Healing PTSD

Tags

Anxiety, Depression, Heal My PTSD, natural disaster, Post-traumatic stress, Practical PTSD, PTSD, PTSD for Dummies, Recovery, Trauma, war zone

A little while back I featured some posts on healing depression. BUT… I’d also been meaning to add a sign post or two to some other awesome mental health-type content.

This time, stuff on Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) – the other bookend to depression that’s made a very unpleasant Svasti-sandwich for several years now.

Before my own encounter with trauma, I think I’d probably dealt with low-level depression. But never in my life had I experienced PTSD.

In fact, I had no idea how easy it was for people to become traumatised. Well, when I say ‘easy’ I guess I mean…  trauma comes in all shapes and sizes.

It’s not just a by-product of being in a war zone or natural disaster.

There’s a lot of people out there in blog-landia dealing with PTSD and the paths they travelled to win the <sarcasm>lucky door prize</sarcasm> are incredibly diverse.

Essentially, PTSD can be acquired through any experience where you’re convinced you’re going to die, or by witnessing something unspeakably horrific.

It can be quick and once-off, or sustained and ongoing (causing chronic and complex PTSD). There’s no easy answers to ‘Why me’?

I gave myself a hard time for ages, thinking I had no right to be traumatised from my one night of terror and assault. But the reality is there’s no rules around how you get it or what causes it.

Just as there’s no rules around how you deal with it, the right treatment and ultimately, being healed and free of that nasty, life-sucking condition.

So, without further ado, let me introduce…

Heal My PTSD

Catching up on a few bits and pieces, I happened to notice Michele Rosenthal (formerly of Parasites of the Mind blog) has moved blog addresses to Heal My PTSD, LLC (not sure what the LLC bit stands for).

And about this new website I wanted to say – go check it out.

If you deal with PTSD personally or know anyone who does, it’s an excellent resource site, and it’s newsy, positive and no-holds-barred.

Michele has my respect, having beaten her PTSD after living with the condition undiagnosed for 25 years!

I *think* I’m probably 80% of the way there… maybe more… but the only way to ever really know it’s all over is afterwards. Once you’ve had a couple of years of no symptoms, no episodes etc.

So I wait and I watch. And read blogs like Michele’s!

Practical PTSD

The other cool PTSD content I wanted to draw attention to is a fellow Aussie and fab-tastic Twitter matey, Catatonic Kid.

The (currently globetrotting) Cat’s been writing a series she’s called “Practical PTSD”.

It’s kinda PTSD-for-Dummies – descriptive content from the viewpoint of someone living with the condition.

Which hopefully, will help friends/family of those in the thrall of PTSD to understand a little more. Although, of course, it’s challenging to ever really get what another person is going through.

At the time this post went to press (haha!!) CK had written five instalments (I’m sure there’ll be more some time):

Part I – Idiots Guide to PTSD

Part II – A normal reaction

Part III – When past is present

Part IV – How are Triggers like Tigger?

Part V – Flashbacks: what, where, who?!

Note: if you’re dealing with PTSD yourself, be aware that some of CK’s content is a little triggering. So, take it easy.

Hope you find this stuff as useful as I have!

~Svasti

Sometimes…

Tags

Dhanvantri, empowerment, Fear, Ganesha, Healing, malarkey, Prayers, Recovery, Sanskrit, Spirituality, Surrender, Transformation, Yoga, Yoga teacher

I think I’m just afraid of who I might actually be, when I’m finally done with all this being afraid malarkey.

When I allow all the knowledge I’ve learned (and continue to learn), to be grafted to the very marrow of my being.

When I’ve practiced to perfection the incredible meditations and other teachings I’ve been given. When they’re as natural as breathing – so much a part of me I don’t need to think about it.

I’m afraid of that person I’ll become.

And sometimes I think… it’s the one significant thing causing most of the pain in my life.

