What is Complex-PTSD (CPTSD)

Definition of C-PTSD


Complex post – traumatic stress disorder
is a psychological disorder that can develop in response to prolonged, repeated experience of trauma in a context where the individual has little or no chance of escape.

Honestly, I can’t remember if these are my words or not. Please tell me if they are yours.

That is the clinical definition of Complex-PTSD. Other resources will explain C-PTSD as a form of PTSD that has other overlying factors. The two can be easily confused if you don’t start with the definition. The definition above holds some key phrases.

The first is “prolonged, repeated experience of trauma.” Most instances of PTSD are traced back to a single horrific event. Not so with C-PTSD. Someone who has this form of mental wound has experienced not one instance of trauma, but multiple instances, even possibly their entire life.

The second phrase to take note of is “little or no chance to escape”. I would add the words ‘over time’ to that phrase, because that is a key part of C-PTSD. Anyone who has suffered trauma was not in a situation to escape – but where PTSD is an instance, C-PTSD plays out over a long period of time. The person who is being traumatized has no means to escape their situation.

Persistent feelings of worthlessness or emptiness.
constant feelings of emptiness or hopelessness

There is another central issue when differentiating PTSD from C-PTSD and that is the mind that experiences the trauma. The initial group of the population where PTSD was observed was military veterans. In this group, the men and women were all over 18 years of age when they experienced trauma. This is important because most of their cerebral development was done. They knew who they were, and they knew who they wanted to return to being after the trauma. When we talk about C-PTSD the trauma can start as early as infancy. That is perhaps the most important difference. In PTSD the individual, usually an adult, has a point before the trauma to return to. People with C-PTSD have no previous to return to in many cases because they were shaped from their earliest moments by their traumatic environment.

Symptoms of PTSD and CPTSD

Complex PTSD builds on the already accepted symptoms associated with PTSD. So, while someone with PTSD will experience symptoms from the list on the left, someone with C-PTSD will experience symptoms from both lists.

PTSD

  • Memories of the trauma.
  • Flashbacks – Reliving the trauma.
  • Dreams or nightmares
  • Emotional or physical reactions to reminders
  • Trying to avoid thinking or talking about the event
  • Avoiding anything that reminds you of the event.
    Negative thoughts about damn near everything.
  • Hopelessness about the future
  • Memory problems
  • Difficulty maintaining close relationships
  • Feeling detached from family and friends
  • Depression
  • Feeling emotionally numb
    Being easily startled or frightened
  • Always being on alert
  • Self-destructive behavior
  • Trouble sleeping
  • Trouble concentrating
  • Irritability, angry outbursts or aggressive behavior
  • Overwhelming guilt or shame

CPTSD

  • difficulty controlling your emotions
  • feeling very angry or distrustful towards the world
  • constant feelings of emptiness or hopelessness
  • feeling as if you are permanently damaged or worthless
  • feeling as if you are completely different to other people
  • feeling like nobody can understand what happened
  • avoiding friendships and relationships, or finding them very difficult

dissociative symptoms 
depersonalisation or derealisation

physical symptoms: headaches, dizziness, chest pains and stomach aches

regular suicidal feelings.

This list is from mind.org.uk

Emotional Flashbacks vs. Flashbacks

You would think that there wouldn’t be a dividing line between these two terms. After all, both are moments when the brain is hijacked by the past and trauma is reexperienced. The difference lies in the brain. A flashback is a full sensory being there re-experiencing of the trauma. The person can see, feel, even smell and taste all the details of the event. Those details are stored in their memory. They reexperience every part of that trauma.

The concept of the emotional flashback extends this to include periods of early childhood where the ability of the brain to form, store and retrieve memories is still developing. Particularly in the area of the visual cortex. What that means is that the memories of the event are stored complete with all the associated emotions, but there is no visual context. So when you encounter something that triggers a memory of that trauma – you are instantly swept back to the emotions of that time. And, you have nothing to correlate it with.

This being flung into emotions that are overpowering, without knowing why, or being able to point to any specific memory is one of the most disorienting, and in my opinion frightening aspects of C-PTSD.

Core Beliefs of CPTSD

The manner in which the other major symptoms of C-PTSD can manifest are as varied as the people who suffer with this condition. One core belief that many people with C-PTSD have is that they are essentially fatally flawed. And because of their own brokenness, they are undeserving – of anything.

