Bits and Pieces

My own words trigger me these days, feeling the emotions and memories that I’ve locked away.

It’s hard. Hard to recover from a fallen day.

I feel guilty for expressing these fears and struggles,

Because I don’t want to receive pity. I just want to be normal.

When I went to my therapist this week, we tried, again, trauma therapy.

But I failed, sent deep into negative body responses.

So we stopped.

Fresh out of crisis, she didn’t want to send me reeling, which could end me up in another stay at the farm.

I laugh at that statement, “the farm”. Because it’s the only thing I can do that doesn’t bring me any harm.

I feel like I’m a failure in even trying to fix myself. I feel defeated and a prisoner of trauma.

So I’m putting all things on the back burner because writing seems to be the only way I can express the way I feel, to make it congeal.

I don’t know what this post is about this morning. I’m not even out of bed yet nor started the days long list of things that I should be mourning.

She said to do whatever works to bring peace inside, writing, journaling, mindfulness, the things that I can actually accomplish that makes me feel right.

So that’s what I’m doing. It seems to work I guess, though when those awful childhood feelings come to the surface, it seems to take me days to process and again find purpose.

That’s what I’ve been doing for a week; dealing , feeling, and reeling.

Complex ptsd, ptsd, mdd, bpd, avd seems like a lot, and sometimes I really feel like I cannot recover.

Which is a stab of reality that I don’t know how to navigate and on some days I really just want to smother.

Smother. With a big feather pillow.

So I’ve got this short pile of verbal vomit out this morning, I felt like I needed to release this. Now on to further things, feeding the horse, cats, dog and all of the things that bring me peace and sojourning.

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