#ptsd

901 posts
  • mighty_are_the_fallen 3d

    And Still I Remember

    In the phases of my memory
    I forget things that are dear

    But something has changed
    Somthing still lingers

    Even gone from her
    My heart aches
    A feeling I lost long ago

    A dull feeling
    Of somthing missing

    My heart won't forget her
    Will not let me rest

    When I'm gone from her
    Something remembers

    Somthing distant
    But very insistent
    Bringing tears to my eyes
    Cries to my lips
    Pangs to my chest

    I remember her

    I lost everything
    Forgot everything
    Able to give up anything

    Yet she still lingers somewhere
    Deep inside she made a spot

    Parts of myself closed off
    Slowly open

    And still I remember her

    Grasping desperately to this strand
    This single feeling
    Until I see her again
    And everything restarts

    Every day with her is like a new one
    The longer she's with me
    The stronger my memories

    I feel so happy
    I thing I truly lost
    And she has returned

    For this gift
    I love her dearly
    Forever I will holder her
    Even if she no longer holds me
    ©mighty_are_the_fallen

  • mighty_are_the_fallen 3d

    Brain Rot

    Theirs rot in my skull,
    Rattling around.

    When you die,
    Your brain shrivels up,
    A little wad inside your skull.

    Somtimes I shake my head,
    I feel that little wad,
    Coming loose,
    From behind sharp edges.

    My brain feels dry,
    Nothing can fix it.

    So I get high,
    And try to dismiss it.

    One day,
    I'll tilt my head to listen,
    And out from my ears,
    My little brain will fall.

    Sad and shriveled,
    Devoid of thought,
    All sustenance gone.
    ©mighty_are_the_fallen

  • phoenicks 1w

    "LISTEN"

    I understand you're not consciously a "bully" but if you cannot pick up on discomfort caused by your strong opinions, sense when you're cornering someone into submission due to your manipulative self righteousness - no matter how blindly you believe what you believe and no matter how many examples or ideals you can present to support your thought process - it doesn't prove why another person shouldn't be able to share an opposing dialogue.
    Your beliefs can always be a trigger point for someone and furthermore when you dismiss them it becomes yet another traumatic experience for them where they couldn't speak up for themselves. Some people are simply not as loud and opinionated as others and more often than not there is trauma involved when a person just shuts down and starts nodding along when you did not give them a chance to really share their feelings - this is unintentional bullying.
    I may be speaking only from the point of view of the 'oppressed' but that's the entire point. Do take a moment and "listen" when you feel that the other person doesn't truly agree with you. I'm not necessarily talking about debates or arguments about politics, sports, entertainment etc. But real conversation about real life experiences and feelings.
    Defensiveness can have you live in a box forever and not realise that there is more to learn. Let's not shut down people by assuming they're accusing or dismissing you by simply sharing their thoughts - many times we all need to be corrected and appropriated because we are NOT perfect. No matter which religious/spiritual leader you follow - they ARE NOT perfect too. People aren't perfect that's why we need to humble ourselves and be open to uncertainty. That one second of uncertainty when you hear - "I disagree" , "I don't believe in this" , "I have a different opinion" , etc. It's OKAY. Just listen or if you really cannot then make it clear - say that you are not open to discussing this matter or you don't wish to hear the other person - this may have it's own consequence but at least it won't be a useless interaction where you only listen to respond and remain closed off or at a constant battle with everyone who doesn't think like you.
    ©phoenicks

  • ayejannay 1w

    Panacea Tricks;
    Sleep Deprivation


    I'll try the teas, the tinctures, the elixirs for dreams.
    Anything to spell-cast my body to sleep.
    And they work; mystifying my body to ease.
    But my mind fights on this post-traumatic disease.
    ©ayejannay

  • koreblack 1w

    Nosebleed


    Can you love me without touching me
    or must I always push myself to be the way you want
    Grow my hair long and let my piercings close
    Close off the backroads overgrown treacherous and winding
    Terrain unsafe and unexplored
    Sticking to the pavement
    The nicer parts of town
    You’re a tourist here