This is the core belief that tells us we are not worth ‘the bother’. This is the core belief that makes us accept the least. This is the core belief that makes it difficult, at the least, to face conflict. The script in our head says we are not worthy of our parents love, therefore we are not worthy. It is the core belief that we are worthless, completely without value.

CPTSD: Survival before growth

Most of the people with C-PTSD have created defenses to keep them safe from their early environments. Most of the people who live with C-PTSD are fiercely independent. We are also likely to be stoic. But many of these traits come from the need as a young child to be ‘easy’. Many people report a similar scenario of not asking for anything, because asking was dangerous. Others report that they abandoned things they enjoyed for the sake of peace. Many of the strategies we developed as children were not to explore our world, but instead to survive our world.

Where are we now

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) is more widely known in the public. Efforts to educate about this mental wound, typically found in soldiers but also victims of violence, have been ongoing since the 1980s. In contrast the study of C-PTSD is relatively new. So new, that it is not yet included in the American Psychiatric Association’s Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM-5)

But, European sources are starting to recognize that C-PTSD is a disorder that should be recognized as a unique set of symptoms, behaviors and challenges. Hopefully, one day the DSM will follow.

There is a great deal more to convey but, for now, to sum it all up, Complex-PTSD is a bitch. Really.

Question of interest for book on CPTSD

Hi folks.

I have a question for my readers – Would you be interested in a book about the journey of recovery from Complex-PTSD?

What I have in mind is an exploration of the healing process from three distinct perspectives. The view of the person trying to overcome CPTSD would be one. I have a therapist who is willing to work with my to provide the therapeutic aspects that are encountered and how to work through them. And I have a person who is willing to author at least a part of the ‘how to support someone’ in recovery.

If you have some interest or ideas, please share them in the comments.

Thanks.

A little victory over CPTSD

selective focus photography of assorted color stars

I didn’t have a migraine last night.
Read that sentence again because I’m going to explain WHY? that is a big deal. Ready?

One of the symptoms of my Complex PTSD, since I was 12 perhaps, has been debilitating blinding headaches. I could expect expect 3-4 nights out of the year that I would spend sleeping on the bathroom floor. The tile floor was cool and I could close the door and be alone with my pain. Pain that was so bad I saw auras, I suffered muscle contractions that twisted me involuntarily, I would bang my head on the walls to find some focus away from the lancing pain through my skull. The pain was so severe there was the added insult of nausea and puking.

When my parents finally witnessed one these headaches, (huh, I can’t remember how that happened), they took me to the doctor. A neurologist. There was a long day of many tests. At the end of the appointment, the doctor sent my parents home with the knowledge that there was nothing physically wrong with me.

In retrospect, I think I really hate that he did that. Because, of course, for my parents if there was nothing physically wrong then there was nothing to treat. End of story.

Only it wasn’t. I have spent another forty years living in fear of one of these ‘headaches’. For a long time, I had no idea of where these came from and what triggered them. In my 20s when I was in grad-school the general practitioner I was seeing prescribed massage for me as a way to lower my anxiety. Best three months I had experienced in a long time. And that lead me to one of the ways to alleviate these events, touch. A person who would hold me as I writhed, or better before it got that bad. could usually halt or at least soften the episode.

I knew nothing of the sympathetic nervous system or the role it plays in cptsd. This was, like so many of the coping mechanisms we find hard won out of brutal experience. After nearly a decade in and out of therapy I put another pair of pieces together. I found I could predict when I might experience a headache. That knowledge allowed me to attempt to stop it.

Not all of those attempts were wisely chosen. Most of the time I cut to let my demons out. Only once or twice did I turn to alcohol. I still can’t stand the smell of most alcohol. Never chose drugs because my central need is to be able to control myself. With alcohol and drugs I might have been able to stop the pain or blunt it, but I would lose control and that wasn’t acceptable. So I chose to bleed instead. Most of the time it worked. But, not always.

The trigger I found that most commonly lead to this reaction was a case where I felt I had failed or where I had been rejected. If you have cptsd you’ll understand how fundamental those triggers are and how far ripples can travel even decades later.

