There’s this weird thing where I catch myself still scanning rooms, even when I know there’s nothing to be found, nothing to brace for. It’s like my nervous system has a muscle memory for 'on alert' that still fires sometimes, even when my brain knows it's unnecessary, a phantom limb of past vigilance that occasionally twitches. I wonder if that ever fully goes away, or if it just becomes a fainter echo in the quiet spaces, a reminder of how far I've come, how much safer the room actually is now. God, I feel so stupid sometimes, still flinching when a door creaks unexpectedly, or my heart leaps into my throat if someone walks up behind me quietly. It’s like my body hasn’t quite gotten the memo that I'm supposed to be 'over it' now, even though I try so hard to be, and I really AM better, most days.