An explanation.

My wrath has passed. Some years I am acutely aware that it is upon me, and the hours are agonizing. And other times, I realize it only as evening falls, and there is only a small shiver of panic. This year was in between, I suppose.
I woke up that morning soaked in a cold sweat...I knew something was wrong, as I awoke and not the Host. I supposed that it had been a nightmare that we had forgotten upon waking, and left it at that. But for the rest of the day, things were not as they should have been...the air was stale, the food too bland. Carbonation in soda was painful to the tongue, and colors were dimmed. Sounds were impossibly loud but muffled and every tactile sensation was so acute it was almost unbearable.
Then flashbulb memories began to surface: a wreath, a latex glove. Liquid-filled vials and twisted spoons. Short stubby fingers, with dirt in the creases of the knuckles and nails chewed to the quick. A darkness so complete it feels as if the body has been detatched...until the pain comes. Then the physical body reacted: rapid, shallow breathing, uncontrollable trembling, nausea, dread. Old wounds began to come alive with a dull ache. Dizziness and then I recall--and I come forward immediately to deal with it.
Exhausting.
The rage in being hurt, the fear of the past coming back, and then the rage in being afraid. All the while, I was forced to attempt to keep everyone calm. Words cannot adequately describe this. I am thankful, however, that I am allowed the outlet to share, as incoherent as this is.