Over time I discovered the most effective method for me to handle an event that might trigger one of these episodes was to talk to myself. Yeup, I still think it sounds corny – and I know it works. As I started to learn about cptsd, the sympathetic nervous system, triggers, dissociation, integrated family systems I was learning how to better manage those events in my life that at one time would have produced a migraine. (Technically I don’t know if it was migraine, but you get the idea, right?)

I am making progress. Huzzah!

Yesterday one of those events of life happened that would have had me out of commission on the bathroom floor last night. But, it didn’t. I processed that F*er. Ok, probably still processing it, but the major danger of having a reaction headache as some type of punishment that my psyche thinks I believe is low. Perhaps, I would even go so far as to say – very low.

And that feels like a miracle. Feels like. I know it isn’t. The ability to deal with yesterday’s ‘thunk’ was decades of practice and finally understanding my brain.

So here is to recovery and the many little victories it brings.
May you have many, many little victories.

Off the rails : CPTSD Cycle

Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder

is a bitch.
I was trying for something more 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 lost it.

I know when. That much I am certain of. But, where all my bits scattered to after that I have no bloody idea. I’m off the rails, ground to a halt and trying to find a way to right myself and start moving again.

I hate this.

A cornerstone of my CPTSD

And yet, I know this process very well. This is a cornerstone of my CPTSD. This cycle repeats itself ad nauseum. Every time through this process these days I’m better at being able to identify which part of the cycle I am in. That, although it sounds trivial is a huge step.

It used to be that I didn’t know what was happening. My CPTSD manifests in many ways. The aspect being activated here is my emotional dysregulation. The cycle goes something like this.

It almost seems like nothing’s wrong.

Calm, cool, collected. Moving forward with life tasks and goals.
Small emotional moments are managed by either listening to the emotion or ignoring.
The sum of the emotion is no change in my equilibrium.

CPTSD : Normal or Intensely dangerous? From the inside I really can’t tell.

An event of intense emotion.
The event can be almost anything and can trigger almost any emotion possible. The track-record is more to the negative, but positive emotional events have also kicked the cycle into motion.
In the event there is a sharp dichotomy about expressing or not expressing what I am feeling. More often than not I fall to the side of repression. Which, as loved ones have told me, can feel deceptively normal – or intensely dangerous. I’ll admit, from the inside I can’t tell the difference.
On the upside, I am at least getting better at acknowledging that I am feeling ‘something’. Even if I cannot always identify the emotion, these days I am at least aware that I am feeling. It may sound inconsequential, but for someone who has lived with emotional paralysis for 40+ years, this is a huge step.

CPTSD : Believe me when I call it work.

Working my way out of ‘the moment.’ Because of the confusion surrounding my emotions, their muted state and sometimes just the delay in determining what is happening, the ‘moment’ of emotion can last. It is like sitting down and teasing apart lines of rope that have been coated in tar. Laboriously I peel apart the strands of what I am thinking from what I am feeling. At the end of the process I need to sit with that feeling and try to not only understand it in a rational manner, but to also process it at an emotional level. That processing is another intense period of labor as the creaking and stunted machinery of my inner emotional self is prodded into motion.
Previous patterns of attempting to ignore or stuff the feelings away results in anger, depression and intense self-loathing. Enough of that and I will begin to start longing for ‘out’.
So, these days I work through it. Believe me when I call it work. It is.

CPTSD : The aftermath is all encompassing.

The aftermath of one of these events is all encompassing. Every system of myself suffers under the impact of such an event. Physically there might be muscle spasms, stomach upset, migraines, exhaustion. Emotionally the rawness caused by this unprepared for intensity leaves me in one of two states; hyper-aroused or depressed. Periods of hyper-arousal are followed by emotional numbness.
There is another feature in all this backwash. The question inevitably comes up of “Why am I doing this again?” Why am I spending time and effort and money on trying to connect with these emotions when I was doing well-enough as an automaton?
All those storylines where an android wants to ‘become a real boy’ – wow, I’m pretty sure I could talk them out of it. Because, seriously – why am I doing this?

CPTSD : Recovering my balance.

