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A Child’s Lament

I don’t remember much of my childhood.

The memories I do remember are best kept hidden deep inside.

They swirl around my insides like a whirlpool of dead stars into a black hole.

But my dear reader, I can’t hide them anymore.

It’s all too much.

These dead stars poison my body and soul.

Please take them from me.

Reach into that black hole and hold them for awhile.

And then, please stay awhile.

I cannot be left alone with them, again.

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PTSD Nightmares: The Nightly Battle

Over the last year, after losing my Mom and my two cats all within the year of one another, I have had nightly nightmares that have me re-live the worst times in my life thus far.

My dreams consist of seeing my mom pass away, become sick, or injure herself.

Last night, she choked and had a seizure in front of me.

My dreams consist of nightmare scenarios: being stuck in the ocean, shark attacks, losing friends and loved ones, falling from high altitudes, plane crashes…..

Last night, I fell through the sky, off of a skyscraper, and I felt it. I felt the roller-coaster feeling for a long time.

Will I ever recover? Will these ever go away?

I’m stuck in my trauma, awake and asleep.

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Dear Me At 23

I am sorry you felt the need to binge tv shows nightly and eat fast food to soothe yourself.

You stopped seeing friends except on the weekend when you would get wasted.

I am sorry you slept with numerous men who did not care about you.

(Remember the one who slept with you, took your cigarettes and then left and never talked to you again? Shout out to Kyle from Longmeadow, Mass. You reignited my trauma, yet I feel sorry for you. I saw those sadness in your eyes. I hope you are ok.)

I am sorry you let your mother, who loved you and who you loved very much, to control your emotions like a light switch….so badly that self harm and disordered eating became a part of your life.

I am NOT sorry for these experiences. They taught me lessons.

I am sorry for the hurt they caused my sensitive soul though.

Now, we will heal, but it’s up to me when.

When?

I don’t know.

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My Addiction Is My Relief

I am unsure if I will live through these addictions. The addictions of life. These addictions keep me going, keep me living, keep me surviving. The happy moments I have had these past years has been manufactured by a chemical substance. How will I ever be able to experience something that instantaneous happiness that GREAT again?

What is it like waking up under no influence of a pill, an herb, or a toxin? What is it like waking up like when I was a little girl?

The little girl before trauma. The little girl who wanted her bottle, her blanket, her Baka. The little girl who was robbed of her childhood and yet forgives those who robbed it from her.

Oh, that little Kayla was such a sweet soul. She had no hate in her body. She had love. The hate came later on disguised as rage. Rage against being forced to grow up without feeling completely nurtured.

Sadly, I do not see waking up as my natural self ever again in my lifetime.

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My Doctor Failed Me Today

I have been trying to get off of the fake love of my life, cannabis concentrate, for the last few years.

I have worked with substance abuse teams, therapists and group sessions.

I am now in an intensive DBT program at this place I’ve received all of my care. In order to be in the program, it is required you see one out of three of their doctors.

I’ve been seeing Dr. I* for over a year. Overall our relationship was cordial. She has a heavy accent and sometimes I can’t follow along with what she is saying, and I end up letting it brush by because, well, I have social anxiety.

Today, I came into the session planning to inquire why she dropped by antidepressant dose in half overnight, and maybe that is why I am struggling weaning off of 1gram of cannabis concentrate.

My partner was sitting next to me when after I approached the subject and let her know my feelings politely, Dr.I basically said “we have tried everything and at this point we are back at square one.”

Square one? I’ve been busting my ass getting clean. I gave up nicotine and alcohol! Why does she just seem to always tell me, “you just need to stop.”

That doesn’t work. Period.

To Be Continued.

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Trauma

Unlike other forms of psychological disorders, the core issue in trauma is reality

Bessel A. Van der Kolk, Traumatic Stress: The Effects of Overwhelming Experience on Mind, Body, and Society
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Love Endures

“The world is indeed full of peril, and in it there are many dark places; but still there is much that is fair, and though in all lands love is now mingled with grief, it grows perhaps the greater.”