Even while writing this, I’m avoiding doing something else right this very moment. Something I should’ve done already and that other people are waiting for. Something that’d be good for me to do. And I will eventually, just not before I’ve put it off time and again.

Til I can’t stand it any more.

At least this time though, the distraction is much more honest, less convoluted.

I want to scream, and I want to cry and grieve. For the time I’ve spent veiling my awesome, powerful, motivated and very real Self away, and letting the freaked out junior would-be super hero run the show instead.

All so I don’t have to give up my excuses.

Of course, like that smoker who knows they need to stop, I’m not ready to give my excuses up yet. Just because I can see them for what they are, doesn’t mean I’m stopping.

I’m still enjoying the whole experience too much. It mightn’t be good for me, but it’s comfortable. And it’s what I know.

Its life-changing stuff y’know, getting the things you want most for yourself, instead of sacrificing and sabotaging your own life. At least, that’s the realisation I’m coming to.

Sunday, I was at my yoga school doing my remaining cleaning hours for the week (still need the money til I get paid the week after this one). As I cleaned, and when I wasn’t chanting various Sanskrit mantras to myself, my teacher’s recent words filled the empty room.

You see, I only signed up to do the Hatha yoga practitioner certificate this year, not the first year teacher training. Mostly because I didn’t feel like I was ready. Which, as it turns out, is just more hiding and excuses, really.

As we discussed various maintenance tasks, she turns to me and says I think you should do the teacher training. I want you to teach here and help with future teacher trainings. You’re way ahead of the others on philosophy and related topics and I think you’ve got things you can teach them.

Just like that. And yes, it’s something I want. Plus, I know I’m ready now…

There alone, sweeping the floors, I thought about standing at the front of that room and… I laughed, while I coincidentally sang the invocation to Ganesha, remover of obstacles…

Om Gananam tva / ganapating havamahe / kavinkavinam upamashravastamam / jyeshtharajam brahmanam brahmanaspata a nah / shrinvan nutibhih sida sadanam…

Yes, it’s what I want. But to get there… I’m gonna have to give up a few things I’m pretty sure I know as ‘fact’ about myself. But guess what? Apparently, all I have to do is keep going towards what I want.

The transformation will occur in the doing, not the wanting of the doing… this was the message/realisation I recieved while sweeping, singing and laughing.

Okay… so, I kept singing, this time Sri Dhanvantri’s (the lord of Ayurveda/healing) prayer. It’s my very favourite thing to chant because it resonates best I find, when you’re singing from the heart.

Om sankham chakram jaloukaam dadhad amruta gatam chaaru dorbhis chaturbhih / sookashma svachchhaati hridyaam sukha pari vilasan moulim amboja netram //

kaala ambha uda ujjjvalaangam kati tata vilasad chaaru peetaambaraadhyam / vande Dhanvantarim tam nikhila gada vana prouda daavaagni leelam //

I still have my excuses and I’m holding on tight. For now anyway. I’m not even going to attempt to break them down just yet. As long as I keep moving in the right direction, then I reckon… its all good.

~Svasti

What ya wishing for?

Tags

Anywhere but here, Broken bones, dandelions, Healing, living in the moment, modus operandi, Post-traumatic stress, progress, PTSD, Reality, Recovery, Swine flu, Therapy, Trauma, Truth

No matter how you cut it, there’s always more ways to slice and dice anything. You can take the tiniest sliver, and if you have the right tools, cut it up again and again. You can make shavings of slivers and get all microscopic about it.

What’s that got to do with anything? Umm, nothing. And everything.

It’s just that y’know, measurement is highly relative. So is progress.

Where do we really ever get to, other than right where we are at any given moment? We’re just where we’re at, period.

The wanting of other things, that’s where we get ourselves into trouble. Wanting to be somewhere or someone else, or another version of yourself – thinner, wiser, funnier, smarter and so on. We want to be healed. We can’t forget the past. We reminisce of happier times. Want to be on holidays again, go back to places we’ve been.