    I love a good nosebleed and a yellowing bruise
    I would choose to use my body for experiencing the world
    Climb higher hang upside down scrape myself against
    Swimming pool cement and cliff faces
    Places I want to take you to are of no interest
    Which turns my own
    into a receding tide
    A sliver of waning moon

    Have I ever stopped moving and changing
    Rephrasing my wants to be more aligned
    Straight like a spine that I’m realizing
    I’ve never had
    If I stopped moving for a moment
    I anticipate that headache
    the anti-gravity ride aftermath
    I lift up weightless when I’m spinning fast

    I forget that my feet are a part of my body
    I forget that they have a purpose
    When they have a purpose they only want to run
    Away from - or to - doesn’t matter
    I forget who I am when I’m not running
    but if I stopped for long enough
    I might be forced to untangle
    external expectations from my own

    I am Euthyphro trying to define concepts
    by what is most pleasing to everyone else
    As if I could live a life that is anything other
    than lead by example and faith
    Not able to read minds I’m just going off the gut feeling
    That I am somehow wrong
    And so I am ever trying
    To fit a mold unseen

  • voices_as_thoughts 2w

    THE KEY

    At this hour,
    At this moment,
    At every seconds reading,
    I enjoy the peace that comes from pains,
    The world seems slow and it all connects now
    The points I missed and lies I created to fill in the gaps are all vivid
    Sobriety, soliloquy, a touch of narcotics, music and an overthinking mind equals a brighter day.

  • in_fragments 2w

    Another poem, inspired by the song Home by Neutral Milk Hotel. Basically the entirety of the album Ferris Wheel on Fire has been affecting my writing lately lol.
    *
    "They beat against the tender sightings of your soul
    With all those pretty little hammers of control
    And if they’ve ever paid a price well I don’t know
    But I swear that they will pay one, now."
    #pod #poem #home #family #life #love #abuse #neglect #trauma #ptsd @mirakee @writersnetwork @writersbay

    Read More

    Home- Another Scar

    Home- another word left to decay,
    another place I'll never stay.
    I don't know what home is,
    or if I ever even had one.

    More than just the fighting,
    the screaming, the crying and ignoring,
    the breaking of glass tables
    with my father's bare fists,
    the holes in my walls covered up behind mirrors,
    the threats and cold shoulders,
    the corruption of personal space
    being weaponized as a bartering tool.
    Home is inconsistent
    and completely conditional.
    Home is not feeling you belong there,
    not knowing whether to run away
    or play along, to love or fear your keepers,
    where they treat you like more of a burden
    than a person.
    Home is used as leverage over your head-
    it is an impermanent space,
    a childlike fantasy that doesn't exist.
    My true home is the chaos
    inside my own mind,
    and my mind is still the safest
    of all the dangerous places.

    Home- just another word
    you'll never believe in,
    another shattered symbol
    on your conscience,
    an empty thing, devoid of safety
    or meaning.
    I walk through my childhood home
    feeling old memories writhing
    between the walls,
    too intangible to touch,
    too far away to reach.
    Was this ever truly home?
    How could it be, after everything
    that happened, after everything
    they were supposed to save me from?
    The people outside can never see,
    the wounds that never manifest physically-
    the abuse that's hidden away
    in bone marrow,
    the neglect that courses through
    the bloodstream,
    leaving deeper gashes in my psyche
    than the ones that will always mend
    on my wrists.

    Home- a concept to relearn, now merely another scar to heal.
    ©in_fragments

  • in_fragments 2w

    "Oh!- there she goes again,
    my sucidal sister slipping in,
    head launching calamity like a nuclear bomb,
    quietus beckons me within her rings of flame-
    she shows me with such burning excitement
    all the ugly ways a body can die,
    she injects me with ideations and fantasy,
    watching my own life leave my eyes
    and come back, blurry and dazed,
    a thousand times a day.
    She lingers here, she lives in me,
    spills such unbearable fever into my mind.
    She thinks its unfair, all we have to share;
    her hands are my hands, her heart my heart;
    we can never start again, we can never part,
    we cannot exist without each other.
    She sends me her thoughts of lovely, comforting death, and I know
    that whether we each like it or not,
    we are fated, cursed or blessed,
    to die together-
    until then, she pours out her daydreams
    all aflame. Oh! my suicidal sister,
    the one who operates in so much pain
    and holds onto all the agony I've forgotten-
    I cannot stop you, and do not want to-
    sister, all your thoughts are welcome here,
    without rash judgements, past layers of fear.
    We are a part of each other,
    and I accept you,
    even if you are not ready
    to accept this life we're forced to lead.

