Escape to Slumber

Woman sleeping in bed

Escape to slumber in the darkest night.
Heavy blankets help hide the fear inside.
Moonlight hidden behind thick clouds, contrite.
Their eyes weighed heavy, blurry with bromide.
Racing in circles, their thoughts fight and flight.
Replaying the past, like a movie slide.
Still frames, close-ups, emotions amplified.
Escape to slumber in the darkest night.
The movie plays on all covered in blight.
Each character struggling to face what died.
She covered them up and tucked them in tight.
Heavy blankets help hide the fear inside.
They woke in the morning and grinned, bright-eyed.
But then he broke in and unleashed his might.
She fought to save them and keep them bright-eyed.
Moonlight hidden behind thick clouds, contrite.
She schemed and planned and plotted for their flight.
He screamed and yelled and cursed them.  Amplified
by triggers and flashbacks that play despite
their eyes weighed heavy, blurry with bromide.
Safe now from him the future should be bright,
but his ghost invades. A demon bestride.
We carry him with us into twilight.
Never without the dead feeling inside.
Escape to slumber.

Showing the Scars

Imagine if we could see the emotional pain and scars represented on the skin of those around us. Festering, oozing, open sores on the skin of souls still trapped in their pain and black and blue bruises covering the bodies of those beginning to heal.

What about those with scars? Some may hide scars, embarrassed by their pain and past struggle, even though they had to be so very strong to survive. Those with scars that show, uncovered in the sun, for all to see might be the strongest of all. These are the scars of people who were strong enough to survive, heal, and continue living despite their past.

How different would we relate to people if we could see their internal pain? How different would we present ourselves if our past was visible on our skin?


The Memory of Trauma

I first learned about the idea of traumatic memories being challenging to explain with words concerning young children. If we experience trauma at a young age (before we learn to talk), describing the experience with words is very difficult. I didn’t realize that no matter what age trauma occurs, it is difficult to describe with words because the memory is more of a feeling.

No wonder we struggle to explain how it feels. The words simply aren’t there.


Starting Over

For years now, I’ve feared anyone asking me what I do for a living. Losing my job was embarrassing and hurtful. I would have been angry, but I was in too sick and in too much pain. My past damaged and broke me, and I may very well have trust issues, to some extent, for the rest of my life.

I have picked myself up off the floor, and I am healing and rediscovering myself. I am starting over, and the future looks brighter than it ever has before.

What do I do for a living now? I do the best I can, and I write. Writing is therapy for me, and it is helping me emerge from the cellar I’ve been living in for far too long.


Poisoned by Trauma

The damage from abuse is like a slow-acting poison requiring a painful antidote. Sometimes I find it hard to remember what it felt like to be trapped in an abusive relationship, and then a trigger brings a flashback encompassing every sensory detail. Numbing the pain and emotions allowed me to stumble through life for a few years, but eventually, my deteriorating condition forced me to confront the trauma.

Chronic, debilitating migraines were the primary physical manifestation of my unprocessed trauma. These migraines significantly interfered with my ability to work and care for my family, but if it was not for this physical ailment, I might have delayed my search for help even longer.

In working towards reducing the migraines, I met several wonderful and caring doctors, physical therapists, counselors, and everyday people who helped me get back on my feet. There are so many things I would do to keep from ever having another migraine, but I acknowledge they are the proverbial straw that broke the camels back and started my healing journey.

The healing process has been excruciatingly slow at times, but I am much stronger now and have a great deal more patience. The poison is still leaving me, bit by bit, and the antidote is unpleasant, but in the end, I will be free.


Wishing for Blissful Amnesia

How I long to forget all the painful and traumatic experiences. In truth, it really is all in my head, filed away in excruciating detail, waiting for the perfect trigger to bring it all flooding back. Getting over it is a beautiful dream I work towards every day. Do you honestly think I haven’t already told myself to get over it millions of times? If it were that simple, don’t you think I would have done it long before now? If only my brain came with a delete button, I could slip into blissful amnesia.


Fear is Real