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VSS: Jun. 29, 2022 – Survival
As a child, survival meant becoming small, silent, erasing myself or breaking off pieces. Wanting was dangerous, get rid of it. Noise was dangerous, get rid of it. Presence was dangerous, get rid of it. Until nothing was left to prove I was there.
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Images for Complex PTSD Education
The photos are from Pixabay. They are non-royalty and free for use in non-commercial settings. Please feel free to use these images without alteration in your own efforts to bring awareness to CPTSD. Many thanks.Mari
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Raindrop
Heavy raindrops fallSplashing on my glassesBlinding me to all. Michael takes awayThe lenses that warp my sightWith a tender kiss. Giving me shelterFrom the chaos of my pastI cling to his strength His oak to my ivy. His sun to my rain.
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Nailed in the past… a paradox
This is one of those things that when I think about my Complex-PTSD should have been obvious. How I missed it for so long really confounds me. I often talk about the paradoxes that arise in C-PTSD. Here I have stumbled into another one. It goes something like this. Huh. I just realized how weird…
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100 Words: Off The Rails
Off the Rails Complex post traumatic stress disorder is a bitch. I was trying for something more refined or academic sounding, but let’s face it. I’m not on that plane today. Nope. Today is one of those days where I’m just trying to figure out where I put my sh*t. Or, more accurately, where I…
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Scattered
Just a quick dive by to say – “No, I haven’t shuffled off this mortal coil.” Nor have I shuffled off to Buffalo. My brain is so scattered today. I opened the computer to post this – and ended up ordering 400 page dividers. If you can figure that out… tell me. Please. That was…
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VSS: FEB. 2, 2021 – Danger
I will never be alone. I forever carry my mother’s voice with me. In my head the word ‘danger’ echoes, inescapable. Stairs, danger. Eating, danger. Ice, danger. People, danger. That word, her fear, is her legacy to me.
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VSS: Oct. 27, 2020 – Organ
What a fascinating organ, the human heart. It can be warm and tender, a wellspring of passion, a font of grace. That same lump of tissue, mistreated and abused, can still survive by becoming hard, cold and impenetrable.
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New T-Shirt (aka. I did a thing)
Ok. I did something extravagant last year. I made myself a T-shirt. This is it. I was planning to wear it on a family trip – but that went bust. Maybe next year? I’m so excited every time I wear it. It starts conversations on #cptsd – and that is exactly what it is designed to do.…
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For my brother
Duane Robert Stewart October 16, 1964 – January 18, 2021 My brother died today and I wept for him, for us. For all the warm words we never exchanged, For all the jealousy we held for each other, For all the times pain was our only contact, For the words of hurt, For the thefts,…