woodsy1
MyPTSD Pro
I like it. You convey so much with so few words.Why?
I wonder why
My mind is so full
Of strange stuff
Old books
Dust (star?)
Or the stuff
That collects on surfaces
It doesn't have color
Just that dull
Lackluster.
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I like it. You convey so much with so few words.Why?
I wonder why
My mind is so full
Of strange stuff
Old books
Dust (star?)
Or the stuff
That collects on surfaces
It doesn't have color
Just that dull
Lackluster.
There are (at least) two sides to every story. I love how you captured this.The germophobe has to have a mask,
is terrified without his mask,
afraid of dying,
anxiety ridden.....
washing and washing,
pushing doors open with elbows,
using gloves or towels to stay safe,
getting the hand sanitizer,
immediately stripping out of clothes
tossing them in washer,
upon entering the house,
All to manage Mr. Covid.
"Please wear a mask, I'm terrified"
you'll hear him beg.
The claustrophobe refuses to wear a mask,
is driven by fear and the mask must come off,
afraid of dying,
anxiety ridden.....
gasping for air,
light-headed and shaking,
heart pounding,
hyperventilating,
sweating,
feeling faint,
nauseous,
triggered by wearing a mask
trying to manage Mr. Covid.
"Please don't make me wear a mask.....I'm terrified."
I totally get this poem and can relate. But I find, as I muddle through in therapy, the screaming in my head is lessening over time.....hang in there.Panic
Rises in my throat
Screams
Are locked inside
I'm in the sea
Of nightmares
Always swimming
Never getting anywhere
It's hopeless now
I give up
Lean back
Into the wave
Letting the icy water
Wash over my soul
No need
To swim again
I'm free
I'm free
Prisoner
By 8888
Author's Note: He means my abuser.
He died
22 years ago
But I am still here
I wish the opposite
Was true
And he
Was in jail
Instead of me
A prisoner to myself
I'm understand the feeling of entrapped within oneself. I'm sorry you are feeling this way. Can you imagine not being a prisoner to yourself? If so, what would that look like?Prisoner
By 8888
Author's Note: He means my abuser.
He died
22 years ago
But I am still here
I wish the opposite
Was true
And he
Was in jail
Instead of me
A prisoner to myself
This really touches many aspects of PTSD....and so well put, and you are so right....you are what you make of your trama.....and what you take.....Thank You for writing this ...it's wisely hopeful. ;)Letting the Stones Go
I live in a secret world
A world in which I have to hide
Hide from what? I ask myself
The answer unknown
I have nothing to fear inside
But there is pain,
A pain of remembering
A pain of knowing
How young I was
In time I'll learn to
Embrace that pain
So I can relive that pain
And understand that pain
I'll love that pain
That pain is a part of me
It's at the heart of me
But I am not my pain
I am not my trauma
I am...
What I make of my trauma
What I take from my trauma
I am me
I am one