    Oh Goldaline, my shadowy siamese,
    my long-lost conjoined twin, begging please
    for permission to leave;
    Dearest Goldaline, don't you die on me.
    Don't you kill us now. Not yet."
    ©in_fragments

    ~~~~
    Talking myself down again... Loosely inspired by the song Oh Sister by Neutral Milk Hotel.
    *
    "Oh sister, don't be afraid of me
    I won't be nailing you down in the nursery
    Just like the rest of them did..."
    #pod #poem #mirakee #mentalillness #ptsd #depression #art #therapy #suicide #life @mirakee @writersnetwork @writersbay

    Read More

    Sister Suicide

    there she goes again,
    my sucidal sister slipping in...
    Dearest Goldaline, don't you die on me.
    Don't you kill us now. Not yet.
    ©in_fragments

  • adunbar 3w

    For ST

    The cold finger tips
    of my past always push
    they push and poke and prod
    me in the small of the back
    their touch is frozen
    bound to soul to death to the memory
    of bottles and mayhem and fear
    and even after 10 years clean
    I push at it like how your tongue
    worries at a sore tooth...
    I push too hard, trust too little
    expect, fetishsize and seduce
    midnight until I recognize my actions to punish myself until I decide
    to just let the 5 year old me suffer, weep and rage and heal.
    I reach for positivity, cling to and adore people who love, smile and inspire me.
    Silje, you push back the darkness with your grin, silliness, laughter and power
    You help, all the time, every day
    So thank you, and that is why I write you. adunbar2021 (For ST)
    ©adunbar

  • adunbar 3w

    RIEL

    When I think of Louis Riel
    I don't think of the Duck Lake rebellion
    his sham of a trial
    or the Queen's rope used to lynch him.
    I don't think of him finally being declared
    a father of Confederation or founder of Manitoba.
    I think of his statue, south-west of the legislature
    Riel, standing alone facing south on the bank of the Assiniboine river.
    I used to stop and talk to him, keep him company, ask questions without the expectation of answers
    and I still look for answers through his life as it relates to mine and they elude me.
    Go see him, spend some time with him and you will understand part of what it means to be Metis.
    Riel looks pensive, sad and isolated
    away from the eyes of the domes golden boy, out of sight of those who still laugh at him.
    History corrected the record but its writers never forgave him and this too
    is what it means to be Metis.
    I sit with him in winter looking south and wonder was it worth it? Wondering what might have been, if they hadn't destroyed him.
    Sitting with Riel and the memories falling like snowflakes around our shoulders breaks my heart, makes me furious and walking up the frozen river, stopping out of my love for him, I cry until the tears freeze on my cheeks and then I turn for home. .
    ©adunbar

  • ambika_s 3w

    Depression

    Esa nhi h ki pehle kbhi na hua tha....
    Pr lockdown m kuch jyada der hi chl gya
    Bchpn ki kuch yaden aine(mirror) si bn gyi thi...
    ©ambika_s

  • hmadeline 3w

    An open letter to an abuser excerpt

    One day, you won't haunt me at night. And I can finally have something right in my life. One day you’ll be forgotten and I can love soundly and bright. And I’ll trust him and I won’t be the one alone at night
    ©hmadeline

  • monstatooth 4w

    Faceless man

    The faceless man in my dreams
    He might be the demon, the demon
    I refuse to face
    He silences my screams
    His hands around my neck
    The smell of rotten flesh, the choking effect so intoxicating
    It drowns me, just a moment before
    I reach the surface.
    The faceless man in my dreams
    Something I'm scared of but welcome.
    ©monstatooth

  • rodney 4w

    My Lord is gracious supreme.