Anywhere but here.

Or, we think of where we want to get to – being in love with someone wonderful, being a parent, healthy and whole, nicer teeth, earning big money. Or, just more simply… we look towards a place where we’ll be really happy.

Trying to just live in the here and now is difficult. Western culture is set up to either think of the past or look to the future. There’s really not much here and now in our lives at all.

Sitting on a tram surrounded by strangers, most people are thinking about getting away from such close proximity (BTW, did you hear Melbourne is now Australia’s Swine Flu capital?). At work, we’re bored or annoyed or looking forward to lunch or going home or socialising after work.

We’re rarely living in the moment, but it can happen: riding a push bike consciously, getting a massive fright, meditation, having a really intense meeting, seeing an amazing live band or dance performance… these are just some examples.

When it happens, for seconds or minutes (if we’re lucky), we feel intensely alive.

Some people get hooked on that, and then get into adrenaline-based activities. Although, it then becomes less about being in the moment, and more about the ‘rush’ we feel afterwards. And looking forward to the next time.

During the worst of my PTSD, where it wasn’t so much ‘episodes’ – more just one long waking nightmare, day in, day out… I wished away much of my life.

Truly, I believed it was possible to wait out my trauma. I thought I’d get better over time, like healing a broken bone – sure it hurts for ages, but eventually it gets better.

And while I waited, I shut down the rest of my life. Just sat there, waiting. But never in the moment. I was too busy thinking about that unspecified time in the future when I’d be okay again.

Never worked out that way of course. Turns out the source of a lot of my pain was about avoiding. Didn’t want to be in the moment at the time (quite understandably) and didn’t want to know about it afterwards, either.

Thing is, to start to move forward and just to begin the healing process, that’s exactly what I had to do – get very present and very real with the pain, the terror and all of the rammifications.

Its the polar opposite of our standard modus operandi: dropping out of reality.

No wonder healing feels so scary and hard at times!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I wrote a draft of this a little while back, but Brooks’ recent post reminded me it was there, casually sitting in one of my writing files. So I looked it up and thought… yeah, time to come out…

~Svasti

Judith’s story

Tags

Abuse, Anger, Assault, Depression, Fear, Healing, Judith's story, Netherlands, Post-traumatic stress, Proposition 8, PTSD, Rage, Recovery, Trauma, Trust, Violence

I’m both in awe and kinda in mourning after reading Judith’s story.

**Note: If you’re in any way feeling fragile or likely to be triggered by reading of extreme violence and/or viewing VERY graphic photos, it’s best not to click on the above link**

Judith recently left a comment on one of my earlier posts so I checked out the Willothewisp blog that she and her wife run, (Prop 8 supporters take note: gay marriage has been legal in the Netherlands for years!) and from there found the link to her horrific, utterly terrifying story of sexual and physical assault.

As if the assault wasn’t bad enough, Judith went through months and months of recovery, surgery and rehabilitation that sounds like ongoing torture. Add living with post-traumatic stress, depression and the inability to move or talk for the longest time… and we’re talking about a truly serious survivor.

It’s a rough read, very emotional and heartbreaking. Once again – don’t read her story unless you’re in a stable frame of mind.

There’s ten chapters to date, and the story isn’t fully told yet. And it’s taken me a while to make my way through each one.

Judith’s lucky to be alive, although given what she went through I’m sure she didn’t feel lucky for the longest time. Her body is scarred, she lost her hearing, and she had to learn to speak and walk again.

Any one of these issues would be tough enough to handle. But Judith has triumphed through them all.

More than that – she’s married and she and her wife have three children. She has made a life despite what she’s been through. Through her words, I sense a very determined lady!

I can’t wait to read more and see how it was she made it to the life she now leads. I’m sure the past is still not 100% buried, but she is not cowering in the corner away from the world.

She’s a mother and a writer and living her life bravely.

So Judith, here’s to you. Much respect.

