the swamp

i kept that header from the first installment, birthday 2 years ago when i was turning 52, able to see glimpses outside, beyond ptsd.

i felt beyond ptsd today, only barely, like caught up in these floor-level fogs of despair and low affect that you don't want ...

the swamp

if ptsd is a swamp, just say, a heavy-gravity, venomous, creature-laden scary-zone, then shit!

know, its primal being is to pull you down, suck us under and digest, forget about each of us instantly—burp, no questions allowed.

to be writing this, holding this, seeing this and knowing ...

survival

survival is a beautiful word, and mere survival is vastly under-appreciated... for me at least, by those i've met who've never been hair-trigger from death, who've never been thrown from sleep and violated in nightmares.

mere survival is bodymind living to take another breath—celebrate that ...

just that,

don't you always feel at 9pm, or 3am or whenever your day ends, that you are super insanely lucky and grateful to have made it through the waking hours w/o catastrophe?

relish that!

please.

days later

still here.

seriously, there is a truth to this that ...