    When my tears fill my eyes to blur my sight.
    When my ears can't hear about your arms holding me tight.

    When I lie down on my cot to another - insomniac - anxiety attack.

    When I, when I, lie to myself that I'm unworthy of living.

    When I, when I, cry soaking my blankets.

    When my aching muscles resists to heal me.

    When I want to say that I'm sorry,
    But my words choke my throat to my unending sorrows.

    When I think of death more than your mighty powers.

    Help me to look into your scriptures.

    Take my finger to guide it through the passages,
    To make me realise that I'm also your most prized possession.

    From all my traumatizing events to the day that beckons your blazing compassion.

    I bow my head to your lessons.

    I make pliant the knees of tainted grasp of your ultimate fruition.

    I make pliant the knees of tainted grasp of your ultimate fruition.

    As I look around to find,

    You, my Lord, you were my only grace that never partitioned.

    ©rodney

  • adunbar 4w

    404

    Flaw in the wet ware
    half ones and broken zeros
    leave neurons sparking like...
    like hot metal screaming under
    the capture of iron tongs and hammers.
    Endless amperage cycles kill
    everything it touches
    then the loop feeds back upon itself
    static in static out
    until the brain becomes
    a snake that eats itself.
    Can't make heads or tails
    of anything outside the loop
    boil old boards down to soup stock
    come and get it motherfucker
    long-rat shadows served after
    a head's pounded into a dinner bell.
    ©adunbar2021

  • adunbar 5w

    Piano Guitars and a Pistol

    I miss Mac Rebennack
    The Night Tripper
    The zuzu or the gris-gris man
    From the heart of the Crescent
    "Daily trippin up and down the bayou"
    after a card game went bad,
    some low rent sleazy gambler
    shot off Mac's finger and Mac?
    He just went from guitar to piano
    like nothing ever happened
    THAT was Dr. John,
    there for whatever you needed man,
    the music or the medicine.
    Walk on gilded splinters
    through streets smelling of mint and jasmine
    heat and impropriety
    all roads lead to the sun and moon and stars
    while somewhere in the back
    monsieur Toussaint is deep in the mix
    and the doctor?
    He just grinned through the smoke
    and spun some Dougie Kershaw
    the hardcore cajun fiddling God.
    R.I.P. Doc.
    ©adunbar

  • hmadeline 5w

    An open letter to an abuser

    Dear Ass Hole, Liar, Thief, Abuser,

    To The Dick that destroyed the woman I once was,

    How do you feel about yourself? Are you proud? Happy? Do you feel any guilt whatsoever? What goes through your mind, as you lie awake at 2am, unable to sleep? Is it remorse for destroying a happy girl? Or is it about your next lay, or maybe your next high? Do you even give a damn about the damage you leave behind, or are you too caught up in your own pain and you’re blind?

    I used to be so much more carefree, confident, Smiley. Yeah sure I still had some struggles. After all, I’m only human. I had a history of trauma but it was so far behind me. I had healed and learned to cope. I was okay to be alone, I was thriving. I didn’t feel broken. I wasn’t lost.

    I didn’t know what it felt like to have mind games be played on me. I never had someone destroy my sense of reality. Up was up, and down was down. East and west made sense to me, north and south was where they were supposed to be. I had a sense of direction you see? But like a lot of other things you stole that from me.

    Stealing, thief; two words out of a thousand I feel that fit you perfectly. Stealing the life force out of a young girl. A thief of happiness and dreams. Stolen peace, and sanity. No, you didn't just steal materialistic things. The most important items stolen were those of the mind. The material I need in order to survive.

    Destruction of the mind. What a hell I wouldn’t wish upon anyone. The anxiety that was left behind, far worse than when you were mine. Destroying any hope I have of the love I find. Crying in a man's arms of the damage that you left behind.