Much as I wish that recovery from such an event was as simple as recognizing that I am in the midst of one, it isn’t. Recovery takes time. Time to process the emotions. Time to process the event that caused it. Time to herd the physical and mental processes back on-line. Time to pour it all out onto a page in an effort to move past the wreckage. Time to reflect, but not to fall into an old pattern of over analysis.

That is where I am, right now.

I’m trying to feel my jaw unknot. I’m coaxing my shoulders to relax. Telling my stomach that this too shall pass and to try to stop cannibalizing itself. Above all reminding myself to breathe.

I will end with a couple of quotes from Winston Churchill:
First “When going through Hell, keep walking,” and the second – “Success is never permanent, and failure is not fatal.”

So – here’s me, walking.

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,
For the bruises,
For the silence,
And for the little boy
At the bottom of the stairs
Who screamed in panic
As I fled upward
And father raged below.
You deserved better,
And so did I.

In the can

CPTSD is a strange thing to grow up with.
Even stranger to live with it.

For Example:
My latest InstagramPost-

There it is the manuscript for Book 4 in the Unhomed series. Still debating titles. I do like to stick with one word – but this particular word is proving elusive.
Despite that this manuscript will be placed into a drawer to ‘marinate’ for a year, at least. I’ll come back to it in Jan 2022. Provided I’m still here.

You might be wondering what is so ‘typical’ of CPTSD in that little post above. I’ll point out the last line. Now, while it may be very appropriate in 2020 to not take making it to tomorrow for granted it goes a bit deeper than that.

From Pete Walker’s Complex PTSD: From Surviving to Thriving I pull this quote from the section on “Toxic Shame and Soul Murder.” (If that isn’t a powerful phrase I don’t know what is?)

Quote: When our emotional intelligence is restricted, we often do not know what we really want.

~ Pete Walker

I don’t think I can convey how estranged I was, and let’s admit still am, from my feelings. I can see that emotional emptiness echoing back through my life. With it I can follow the ambivalence I had about life.

One of the questions I have always struggled with is “Where do you want to be in ten years?” Or even five. Hell, I don’t know where I want to eat lunch let alone what I want to do with myself in a year. Never mind ten years.

Learned helplessness is a survival tool. Additionally, it is a phrase I absolutely loathe. But, love it or loathe it, learned helplessness is a firm part of my past. I still wrestle with it.

I never really planned for anything because promises were broken, plans were ignored, asking for something was too much. I became able to be grateful for what I was given and not to expect or hope for more. This is the core of learned helplessness. There is nothing you can do to improve your situation, so you learn to endure. Later when the cause of the suffering is removed the mind is still locked in the role of the abused and cannot see that circumstances have changed.

How does all that relate to planning for tomorrow? For me there was no planning for any future. I dealt with what was given to me. My future was to fulfill the expectations of my family. I didn’t think about my future. I didn’t get to.

So, although I have every intention of revising, editing, and publishing the book above, I know that nothing in life is promised, not even tomorrow.

Thanksgiving rewritten and CPTSD

As many of my readers will know, Thanksgiving is not my favorite holiday. Putting my family together with the expectations of a celebration to rival the covers of the Saturday Evening Post never worked out well. It was more like a production of The Crucible.

For many years, and I know I’m not alone in this, I avoided this holiday in any way I could. I worked. I was ‘on-call’. I watched a sick kitten. Even sitting here thinking of those past gatherings has my stomach trying to tie itself into knots. Easy stomach. Down boy.

Being an analytical sort I thought I would sit down and dissect exactly what was going through my brain. Plus, it takes me out of the arena of emotions and solidly back on the ground of intellectualism. Hooray for avoidance.

What is Thanksgiving at its very core?

  • A historical commemoration
  • A family gathering
  • A celebration of (something?)
  • A time to reflect on what we are thankful for

I have no problem with these ideas.

I believe in commemorating historical events. I don’t believe in most of the myth that surrounds the discovery and early European colonization of the Americas. That is a history lesson for another day.

Family getting together is not a bad thing. Not in the main. Some people simply have ‘chosen’ families rather than biological. I know that it is common to trot out the old saw that ‘Blood is thicker than water.’ Indeed, some folks have wonderful, giving, supportive families. Others, don’t.

Celebrating something. Sure. Why not?
But, to celebrate something doesn’t require mounds of excess that devolves into this frenzy of acquisition. Again, that is a different essay.

