Yep. That’s a flashback.
It’s one of the things that people in grief, or dealing with adultery, or spinning out with anxiety, & other kinds of all consuming pain/fear/etc. don’t “get” about PTSD.
Flashbacks aren’t intrusive thoughts. They aren’t memories, or imaginings, no matter how vivid. We get those, too. But flashbacks are any of the 5 senses, relived. Not remembered.
And they can be about some seriously f*cking random minutia. :banghead: The humidity on brick. A car breaking around a corner. The texture of a certain carpet. A mote of rust (I was trying to write dust, but rust works just as well ;)). Sounds, sights, smells, tastes, touch, emotions... ANYTHING that was there... can just sort of randomly f*cking reappear. Whether it makes sense / can be blown off as something normal...or... A boat engine in a desert, with water whapping against the bulkhead??? Yeah. No. Except, yeah. That happens. A ticking clock with no clocks. A dripping faucet. The sound of a bag of chips opening. Sea lions in a sky scraper (please let someone be watching a nature show, please let someone be watching a nature show, I doooooon’t have time for this shit, right now!) Carpet underfoot, wearing shoes, when you’re barefoot in the grass. Feeling a power bar wrapper in your pocket, when you’re not wearing anything with pockets, and they don’t even make power bars, anymore. :facepalm: Weird ass, random shit.
My last triggered flashback? (That I know of, assuming none of the things I’m hearing/seeing/tasting, aren’t visitors from another time... that I’m ignoring as reasonably happening, now...which happens.) Bubbles. Yep. Bubbles in water and Shazam! :banghead:
Relived. Weird ass random shit. Right along with the “sexy” Hollywood style stuff.