~Svasti

Freshwater

Tags

Anxiety, Broken heart, Fear, Freshwater beach, Harbord beach, Healing, Heart, Love, Love story, Manly beach, mermaids, Northern beaches, Recovery, sandstone, Sydney, Truth

I am awash. Deeply, soulfully and to the bone. I’m surrounded, but not attacked. I am sinking, yet rising too. Opening painfully, my heart speaks a thousand stories at once, most importantly it tells me – Thanks.

Not that I really did anything. Although, I didn’t realise just what sort of load the ol’ ticker had been carrying. As usual.

Yet somehow, the pressure’s been undone.

What remains surrounds me like a warm bath, with ever-so-gentle caresses, asking no questions, and breathing so much easier.

Kinda like this one endless summer day, when, living on the northern beaches of Sydney (paradise, and hardly anyone heads further north than Manly, the least stunning of the beaches on that peninsula)… I strolled the fifteen minute walk to my local – technically, Harbord beach, but colloquially known as Freshwater.

Not very large, as beaches go. A smallish but perfect cove dwarfed by rugged sandstone cliffs, tucked around the corner from north Manly’s shores. Crescent shaped, regardless of high or low tides. And, for a stretch of sand and water not far from the big ol’ city, incredibly beautiful and clear.

That day was one of many lazy Sundays I joyfully wasted inhaling the glory of the world.

It was soooo warm, but not too hot or humid. Just incredibly pleasantly warm. And Freshwater on that day (but also many others), lived up to its name: fresh and clear. Not too salty. And perfectly bath-water warm.

Even better though, since this bathwater never gets cold, doesn’t leave you shivering with a sudden need to get out. And the sun is pleasantly shining. There’s no wind. A perfect beach day burned into my hard drive, filed under “utter perfection”.

Ahhhhh…

I tarried, swimming lazy laps the length of the beach, floating and doing back flips. Strolling the edges, spying on fish schools and lying across the smaller cliff flats, soaking up the radiating warmth, easing tension from my shoulders.

Stone, sky and water and I was blissfully happy, wanting nothing else. Perfectly content just to be.

And while it’s not quite like that now, there’s an evocation of that particular day going on. Not that I’m trying to get back there, just, remembering the comfort it gave my heart, broken as it was at the time.

Actually, I’m convinced my heart’s been broken for years and years on end now, never really healing as I plunged headlong from one inappropriate romance to another… and reaching the end of that line with a violent punch in the face.

My heart, while it’s still managed to break since then (but not over romance), hasn’t been available for the past few years either – and to this day it wears its ‘Closed for Business’ sign, truth be told.

But finally, its telling me stories, many stories, and I’ve pulled up a comfy chair, cat on my lap, having grabbed the largest pot of tea I can muster, to sit there and listen…

~Svasti

You’ve come a long way, baby

Tags

Asana, bird’s eye view, Blogging, Depression, Fat Boy Slim, Happy blog birthday, Healing, Meditation, Nataraj, Natarajasana, Post, Post-traumatic stress, PTSD, Recovery, Retreat, Spirituality, Therapy, Trauma, Truth, Unemployed, Yoga, yoga teacher training, Yogasana

For years I was totally hopeless with balancing asana in my yoga practice. I’d wobble, fall over and enviously look at others, wondering why I couldn’t do what they did.

Then some time ago, wobbling through Natarajasana (dancer pose) I had a realisation that changed everything… You’re not just trying to balance on one leg – you need to stabilise yourself by engaging every little piece of your body!

Oh! Seems so obvious in retrospect, but for some reason I really didn’t get that, until I did.

In turn, this taught me something important about life, in a very practical (not theoretical) way: Nothing in our lives is disconnected. Nothing.

Funnily enough, I’ve had this realisation many times – during meditation, from reading books and listening to dozens of lectures on the matter too.

Seems we don’t get it, until we do. Nothing is disconnected.

