To tell the truth, it is a miracle that I am alive today…. The last few weeks (at least) have been utter hell, with the depression, hopelessness, fear, flashbacks, insomnia and anorexia just out of control. I was planning to kill myself. This is my 101st post on my blog….post number 100 was going to be my “goodbye” letter to the world…. But Creator heard my cries of desperation and stepped in….I have met some people this week who have given me a new hope, something I have never really tried before… I didn’t believe good people existed in the world anymore, but Creator heard my cries for help, for friends, for love, for hope and strength to stay alive. And I am alive. And last night two of my new friends came to see me because I was in need…I couldn’t ask because I feel like a burden to everyone, but she knew I needed someone to come over, and she brought another amazing new friend with her. These people believe in miracles, and they make me believe in miracles… They exemplify love in their actions and words. My heart has been softened and opened up. Creator knew I needed a miracle. I am getting more than just one miracle. I am getting many small miracles of hope every day. I honestly don’t know why I am still alive writing this today…except for a miracle. Of new hope, of something I have never been open to trying before. All I can believe is that Creator has heard my cries and is sending his angels on earth to reach out to me. Thank you so much. Thank you to all of you…. I don’t want to die, I want a happy, free life. Thank you Creator for hearing my cries and keeping me alive. For all these years…. Small miracles, but miracles all the same. I am still here!
Comfort in Poetry November 11, 2013
I have no more words of my own…This poem made me feel a little better, for a tiny moment. Trying to find comfort in other’ words and to not feel so alone. Thank you to all the people who have reached out to me. You have no idea how much the “little things” mean to me, when everyday life is such a struggle, living with PTSD. And DID, but….not talking about that now. Anyway, this is a good poem, hope you all like it too.
The Plight of a Powerless Consciousness
I’m far from my peek of consciousness;
I’m just breaking into this game.
But I have some advice for the novices
like me, that are starting to feel the same.
Like there’s an emptiness in your existence,
and a bountiful source of sadness.
You want to fight these emotions through resistance,
but powerlessness and consciousness drive you to madness.
Like breathing seems just a little more futile,
as if pieces of you break off with each exhale.
In your despair you find little worthwhile,
afraid to move, feeling that to move is to fail.
In each of these moments I go back to my center,
that place that enables me to shamelessly feel.
To paint, dance, cry, or sing is my mentor.
All thoughts are stopped. In that moment, I heal.
There, the wills of the cowardly, though strong
cannot disrupt my internal connection,
and in those crucial moments I realize all along,
that when I create I am in my place of protection.
They cannot make me hate myself, or feel alone.
They can only spew hatred and lies about the body I borrow,
Even then, when others believe them and the lies they condone,
I will write. And my freedom will rise from what was once sorrow.
Crystalkay Fairrington, Wake the Public
I just hate that word. It is so violent! I wish we could use neutral language to convey the concept of something in the present stirring up past trauma. But we don’t, and it is descriptive of the process.
So . . . something in the present can bring on a partial flashback, just part of the traumatic memory. It could be a sight, a sound, a smell, or an emotion. I’ll give some examples from my own experience.
In a car, I sometimes think I see a severed arm or leg on the side of the road. It’s really a stone or a trash bag, sometimes a blown tire. Anything brown will do. Sometimes I hear faint words; somebody calling my name or phrases I can’t quite make out. And sometimes I smell things that might or might not be there. This drives me nuts because I often find…
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I am so confused about everything these days. It feels like there is a huge void inside of me. A hole that maybe can’t be fixed. Where have you been? I believe in you Creator, but where have you been? I try to talk to you all the time, every day, I need help so badly. Can’t find that help in other people. I can’t find it in myself alone. What am I doing wrong? Why can’t I feel hope, peace, love, freedom? Where are you Creator? Where are you all those hours I am praying, crying, and so confused I don’t even have words. The anguish feels like it should kill me alone, and I am surprised it doesn’t. They hurt everything about my relationship to you, and to myself. I loathe myself, and I don’t really understand why. I can’t trust, can’t let love in, can’t assume the best of humans… I want to know you Creator. Other people talk about their relationship with you, and I just feel….empty. Unlovable. I don’t know if you, or anyone/anything is even there. I sometimes I think I am crazy when I pray because there is no creator, not who loves me anyway. They perverted and confused everything about spirituality, and nothing makes sense anymore. I am exhausted. If you are there Creator, why can’t I feel you? What is wrong with me?
Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder September 30, 2013
Memories of times past
Times when safety wasn’t possible
But I had the ones I love around me
Missing, missing, missing you all…
The tears only fall when I think of you
I had a home, my heart is still there
I had a family, just me and my sisters
I had my land, the place I was born
Had no idea how much I am connected to it
Til I couldn’t be there anymore
Used to feel hope that I
I, could make my life beatiful
That it was possible for me, ME
To be happy in this existence
Hope comes and goes now
Experience has taught that some people
Don’t get to experience happiness
Peace, safety, love, freedom
Some people…. am I one?
Exhaustion, Depression, Despair, Hopelessness,
Grief, Heartbreak, Loneliness, Terror, Sickness
Doesn’t matter the name
The demons go by at any given moment
They debilitate me. I feel less than human.
I want to go somewhere better…
Christmas= Torture December 18, 2012
The pain feels like its gonna rip me in two
Skin has been sandpapered, brain is firing
I can feel it, like lightning bolts zapping me inside
The memories, every Christmas, every “celebration”
an exercise in survival
an opportunity for the evil ones to torture
without interference, without witnesses…
A child at home on school break, with her “happy family”
Wishing she could die because every year the torture almost
too much to even survive.
The worst time of year by far…
And not for the “normal” reasons people are depressed at Christmas…
Secrets too gory, too horrifying to share
Scares people away, they don’t want to hear that horror at Christmas!!
But that’s what Christmas means to me
Never had anyone who loved me to spend it with
Chose homelessness and complete aloneness over the family
Am choosing aloneness now…
But it fucking hurts
I relive those years
I am lonely every day
I wonder why I am such a freak
What I did to deserve no one
Who cares enough to want to be with me
And understand my past.
And make this stupid fucking holiday different…
This is a Mountain November 22, 2012
It’s all hitting me now
A whole life of abuse
Thought it’d be easier
Once I got safe
But no… once the safety sets in
Once the healing starts
of incest, torture, rape, beatings
Terror, running, hiding, floating away
Isolation, insanity, brainwashing, confusion
It all smashes me in the face…
And I am paralyzed
Completely shocked in every way
Wondering if it is possible
to ever, ever feel happiness, to be ok
to not be consumed by the abuse
or the memories of the abuse
or the effects of the trauma
Because it is so all-encompassing
I cannot even imagine a fucking
light at the end of the tunnel
This is more than “depression”
This is more than “anxiety”
This is more than “anorexia”
This is more than “PTSD”
This is a mountain…. and right now
I am paralyzed at the bottom of it.
Twenty-Six years… A whole lifetime….
Where do I start?