Today I have been in Anfield for the Memorial Service for the 96 football fans who died at Hillsborough in 1989.
I did as a football fan, I did it to stand up for the lack of justice – and I did because I recognize and know PTSD.
It is difficult to grieve the Hillsborough 96 when there still no justice, no acknowledgment that the South Yorkshire Police Authority made a series of massive and fatal mistakes.
It is difficult to grieve the Hillsborough 96 when lies are still said about. Lies about them as football fans, lies because they were Liverpool fans.
I will not repeat the lies, only say it gets in the way of grief.
I went to Anfield to place some of my grief, anger and confusion there. Laid some of my PTSD to rest.
I know that about trying to grieve a life that some choose to say is all lies or fantasy.
I know the frustrated anger that brings. I know how that make you doubt your own reality.
But I also know the truth must be faced, or it does make you sick.
I know about having no justice.
I know my stepdad will never take any responsibility.
I know that johns remind invisible, unpunished and always believing they are in the right.
Prostituted women and girls live with no justice all the time, so much that they have act as if they do not care.
But they do care, they care so much that it becomes a vicious form of PTSD.
I put some of my grief in the Memorial Service. I got a little piece of peace.