the "Inside PTSD" collection:
- inside ptsd
- inside ptsd, the mad list
- inside ptsd, backstory
- inside ptsd, fleeing
- inside ptsd, two
- inside ptsd, remediation
- inside ptsd, three, rage
- inside ptsd, transaction costs
- time shift, inside the ptsd
- time shift three
- time shift two, still inside the ptsd
- inside ptsd, the addiction episode
- survive vs heal
- inside ptsd, body knows
- inside ptsd, body knows, part one
- one hour
- that same afternoon
- inside ptsd, more than a recollection
- inside ptsd, body knows 2
- inside ptsd, the addiction episode, part 2
- inside ptsd, the addiction episode, part 3
- inside ptsd, a student of trauma
- inside ptsd, the addiction episode, part 4a
- inside ptsd, the addiction episode, part 4b
- inside ptsd, the addiction episode, part 5
- inside ptsd, more than a recollection, part 2
- inside my midlife ptsd
- one day—the daylight part—inside ptsd
- inside ptsd, mere survival
- inside ptsd, economics
- one day, at night, inside ptsd
- on the outside, looking in
- inside ptsd, in the wind
- inside ptsd, in the wind, two
- a is for anxiety
- inside ptsd, the last match
- inside ptsd, addicted to addiction
- inside ptsd, outside looking in
- Day Three, Haunted
- inside ptsd, what it is
- inside ptsd, it takes time
- inside ptsd, the plea for understanding
- before the aftermath
What is staggering, is how true the details are, ptsd that is... triggered state.
I careened into, or it careened into me, rage, decades old rage that had been persisting like a well-fueled fire does in the presence of dry trees, for generations.
There are many of these streams in existence, energy moving (as it must!) through time and proximity like eddies and currents flow through the mighty rivers and vast oceans of the world, 3 dimensional shapes of substance, density, mass, chemical make up, velocity all varying constantly, and yet every moment, utterly unique in this mosaic we call the Land of Here-and-Now.
Plus, these destructive forces persist over time and great distance, with great tenacity, filling 4th dimension realms with their fury and their mean-spirited invective.
For real, be nice. I had one of the sweetest gifts ever from a dear soul with whom i feel great kinship. She was greeted with news of great sadness, and she thanked me for my 'immense kindness'—one of the greatest compliments i have ever been given—and shared a poem that begins: "Before you know what kindness really is you must lose things, feel the future dissolve in a moment like salt in a weakened broth."
I had to stop there b/c tears would have come fast and it wasn't the moment for grieving, but oh my bless and Love and yes for holding space.
I often remind myself that i'm just yet another life form, a separate (but connected) stream of energy, hurtling along at high rates of speed through time and matter. Sobering, but true.
But immaterial really, b/c there's something bigger going on, we're more than just these immediate sensations and daily dreams. There are worlds we live within, layers like the doshas in yoga, the esoteric humors and the three christian states of Jesus. So much is going on right now that to not be astounded—so i tell myself—is to not be paying enough attention.
History may note that 2013 was a hard year for me, and about the rage and its aftermath i wrote:
bless you, [dear friend]
it's been post-traumatic, triggering perpetrator stuff from after the robbery. has rocked any and all senses of 'home' beyond that which i know and build within myself. it's been filled w/ Light and Beauty, beyond what i ever expected and the Grieving has been deep and the nearness to Despair was extremely taxing to body and mind, extremely arduous to get through w/ sanity intact. i understand now why people kill themselves; i felt the ominousness of the absence of Love, and it was unfathomably sad.
i've been writing as much as i can, documenting, bearing witness.
it's all been Amazing really, i've aged considerably, had to switch survival tactics on the fly, am wary of being weary and weary from being wary.
a trip really, and it's thrown all my regularly earthly rhythms off. i'm getting everything done (work, family…) but the pacing and attentiveness are all shifted.
it's made me a much more compassionate man, and a much better teacher. am still a bit shell-shocked, but can witness the details.
amazing really how stuff decades old can mingle with new wounds and erupt in crazy ways.
thank you truly and deeply for reaching out. i've been quite the hermit w/ all this, not wanting to infect others w/ whatever sulfuric contagion i've been near, but spring will shift that, i can already tell.
So begins a series called "Inside PTSD" where i write about what it's like to be me, living with a very unexpected recurrence of PTSD here in my fifties. One day, i'll post the account from the The Boy Who Fell, of the robbery that kicked of this journey of experience and exploration.
Till then, as always