The other day I lost at some birds in a car park. All they were doing was singing, though some of them were Cockatoos and were murder-shrieking, but the intensity of the noise smashed through my PTSD defences and punched my fear centre in the nuts.
So, I screamed back. I screamed at them to shut the fuck up. I screamed questions at them as to why they were making so much noise.
Then, with tunnel vision and panting, I got in my car to go do something.
I emoted publicly and with gusto.
The birds did nothing, my screaming did not silence them. My emoting at the birds had no effect on them.
But I felt better and the heaving rage at bird noise overrode the fear until I was clear of them.
It turns out being angry not frightened is a more-rational response; well, it’s easier to ebb off anger than it is to ebb off fear.
Birds; some people like them—as do I. But fuck me they’re noisy fuckers and someday the angel of purification will have them at hand (wears propeller beanie, rubs shotgun).