C-PTSD progress

C-PTSD progress

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”

On mental morphology

On mental morphology

Cinesthetic feasts


In the Czech Surrealist tradition, “morphologie mentale” is applied to the meshing of subjective experience with an external topography, so that particular external landmarks (such as houses, staircases, or trees) are integrated into one’s psyche, and affect its formation in the same way that certain vital experiences can.

“…human consciousness is not so much determined by various childhood deprivations and traumas, but rather by the landscape in which a person has lived and the objects that they might have touched. Many years ago, the Surrealists even tried, with the help of questionnaires, to prove that the way a landscape is formed, the number of corners a house has and how crookedly a tree grows outside the window, have as much effect on the psyche as the upbringing. The Surrealists called this imprint of the external (a collection of measurable quantity, dimensions, tone and colour) onto the spiritual microcosm of a…

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PTSD, or meeting a long-lost friend

PTSD, or meeting a long-lost friend

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”

Money and Media

Money and Media

Money is one sinister god I used to prayed to

Me, the kid with the broken heart and  faulty hue

Struck by the currency of freedom and power,

It’s not my  conscience, but my hands I scour

That’s me, on the day I was born, with a black halo

eager to meet my  maker,  without value or credo

In the night, I dream of  ‚never enoughs‘

I dare you, try’n grab me by my scruff

My god grants, gives, takes and demands

I refused and he took me to the  bad lands


I’m praying to a different god now,

That’s me, giving her my cash cow –

Me, the sinister kid with the broken briefcase

Smiling, the lens sticking into my happy fat face

promises and cash spilling out, unto the masses

This is me laughing, crawling  to a party of chances

I can’t stop the itching, watch me rehearse bigotry

Media, my goddesses, free me from human dignity

Pic: iStockphoto

desire flashbacks

desire flashbacks

Why is it, that suddenly everything starts to gravitate towards the edge?
Those jagged edges of the you-shaped hole chew away my reality.

I let my fingers, thoughts and heart brush over it. Just to be sure, it is there. I’m not imagining it. Not imagining you.

Sharp. I cut myself remembering you. Missing you… Returning to the same spot. Hurting again.

Sometimes it’s a cracking sound, sometimes a wet ripping… Sometimes the gut twisting silence I’m forced to listen to. Continue reading “desire flashbacks”

delusional wisdom

Why are the nights brighter and less delusive, than broad daylight?

Is it because I know it’s a dream I’m observing?

Is it the lack of cause and effect?

Is it the knowledge of not being punished?

Am I innocent? Can I convince myself, that I did no harm?

Did it ever cross my mind, that I won’t stop suffering?

Will I ever give it a rest?

The only chance my heart gets to speak to me – the only truth and desires – is when I dream. And I am not listening! Not even then!

What does that tell you about me?

bad guy good luck

Did you ever ask yourself, why the good ones get the kick in the teeth? And the bad ones get that friendly clap on the shoulder?

It´s what they wish for themselves. Fate is an ancient fairy godmother, with bad hearing, and bad sight. Sensing only the subconscious wishes – I’m worthless, I’m repulsive, I want to die, I need to be punished, I don’t deserve this…

“Well, if you wish my dear. BAM!”

Your TV explodes. The car dies. You lock yourself out of your apartment. Your promotion goes to the next best guy. Your boy/girlfriend leaves you with nothing than the bad milk in the fridge. Your cat runs away…  

– It stings. It does.

You don´t have to tell me! That slap on your face,  leaving a burning mark for months. And you feel like a kicked dog, left outside, wet, hungry and freezing. 

And there are others. Yes, others. Cheating, deceiving, blackening, badmouthing, shamelessly – effortlessly- falling up the ladder. Cashing in. Those bastards…

Look at you! You are either smiling or feeling disgusted.