We’ve come a long long way together
Through the hard times and the good
I have to celebrate you baby
I have to praise you like I should
~Fat Boy Slim

For those of us consciously trying to heal our inner wounds, with our fragmented selves desperately trying to keep up… we’re often so busy focusing on the trauma, it’s hard to see the bigger picture.

Just for now though, I’m taking a bird’s eye view, trying to see the lay of the land, so to speak.

Why? Well, today marks the first birthday of Svasti! Hip-hip-hooray!!

To quote my last post, this blog grew as something of an impulse – a very strong desire to save my sanity. A much needed space to expel the violence, sadness and struggles I’d been dealing with all alone. Screaming into cyberspace seemed like a good idea, and I was right.

Blogging I’ve found… is sort of like travelling the world with an entirely different perspective. Instead of seeing museums and temples and the like, I find myself surveying the inner workings of people’s minds all ‘round the world.

In the process, I’ve made a lot of friends and learned plenty about myself and others.

Such as: There’s no simple cure to PTSD or depression. And there’s peaks and troughs to recovery. The peaks make me feel like I’m finally getting somewhere. The troughs make me feel like checking out of Hotel de Life.

Healing is not a one-shot deal. There’s no magic pill to solve all my ills, or anyone else’s. But the more we express, the better it gets (in the long run, if not straight away).

And given human nature is how it is, we find resonance in each other’s words. We discover we aren’t alone. We’re all connected. So, what we write can benefit others. That’s a good thing!

But I’ve also learned the assault I started writing about was only a small part of the story – a kind of bookend really, to a certain era of my life. An era I’m learning I need to write about. That’s all connected, too.

In the last twelve months I’ve: started therapy, quit a stable (but soul-destroying job), spent five weeks in spiritual retreat, conquered the worst of my PTSD symptoms (although I’m far from symptom-free), gained and lost another job, had a second niece arrive, found new friends, started yoga teacher training and struggled with a very morbid attack of depression. And I’ve spent the better part of this year unemployed, surviving on a fraction of what I usually earn.

Seems I’ve been shedding one skin after the other, kinda like an onion and with just as many tears.

But none of it is disconnected, I’m convinced of that. Where we’re at is a result of where we’ve been. There’s no plot device that led me down this path.

Gotta say this much – it’s a glorious place from which to find my balance in life, and I know I can do it.

So, here’s to the next twelve months in my/everyone else’s journey.

And thanks everyone for reading!

~Svasti

Response to BlissChick – part 2

Tags

abuse-o-meter, Anger, Anxiety, Assault, Depression, Family, Fear, in-utero, Internalising pain, Post-traumatic stress, PTSD, Recovery, Relationships, Repression, sex trade, Trust, Truth, Violence

After my rather long comment on BlissChick’s post, I wrote up part 1’s post (which was kinda hard to write)… but she also emailed me some other (rather confronting) questions:

In psychological circles it is said that abusers are not born but MADE. So I wonder (not knowing anything about your home life as a child) what kind of environment your parents created in order to turn your brother into an abuser?

I don’t remember much of my early years, just tiny splotches. But I do remember my brother never liking me. It seemed to start when we were fairly young (he’s only two years older than me).

Perhaps this will sound new age-y, but I have this theory:

My brother was the next little being to inhabit my mother’s womb after the grief, illness, anger, sadness, stress and loss she experienced in giving up her first son. Never having had permission to deal with it openly, I believe much of her pain was simply absorbed.

I’ve had my own experiences with the body internalising pain… I know this is what happens.

So, in-utero my brother imbibed suffering as he grew. Marinated in it, really.

And what must it have been like, for my mother? Being pregnant again after that first time? She once said when we were little, she was always afraid someone would come and take us away… this fear must have affected each of the three kids that followed, right?

Also, my brother was part of a soccer club from a very young age, and in the 70’s/early 80’s, Australian soccer clubs were dominated by masochistic men and boys. He grew up as part of that culture, every weekend for years.

