I’ve been reading Pete Walker’s- C-PTSD from Surviving to Thriving, and some of his phrases really hit me. It clicked with me so hard, that I had a lucid dream about it.
As a surviver I try to find new meaning in my life, to listen to my heart more, and care less about others. I slowly un-learn my adaptations, and try not to be on the edge that often. It’s a process, really. Slow paces up the mountain, sometimes sliding back down. Patience. I tell myself, after all It’s been more than two decades of abuse, that can’t go away that easily. Continue reading “C-PTSD progress”
The metro reeks of sweat and wet dog.
Her expression is empty.
It always is. Holding that old crutch of hers, she walks. She walks slowly, and looks miserable too. But that isn’t hard with those exposed, burnt and broken legs of hers.
“A cripple has nothing to lose,” her father says so, before burning her. He says it, before he breaks her ankle and knee. First her right leg, then the left.
She stretches out a hand, hovering in front of her, like a small cloud over a desert; white and calm, waiting to dissolve into the blue of space. She doesn’t look at the faces. People are easily annoyed. No eye contact. That’s the rule.
There is nothing to see. She tells herself. Although… There is something worth looking at, maybe even staring at. Continue reading “Nothing”
The last three months were a challenge to me. And it doesn’t look like it’ll stop soon.
Old wounds ripped up, old pain butted its head and I tried my best to welcome it like an old, long lost friend… It’s an understatement, if I’d say that it’s easy.
I had some years in mindful and buddhist training; so I observe. I learn, about me, my situation, my hidden puppet strings, the booby traps I set for myself, and how others are capable of manipulating me.
My past isn’t pretty. I’ll leave it at that. But I’ll never move forward, if I back down.
My psychological strength isn’t what it used to be too, I guess there aren’t any reserves left. I jump at the smallest, unexpected noise. I cry at the news (which is very unusual for me- been called “Iceberg” before) and stopped watching TV and read the newspapers. I do the same with pictures of disasters, personal and global… My emotions and feelings overwhelm me, and I seize to function. Continue reading “PTSD, or meeting a long-lost friend”
PART 1 - LIQUID PEACE
The police station was accommodated in an old building, a school from the 19th century.
It took me three hours to get anywhere near Benny.
They had me fill out seven forms, both sides, all identical. The policeman in charge ripped two forms apart, and I had to start again. “Hand slipped.” His comment slapped my ears. This was nothing but mile high harassment. I knew it. The policeman knew it, and I tried not to get too angry. Continue reading “the lion roars (2)”
Part 2 - PATIENT PAPER
The gutter dripped and the raindrops rapped hard on the kitchen window. My eyes were already open. The bedsheets felt cold and damp. The shutters in the living room rattled with the wind gusts. I’ve been staring at the dark ceiling for nearly three hours. I sat up. Sleep was busy somewhere else.
Another rotten night. Continue reading “the lion roars (1)”
I’m old enough, to wake up with pain,
old enough to confess my love in vain;
old enough that my opinion doesn’t count,
that I worry, an irresponsible amount… Continue reading “…old enough.”