A time to reflect on what we are thankful for. Yes. This is, in my opinion, the reason to celebrate on Thanksgiving Day.

So what do I have a problem with? The expectation that the day will be perfect. That the family will rise to some level of decency and caring that isn’t there the other 360+ days of the year. That in one day we can reach over the chasms between us for appearances. To provide the feeling, no matter how false, that we are a close loving family.

I stopped being able to do that years ago. The mask and the costume wouldn’t fit anymore. I was tired of pretending.

It’s a sad thing to think about. There are lots of ‘maybe’ and ‘what if’ and ‘why’ in all those memories. There’s a yearning for something that we pretended to have really been true. It’s a lovely wish.

I know it is just a fancy, all that stuff about wishes and fishes and bicycles and beggars.

I would rewrite Thanksgiving and I would make the center of it consist of gratitude. I admit I would strip it of most of the bells and whistles. So what might it look like?

It would look like me writing and contemplating all the people who have helped me this year. I would take a moment to say ‘Thank You’.

Thank you to the people of the CPTSD community for your support when I have needed it. Thank you for allowing me to help and offer support where I could.
Thank you to the mental health professionals who have helped me find more pieces of myself.

Then I would probably go into a long litany of individuals of who I wanted to thank, for their help, their encouragement, their kindness. The occasional dose of reality and keeping me on track. My chosen family whom I miss and pray that you all stay safe and healthy.

I would finish by thanking those who are on this journey. Thank you for supporting me, for understanding, and most of all sharing this road with me.

Two paths diverged in a yellow wood

I love the poem The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost which contains the line used for the title. The simple idea that we all face choices that define our lives. Those choices can be momentous or tiny. They can be so small that at the time we didn’t notice that we had made a choice.

I suspect we have all stood at a decision point in the path and tried to discern which one would be ‘better’. For me, the reality is that often I made the choice based on what I knew others expected. I did this no only because it was the expectation, but equally because I had no idea what I wanted. I spent the bulk of my life constrained by fear of the unknown, fear of punishment, fear of speaking up, fear of speaking or doing, at all.

I am learning, rather late in life, that these choices were mine or at least they were meant to be mine. I still wonder, were the choices taken from me or did I abdicate them in the hope of buying safety?

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

I stood upon a road facing a divide,
I trembled knowing that on one path
Without premonition, sign or guide
Both branches were equally eyed.
Filled with doubt I must choose to pass.

On both roads stood dread unknown
Faceless fears and boogie men
Childhood monsters though I’m grown
Follow me far from home
And try to draw me back again.

I was caged safe and sound
My hands could span from wall to wall
In silence I sat making myself small
Blinded to the bars that did surround
For if I did not rise then I could not fall.

When I saw the cage I had designed
Silver bars and barbed wire fence
About myself for fear I did wind
I was prisoner in my own mind
And that has made all the difference.

As the author of the poem stated, “And that has made all the difference”.

CPTSD Paradox #3 : joy and fear

Yesterday was a remarkable day. So many people felt as if they were coming up for air after fighting to breathe for years. The announcement of Joe Biden and Kamala Harris being elected as the next president and vice-president of the United States was literally celebrated around the world.

All the aspects of life that bring my CPTSD into full bloom were central at that moment; change, relief, uncertainty, hope. I was caught between feeling the moment too much or not feeling it at all.

That first instant of glorious relief was cut short by the fear that this was an illusion and would not last. As I watched the celebrations erupting around me the only thing that passed through my mind was, How long until we find out this is a lie?

I couldn’t dive into celebration. My brain, my past, kept telling me that this was a mirage. Don’t trust it. Wait until you see if it sticks. Don’t let go. So, I kept that death grip on myself that I call rational self-control.

Change can bring such a relief. It can also throw everything into the air indiscriminately. With change I wonder will it stay? How long? Can I trust it? What are the rules for survival now?

Folks with CPTSD often live with the knowledge that what you have been given can just as swiftly be taken away. So many parts of me were echoing with past experience last night that I felt ready to fly to pieces. The memories were jumbled and pressed in from every direction. This was the moment of the backlash, or the crushing blow.