    If you think this letter was written because I miss you, you are sorely mistaken. This letter was written to tell you that I hate you. Hatred towards you for the hatred I have towards myself. Hatred of all of my aches and pains. Hatred of my confusion and loss of security. Hatred of the exhaustion that has overtaken me. I’m tired.

    I’m tired of my lack of trust in the world around me, or the man I wish so desperately to stay and stand next to me. I don't trust the ones I love not to destroy my life in the very same sense that you tried to take mine.

    The fear I felt that night, a type of fear that I never thought I’d fathom. The feeling of the oxygen leaving my lungs like deflating balloons staring at eyes as glazed as the moon is bright. The pain in my face seething so red and tight. Trapped in a single room house with nowhere to hide. You tortured me day and night

    The battle I faced when you spent all that time committing the crimes yet I was the one justice seeked to find.

    A year of fighting, and another year just trying to survive the aftermath. The vicious cycle of feeling like I’ve healed and the next revisiting the fight. A year of praying to God you don't kill me, and a year praying that I don't have another nightmare tonight.

    You, The reason I feel scared at night, faced alone with new battles to fight. You, a memory so distant, yet so profound. The person I blamed when I lost my Sweet that night. Because the battles I have to fight are far more than anyone can right.

    One day, you won't haunt me at night. And I can finally have something right in my life. One day you’ll be forgotten and I can love soundly and bright. And I’ll trust him and I won’t be the one alone at night.

    With hatred and nothing kind,
    The girl that's left to fight.
    ©hmadeline

  • cardelljhardy 7w

    PTSD

    The aches and pains of my past
    Stay in my head and they last
    Take away the drama and hurt
    Because I try and try but never win.
    Only falling deeper and deeper in sin.
    Rescue Your child from the devil's grip.
    ©cardelljhardy

  • adunbar 7w

    Spieler in a Straw Boater

    Second hand candy striped jacket
    look close enough to see the bullet holes
    torn through the fabric that left the last owner both ventilated and vacant.
    The new spieler slipped right into it
    and hasn't fixed it yet
    he's got this higher calling
    when he dons the white straw boater hat
    raps a gavel on the rostrum
    always begins his routine like that.

    "Hey you! Yeah you, you young stud!
    Whyn't you and your lady walk down these stairs
    and worship at the Church of the Underground!!?
    It won't cost ya a cent but we got bookies in the back if you wanna place a bet
    on slippin through the eye of a needle
    play the over/under on angels and pins!
    There's no bible son, no cross, no Okie preacher fresh from a tent outside
    Lawrence fucking Kansas!
    This is the Church of the Underground all we want is your attention...hey,
    can you worship in the minor chords?
    The reason why I ask you that is,
    see, we gotta a guitarista who only grants salvation in runs of E (eternal) Flat
    Boy, you won't hear shuffle in C on our aural rosary
    and the call and response is to whoever you let it be.
    Church of the Underground, son, turning blood into Mogen David wine just a buck 99 and for the sacred price of that
    you can watch the holy roller go-go dancers in sequined thongs till closing time where you've cum and gone!
    GUARANTEED SALVATION SON!
    with a heaping side of fun
    mixed with the syncopated rhythm of the revelation, that's some power in your pocket and...
    You're not gonna get a better deal that boy, so step up and step in, the only thing you got to lose is feeling shame bout your sins!
    ©adunbar

  • adunbar 7w

    Dry Drunk

    Whenever I start thinking to myself:
    "Hey, it'd be great to get back to drinking"
    and brothers, sister, friends, poets, writers and lovers,
    you have no idea how bad I want to go back to a life without fear of consequences
    the freedom of total disengagement from sanity
    the eager abrogation of morality
    and the comfort of the predictability of
    taverns, pubs, bars, and road house dives
    i remember my blood in an alley
    In Josephine County.
    I look at my knuckles broken so many times they look like walnuts and they hurt
    but lately, even that hasn't been enough
    to hold the thirst back.
    Worried, sick, scared to death
    I listened to JT by Steve Earle and to Townes after that
    those albums brought me back.
    I know it is late and past due,
    but Christ, Mr. Earle, I hurt for you
    and I thank and love you.

    ©adunbar