My parents I believe were just… too involved in their own lives and pain. They didn’t see what was happening in front of them. They weren’t equipped to handle it. They’d never been given the appropriate tools themselves.

Do you have to experience such things for yourself in order to recognise what’s going on?

I don’t know if something else happened to my brother or not. If it did, I don’t believe it happened in my parents’ home.

I also wonder why they enabled his abuse of you? That is what they did — they enabled.

These two sentences were very difficult for me to read. I truly believe they were unaware.

When I’d go to my parents and say ‘my brother hit me’, how could they work out how bad it was? That it wasn’t the usual sibling rough-housing (it never happened with them in sight)?

How could I understand what to tell them? What could I measure it against to give them some context?

People will claim they had no idea what was going on under their own roofs, but 99% of the time, they are lying (perhaps not even consciously so). The other 1% you have to ask HOW and WHY they did not know? WHY were they so utterly self-involved that they did not see your pain?

Because it was their job to love and protect you.

A little voice I don’t want to know about whispers in my ear… it was ongoing, though. It wasn’t infrequent. So why didn’t they stop him?

My dad was the youngest child with two older sisters and I don’t believe he’s ever hit a woman. My mum has a younger brother and I don’t believe he hit her either. Why then, was my brother allowed to continue to target and bully me?

I don’t know! It’s a question that pains my heart, and I have no answers. It makes a part of me feel raw and hungry and empty… it makes my lips purse up and I want to just stop thinking for a while.

How could they put up with my complaints of constantly being used as a pummelling bag? Then, it’s not just that he was physically abusive. But verbally too, and viciously cruel at every opportunity.

But, I was off with the pixies a lot. Did I just withdraw? Did I make it harder for them to know the truth? Should they have known anyway?

Thinking about this stuff, it makes me squirm. Does it matter if I ever know, or not? I kinda think right now it doesn’t matter any more… as long as I’m not pretending, and as long as I’m admitting to myself, that it wasn’t okay.

Whenever I see or hear about a woman who has chosen a partner who is or becomes abusive of her, I know (know know deep in my heart) that she came out of her childhood deeply wounded. Women who are raised in healthy households with healthy self esteem do not pick bad partners. They have an innate radar and can sense abusiveness in even the most charming people.

Today I read a post by a blogger I don’t know, via one of my blogger friends. And it really made me think. How do children get to the point where they taunt another person so mercilessly? She makes a good point – it’s because nobody stops them. They get away with it because they can.

And yes, I know my self-esteem was in tatters by the time I left home, aged nineteen. Through my own actions as well as those of others. But I think you’re right – had I been given a stronger sense of self-worth and self-love, I don’t think I would have let my first boyfriend treat me as he did. Nor do I think I would have ended up working in the sex trade.

Or, allowing myself, as you say, to pick bad partners. One after the other. To this day, I still can’t sense abusiveness in others. But those who are weird and wounded like me, sure, I can pick them a mile off…

Then again, my sister didn’t go through any of this. What was it in me that meant this was my path? My sister saw how our brother treated me and although he was mean to her, he never hit her. Just teased her all the time about her weight, resulting in a wounded self-esteem. But then, that’s bad enough, isn’t it?

Eventually wounded women who struggle and fight and put themselves back together again have even better radar. So do not fear. The work you do now most assuredly will lead you to a loving relationship some day.

I really, truly hope you’re right. I do. I get it when you say this is going to take a while. So far, it’s taken all of my life. If ever I can repair that abuse-o-meter radar, I know it’ll be good!

Of course, until then I know I need to keep moving. Like my therapist said, I can’t let the habits of my PTSD and depression, continue to lead the way.

So I have to try and reach out, to trust. And accept I guess, I might still get it wrong for some time to come.

