My Tai Chi instructor does shiatsu massage. Sounded like a great challenge, having a man massage me. 
         I was nervous, dreading it, feeling very vulnerable especially as I lay down, but I wanted it to happen and it didn't involve being naked or anything. (Apparently if they ask you to undress that's a sign that they're dodgy shiatsu people). 
           I relaxed into it. Lots of gentle rubbing, finger stroking, all nice and then he started pummeling my shoulders with his feet. I sniffed a little. They didn't smell. There wasn't much to say. I lay there and grinned.

Why should I go to Canada when it feels like I'm about to die horribly?
Well... for lots of very good reasons. Most importantly, for my future freedom and loveliness.

One day, one glorious day, my panic attacks stopped. I didn't plan it, it just happened. 
        I was frying little cubes of parsnips. I didn't know they were miracle parsnips, I only knew I was cooking lunch. Suddenly I was freakishly scared. I was terrified of these little cubes, my whole body was shaking. Then the miracle happened. I looked at the feeling and looked at the parsnips and thought, hold on a minute, I'm not afraid of parsnips, this is something else. 

They smell, they walk poo into the carpet and sometimes they barf in my bed, but they're also a truck load of fun.
      A few years ago I decided to foster dogs. I was a bit lonely. I told the charity I had a few problems, but they said that was fine, a home was better than kennels and they were on hand if I couldn't cope. 'Lets have a go and see what happens,' they said. 'OK, blimey, OK, oh god, OK,' I said. 

It's tough. So tough sometimes I have to shout, 'Come on you lion!' Flashbacks come in bits and pieces; a pain in my side, spasms in my tum that have me juddering in a little ball, a wet sound that has me sobbing into my rice pudding, or just a wrong smell that flavours my banana and the water I swig afterwards to wash it away. 
       All the senses hold memories and they hardly ever make sense. Of course I avoided them, they hurt like hell. But what if stepping outside the front door is a trigger? What if doing new things is a trigger? Avoiding triggers can make a person a hermit.
      But, and this is a big BUT, there is another way.