Haldir, J.R.R. Tolkien, Lord of the Rings
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I’m Ashamed of My Mental Illness

Sitting here, in my car passenger seat, waiting for my signature espresso drink, I’m full of self-hatred.

I’ve let just about all of Facebook and social media know that I struggle with mental health issues, along with friends, family, etc. Although they know I struggle, I assume they also see me as a functioning adult who inspires others to be more open about their mental health and stability.

Most days, I understand that helping and inspiring others who struggle with what I do is a gift. It’s enlightening to see people blossom!

Today though, I need to be one of those I help. I need assistance; I need someone like me to listen or to take the place of a caregiver I never had and am still grieving over. I need someone to soothe me. (Even though I know only I can do and am responsible for that.)

I’ve had a lot of validation in my short life that confirms I am too much.

Today, it really feels like I am.

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Lune

I stop for a moment and look up.

In front of me, I see a square window surrounded by chipping paint flakes and coated in a deep brown color; similar to the dark color of my soul.

The curiosity reels me in, and I’m standing directly in front of the window now, so close that I can open or close it.

I look up. There it is, I think. Above me was a round and majestic glowing figure that seemingly met me here, at this same spot, for years now.

Some call it The Moon.

To me, I don’t care what it is called, as it puts me in a trance when it’s around.

I’ve…fallen in love with this…thing.

It never fails me, nor abandons, nor shames.

It just exists and lets me live next to it, without any judgment.

“Edmund! Edmund!”

I hear my wife calling from the porch across the way. I hope she gets tired and gives up with that yelling. Her voice used to spark a flame in me; now, sometimes, it extinguishes it.

I look up one more time before I must go.

The Moon has drifted farther from where it last was, and a jolt of sadness arises in me.

“Edmund! Get over ‘ere I need yah!”

I take a deep breath in and one breath out. My hands are clenched, yet I slowly let the stress from my body go.

This is why The Moon and I meet every night.

We are not involved in some scandalous love affair; no, we are engaged in a community.

When I am with The Moon, I create and build mastery in my life. I build what I’ve lost with my wife…

We never may know where we go one day to the next – or what may happen tomorrow, or a minute from now.

At least I know the Moon stays consistent for me, and I for it.

“EDMUND!!”

I break my gaze with my new lover, shuffle over to the barn door, and see Millie on the porch, in her nightdress, looking beautiful. The way her hair naturally swayed in the wind was memorizing.

Until she opened her mouth.

As I headed across the field towards the house, I couldn’t seem to focus, because our home was now glazed over in Moonlight, like the Moon was giving me a gift of departure.

We will meet again, My Moon. Until tomorrow.

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i’ve always been someone who hangs onto perishable people, far past our expiration date.

The little girl that still lives inside of me, who is a part of me, is always in the background of my mind, reminding me that people cannot be trusted, and people will eventually leave.

This little girl is restless and relentless, she paces through my mind, tripping over every legitimate thought that flows on around her.

For years, I have been trying to quiet her through a variety of tactics.

Weed numbs her out the best, while alcohol comes in second.

I have taken away the latter from myself, and this little girl is now sneaking around and peeking around corners.

With the threat of shedding the rest of these tactics, her voice becomes louder.

“Take care of me.”

That’s all this poor little girl wants.

That is all she speaks.

How can I care for this part of me, who attaches herself to everyone I meet?

She consistently plants the seed that I will be neglected and abandoned, again.

This thinking worked for me then, when I was her age.

Now, her thinking is no longer serving me.

She is no longer serving me.

It becomes instantly clear.

We must live together, combine forces and coping skills, share stories and memories, and become friends with one another, in order to survive this life.

Now, the challenge will be fighting my fears, and meeting with that little girl, so eager to speak, so eager to connect.

Wish us luck.