This was the moment when if you allowed yourself to believe the world contains goodness you invited disaster. Happiness only exists in milliseconds because inevitably the hope is smashed, the toy broken, the dream shattered.

With CPTSD you try to remember that this moment can’t last. We guard our feelings so closely because we have been taught that to show emotion is like placing a drop of blood in the water. To demonstrate a moment of happiness is the same action that summons the monsters which will destroy it.

Hope. Hope is the most treacherous emotion of all. That is the driving force that makes you pull yourself over the glass time after time. Hope is so often an illusion, untrustworthy. For those of us who live with CPTSD hope is a double edged sword where both sides can wound .

So, last night, with the world celebrating around me, I clung to my husband unable to breathe. I lay there feeling the muscles around my eyes tighten, my jaw clench, my throat close, my chest contract. Afraid to breathe, I was waiting for the blow to come.

Coming Alive Amidst a Pandemic.

Oh, the irony.
Thirty plus years of
Being various degrees of suicidal
And now we have a pandemic
Upending the world
I want to live.

Strangely, that’s about average for me.
Let me take a moment to unpack this one.

My depression started somewhere in seventh or eighth grade.
It’s possible it started earlier, but
I have no memories earlier
Except for a very few, so let’s say – around 12.

At age 12 I started to self-harm.
‘Escape’ was the word always in my thoughts.
I didn’t know much as a pre-teen
but, trust me, I knew I wanted out.

At this tender age
Out was still a fantasy
Of rescue or of running away.

Other people, with other issues,
Might have managed to escape on their own.
I couldn’t.

Where would I escape to?
Was escape even possible?
Did I even deserve better?
Who did I think I was?
This was where God put me.
This was my lot.
Suck it up.
Manage.

As a teenager, my resources changed.
I had access to a car and endless mountain roads.
I was always safe in my car.
I felt ‘in control’ of something.
That was where I started to think
Maybe, at least, I could control my death.

My fantasies of escape became fantasies of dying.
I wore black constantly.
I was erasing myself from my life.
(Not that there was much to erase.)
Vanishing before my own eyes.
I was content with that.

I was content with
The process of unbecoming
Because I had a way out.
Sitting in the driveway was
A 1980s bright orange mustang.
Ugly as sin, but the straight six was a beast.

Having that door made staying easier.
Because I knew I didn’t have to stay.
I had a choice.
Of all the things in my life that were broken,
Out of my control,
Dangerous, or terrifying.
I had control over one thing.
One choice.

How does all of this relate to today?
For better than 30 years
I managed to face tomorrow
Because I knew that if I didn’t want to,
If it was too hard, I didn’t have to.
I could stop.

In my 20s,
I saw all my friends growing and flying,
Becoming these spectacular people.
While I was sheathed in lead.
The learned helplessness,
The ‘shoulds’ of my family
Ruled every aspect of my life.

I slept a lot.
hoping I wouldn’t wake.
And when I was awake
I prayed to die.

Dear God,
Fix me.
Or finish me.

I actively debated suicide.
And came close to death a couple of times.

I was so depressed
I had my first hallucination.
Thankfully, it was also my last.

My 30s were calmer,
At least, on the surface.
I finally found help for the depression,
But not for the problem at the root of all of it.
Ideation moved back and forth
Between passive and active.

As my 30s wore on
I found the pendulum
Spent more time towards the passive side.
That was good.
I was able to function.

Although I went through the motions
I did not understand
This ‘joi de vivre’ that others expected

I’m not saying I was never happy.
I am saying every day was a trudge.
An exercise in existing.

So, where I slept through most of my 20s,
My 40s were marked by
A type of emotional numbness.
On occasion, the ice beneath my feet would break.
Plunging me into terror.

Two years ago,
Perhaps three
I finally made the connection with cptsd
I found a good therapist to work through it.
I’m still working on it.
Likely, I will for the rest of my life.

Now, I’m over 50 and discovering how to live.
I grieve so much of the life I missed.

So here’s the irony:
I’m writing. I adore my husband.
Finally, I am discovering who I am.
I have put most of my desire for death aside.
I want to live. I have something to live for.

Here, at a very scary moment,
In a world that I have always shunned
Because of my twisted roots,
At the moment when
Life seems most precarious,
My life is most precious.
Now – I want to live.