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
the night is
and so am i, still.
i take stock, assessing my daily toil.
did i show up to Love today? actually, i did. so i got lucky to be writing this now.
was i kind? yes.
did i feel joy? luckily, yes!
was i decent to my body? yes, intake was not bad and i went dancing. sleep adequate, though it's almost 1:13am.
this is not an entry about nightmares. bless that.
this is about believing that each day has to matter, that this day may be my last, and if i messed anything up, i want to come clean w/ it, at least to myself. i don't want to be dying having just fucked up royally, even inadvertently, and have to come back in lesser circumstances to deal with it.
demons were sniffing around today, very old ones, rage one and festering pain ones... imagine a small child, newly born, dazed, helpless, unknowing, without guile or resource save parents, 'parents', whomever. For most infants, it works out; they are loved and held and made to do with word and deed that they are wanted and in unspeakable ways are precious even to these gigantic grownups. Bless that.
but sometimes demons swarm the court and evade censure and they burn and rage and destroy. sometimes they lodge inside the flesh and apartment of a new mom, a mom perhaps made pregnant by rape, in war, long ago, too young and scared and near broken and now an infant from the blood of her most horrific terror, and that child must be shunned and rejected and cast away like a demon seed, b/c in fact, by definition, he is.
i do not mean that term in the pejorative sense, far from it. i mean it in the contextualizing sense, like if you know cacti are from desert climes, their flesh makes sense—ferns they are not.
but to be born to a mother thus tormented guarantees by a hundred viewpoints, that the mother will be stressed, and will have distress dealing w/ the baby, and in many case, to the point where the baby must go b/c its safety (and the mother's sanity) cannot otherwise be assured.
baby is rejected at its most vulnerable, love-needing moments, rejected by the only person who brought him to the world.
those demons came today, from afar, a violent, virulent stream of polluted energy that inhabits people and lives with them for decades, lifetimes, and spreads out at times like a strong cancer that is passed by simple word of mouth.