I don’t usually share my art, but this piece means a lot to me and I wanted to share it with you all.
I wrote this poem during a very dark time in my life. I’m not out of it yet, but I’m slowly getting there. I do a lot of work like this, which I share over at my venting blog. If you’d like to see it, please do so with caution! My vent blog has a standing trigger warning for all posts. (Blog: @traumacope)
wow im going through my old journal entries and i’m furious to discover that i said i told my mom i wanted to see a therapist as early as november of 2015, but didn’t get one until december 2016. that was a whole year of continuously vouching for myself and trying to persuade my parents to hook me up with a therapist, and literally in the same month i started seeing her she was like you need to see a psychiatrist asap and then i was diagnosed with ptsd + depression, anxiety, and ocd. i’m just so retrospectively mad that it took that long to get help because i needed it badly.
I almost appreciate my nightmares. I’m always screaming in them. In real life, I’m not sure I can scream.
I’m always screaming and fighting back and begging them not to hurt me. In reality, I was always just quiet and still and let it happen. Maybe I thought that was what they wanted. Maybe I thought that would make it hurt less.
I wish I could feel things normally again. I be needing shows or books to feel something and it’s just sad. That shouldn’t be the case at all. Whenever I do feel something tho I can never tell if it’s genuine or if I’m faking that emotion and ultimately just end up dwelling over it with no answers whatsoever.
I hope one day I can silently just disappear out of people’s lives. At this point all I’m able to do is sabotage myself and drag people down with me. Time is just gonna pass by and I’ll just keep falling behind on everything. I can’t keep up anymore
Being hypersexual feels so disgusting. I want nothing to do with my own thoughts and I keep convincing myself they’re just intrusive thoughts but what if this whole time it’s just me?
My mom has bipolar disorder and she has psychotic episodes sometimes. It’s be traumatizing growing up taking care of your mother when she acts like this. She can be violent and angry and just attack me suddenly because she believes I’m the devil. I used to have horrible breakdowns myself whenever this happens but recently she is in an episode and I have been doing well. I clean her bedroom and take care of her animals and clean the house and she hasn’t been violent this time around thank god. It’s just very isolating being in a house alone with her. I’m lucky we have a home and I try to remind myself that even if it’s so empty.
I long for a darkness only found in my childhood home. The basement buried deep in the soil surrounded by the forest’s roots. Cold brick walls felt safe when everything else was so scary. The basement was a bomb shelter protecting me from the war happening above. Plates being thrown through the air couldn’t reach me deep in the earth. No hands could touch me when I was cradled by the dirt. I just want to go back
