They say, "Why do you zone out so much?" and I smile. Because it's easier than admitting that sometimes I'm not here at all. They don't see how a random smell, a tone of voice, a door closing too hard can rip me out of the present and drag me back somewhere I fought like hell to survive. My body stays in the room, but my mind is trapped in moments I never wanted to remember. People think I'm distracted. They don't realize I'm fighting with memories that trap me without warning, scenes that replay so vividly my chest tightens like it's happening all over again. So I smile through it, swallow it down, and call it being "tired," and hope no one notices I was gone.