Post Traumatic Stress

Please help us.
The cuffs on my wrists are cutting down to the bone.
My arms are contorted behind my back with ropes.
My head is kept taped up.

If they keep us like this we will go insane!!

Please help us!!!!

Please help us.
My legs are
cramped.
If I move waves
of pain start at my neck and go down my spine.
It is hard to breath.
Please help us.

They wrestled Clayton to the ground.  The held him as they kicked and beat him into submission.  Pulling his arms behind his back, the doubled cuffed his wrists.  Weaving rope around his upper arms from his shoulders to his elbows, with a foot  on his forearms for leverage, they pulled his upper arms together, until they were a scant few inches apart.  A rag down his throat and tape over his mouth silences his screams.  Sweating profusely, they bent each of his legs and bound his ankles to his shins.

All right.
Chain me up.
Tie me up.
Beat me up.

You won't get the satisfaction of hearing
me scream from your torture games.




===================================

I still have flashbacks a year latter on what happened to us.  They tell me its PTSD.  
We were left with broken ribs, double cuffed wrists, roped arms and taped, sitting cross legged on the dirt floor, our hamstrings popped.  Blood dipped from our wrists.  It was 36 hours before the cops found us, and several hours to be freed from the cuffs.

The torture broke us.

(At that part of the interview Ryan just began to scream.)