I am fascinated by memories. As something with complex PTSD, I have intrusive memories. Snippets of a time past that force themselves into my present, pushing me back into the past.
Compromise happens all the time. There are compromises that you don’t have to think about and ones that take a bit more time to ponder. And then, you have to factor in the reason for the compromise. So that is an essential piece of compromise too.
I have no proof, no evidence. Of course, I don’t because no one listened. And now that evidence is gone. Or is it? I realize how much evidence I have within me and how I react and interact with the world. This poem is about contending with all the evidence I carry with me.
Unburdened is such a relatively innocuous word representing so much of what had to happen for me to heal. The moment I released myself from the burden of being the secret keeper and the scapegoat meant I could breathe for the first time.
I get frustrated and angry when people don’t hold space for me after I have shared a hard truth with them. What is wrong with them? I needed them, and they were not there. Is it they don’t know what holding space means? Perhaps, so let’s clear that question up. Read on.
It sounds so simple. Call someone when the darkness creeps in, but it isn’t simple. My poem, “Who, indeed?” is about the difficulty of calling someone. Who can help me when the onslaught of darkness brings me to my knees?
I wrote “Overtaken” to describe what succumbing to a depressive valley feels like. I have always found the written word, especially poetry, much safer than speaking. Writing provides me the space to process my world.
Time Changes Lately, my thoughts are turning to the finiteness of time. I am not sure why. Is it because I am getting closer to my half-century mark? Maybe. Time changes us all. I have never been something overly concerned about aging. It could be my fascination with...
Time. As a trauma survivor, my perception of time is confusing. In a moment, I can be whisked back in time. But, then, my reactions are not based on my present but on the past.
Sigh. Another rejection email came in the other night. It’s okay though. I know I am doing what I am supposed to – write. And I will keep going.