Today is the anniversary of my uncle's death. Which for me means that on this day however many years ago I experienced the first in a cascade of traumatic moments that haven't taken the liberty of letting up. First it was my father leaving for Iraq, then New Orleans (immediately after Katrina), his brother passing, etc.. My parents are both deeply traumatized people with my mother often recalling the times she would tighten the belt on her fathers arm so he could shoot up, to my dad telling me why he hates my grandfather( I hate him to). When I was a child I would often stay up for days at a time, a bad habit that's continued to this day. The dark felt like a sanctuary for me, everything was still and quiet, vastly different from what made up my days, the arguments between my parents, the bullying at school, my dad laying violence upon me. Lately it doesn't feel that way anymore, the darkness creeps in and haunts me, and I wear it like a cloak. It pours out of my eyes and into my room, swallowing everything and leaving me empty. Then, in the next moment, it's washed away. Forgotten when I need to offer my strength to others. I've always excelled at being there for everyone but myself, recently that's started to change but it often feels like I'm infected with some disease that saps my strength just from being in proximity to other people. I surround myself with quotes and symbols of strength like some sort of ward against evil.
Last year my grandmother passed away. She was the last full-blooded native in my family, she attended those "boarding schools". When she died I felt such a massive weight pressing down on me, I feel like I cried for days, despite being "happy" she died, she had dementia, she called me by my fathers name, which I think disturbed me more than I give it credit for.
I'm not used to telling people why I feel the way I do or even telling people I'm in pain. I feel a responsibility to be strong, the strongest in the room. I don't really understand if it's for my sake or not. Maybe it's a way of tricking myself "Fake it till you make it", as my father says.
I don't hate my parents. I don't think I could, they both are always there for me, I don't get beaten anymore and I love them both, but when I think of what I went through as a kid (24 now) it feels like I'm burning, the blood in my veins turns white hot, my heart turns to steel and pain explodes out of me in the form of some sort of self neglect, I hesitate to call it self-harm, I've self harmed before and it feels nothing like that. The bloodletting and the burns had purpose, they made me feel things when I couldn't but now.. It just feels pointless. Irrational. Like I'm being gaslit. Nothing feels real in those moments. It feels as if my soul has died in those moments.
I don't just struggle with PTSD, it feels like I have a medical "rap sheet' a mile long. Bi-Polar disorder Type 2. Depression. Anxiety. IGA nephropathy. ADHD or whatever people call it these days. It's all so overwhelming, like I'm being buried in pills and paperwork. Every emotion an extreme. Every impulse so strong it feels like I have no control, no choice.
I'm sorry if all of the imagery is convoluted and confusing. Writing poetry is part of a long list of lost passions. I don't exactly know why I find it so hard to talk about my issues. Even behind the mask of anonymity it feels dangerous. Fear is the strongest emotion by a wide margin for me. Thank you for reading and lending me your time.
Last year my grandmother passed away. She was the last full-blooded native in my family, she attended those "boarding schools". When she died I felt such a massive weight pressing down on me, I feel like I cried for days, despite being "happy" she died, she had dementia, she called me by my fathers name, which I think disturbed me more than I give it credit for.
I'm not used to telling people why I feel the way I do or even telling people I'm in pain. I feel a responsibility to be strong, the strongest in the room. I don't really understand if it's for my sake or not. Maybe it's a way of tricking myself "Fake it till you make it", as my father says.
I don't hate my parents. I don't think I could, they both are always there for me, I don't get beaten anymore and I love them both, but when I think of what I went through as a kid (24 now) it feels like I'm burning, the blood in my veins turns white hot, my heart turns to steel and pain explodes out of me in the form of some sort of self neglect, I hesitate to call it self-harm, I've self harmed before and it feels nothing like that. The bloodletting and the burns had purpose, they made me feel things when I couldn't but now.. It just feels pointless. Irrational. Like I'm being gaslit. Nothing feels real in those moments. It feels as if my soul has died in those moments.
I don't just struggle with PTSD, it feels like I have a medical "rap sheet' a mile long. Bi-Polar disorder Type 2. Depression. Anxiety. IGA nephropathy. ADHD or whatever people call it these days. It's all so overwhelming, like I'm being buried in pills and paperwork. Every emotion an extreme. Every impulse so strong it feels like I have no control, no choice.
I'm sorry if all of the imagery is convoluted and confusing. Writing poetry is part of a long list of lost passions. I don't exactly know why I find it so hard to talk about my issues. Even behind the mask of anonymity it feels dangerous. Fear is the strongest emotion by a wide margin for me. Thank you for reading and lending me your time.