter if she's dressed like Wonder Woman or a cat lady, she'll always be a hero to me. Though it would be easier if she wore pants next time.
"You be the anchor that keeps my feet on the ground, I'll be the wings that keep your heart in the clouds." - Mayday Parade