~Svasti

BlissChick’s story

Tags

Anxiety, BlissChick, Confusion, Depression, Family, Recovery, Relationships, Stress, Truth, Unemployed

I am tired. And stressed to the eyeballs. I still don’t have a job, and very soon I’m about to be very, very broke unless the universe interferes. I’m working hard in so many ways, and I’m being assailed and tested constantly right now, on the planes of mental health, spiritual life, family and friends and… kinda everything. My belief in myself. The core of who I think I am.

Anyway, I just wanted to say that despite all of that, I’ve just read a marvellous post by BlissChick: Can I Get a Witness: Overcoming Depression through Story.

Go and read it now!!

There’s some highly truthful truths within that post, stuff I’ve thought about timidly under the covers with the flashlight on, but never ever out in the open.

Christine (BlissChick) and her partner Marcy (Ordinary Enchantment) really have got somethin’ goin’ on. Together, they’re a force to be reckoned with (not to mention their wonderful and wise pets). I hope some day I get as lucky as these gals, in meeting that person, where we just fit into each other’s lives. And support each other with strength and love when we need it most.

I read BlissChick’s post and I bawled, big heavy wet and salty tears. I’m gonna have to re-read it before I can coherently process the things that’ve touched my heart and soul so deeply at 1.30am in the morning.

But I want to say a big thank you to BlissChick for her post, honestly, and from the bottom of my heart.

~Svasti xo

More on EMDR

Tags

EMDR, Post-traumatic stress, PTSD, Recovery, Therapy

Okay, so its a little bit of an ad for the guy’s practice, but this video is a nice explanation from the perspective of the therapist, on EMDR.

I found this because Google had listed my EMDR and me post as a related link from the video!

Not quite yet

Tags

Deconstruction of fear, EMDR, Fear, Post-traumatic stress, PTSD, Recovery, Repression, Therapy

Stumbling, crumbling pathos of my fears leads the way.

While my zombie-like physical personage cycles, walks and shops.

Trailing behind is my butt-naked Self.

Tenuous acknowledgement it all sorta belongs together is, I believe, what creates the coordinated forward momentum.

They’re only words, you know. Words I choke on, sure. But still just words and I’m the one who gives them meaning, and power.

Yet, what if that ‘meaning-making mechanism’ has fallen so deeply down the well, there’s nary a hope of recovery?

This is how it all becomes intrinsic… sandcastles of sadness, salty tears and the slow wearing down of safe ground… we’re accustomed to believe it’s all inter-related and meaningful.

Stepping off the balcony of that derelict world should be easy. Right?

Sometimes the simplest things are worst.

Imagine wrapping yourself in protection with whatever’s on hand? Mightn’t actually help you at all, but then… it was there at the time. When you needed something, anything, between you and what just happened.

All part of the shock and fright.

Should just be on the periphery but, instead, sheaths you with an invisible force field. Nothing enters or leaves. How else can you stay afloat? Survive?

But time comes, eventually, to dismantle such ramshackle efforts. Create proper foundations, ones that won’t tremble and shiver under the slightest of pressures, real or imagined.

No, it’s not easy. Insinuated as they are, amongst everyday things.

And when you try… when you do… that’s what the heavies are for. Big hitters, they don’t play nice and there’s tricks to be learnt, to slip past and out the door.

They’re just words and letters… three little letters, too…

And then, I get it.

Not saying, is much tougher than speaking freely. Really is. At least, in theory.

Finally, courage arises, and even then, those letters get stuck. They’re literally what I’ve been choking on, after all.

When, finally, they come… its ripping-off-the-band-aid-shock. But then it hurts more again, later. Much more. Time to rest and retreat and regroup.

Afterwards, standing up seems difficult. Sitting is easier, even in a very public place. Just sitting for a while. For as long as I need.

It’d help a lot if I could just puke, perhaps.

Once again, sleep has the answers for now. Just hopefully not crashing out on the couch!

There’s nothing easy about this, the deconstruction of fear. Fillet-o-fish gutted, it’s a clearer place to be, but rather hollow and sad, for now.

~Svasti