Indi's Recovery Journal **TRIGGERS, TRIGGERS EVERYWHERE**

[Indirica]

My brain goes in a lot of directions at once. Anyway. I was going through some of my writing. Yeah, I try to write. Or I have. Been stalled largely for years. But it comes in jerky spurts. Anyway, found two things that I wrote some time back. Back far enough that Live Journal was still a thing. (Was it ever actually a thing?)

...and a dagger.
People are shrouded. They choose their death and wear it all their lives like a cloak tied too tightly about their throat, slowly throttling the breath from their body.

((I want to ask who the * thinks up this kind of * but then I am reminded I found this on my chat profile and I don't quote anything there so it's mine......wish I recalled the conversation that brought this about.  Or maybe I don't.))
Posted on Aug. 15th, 2011 at 02:59 am

So there I am, five years ago. Thinking that. With a lot of hard thought, I may be able to provide some more context but not now. Not at work.  I can deal with the macro of the idea though in context of C-PTSD. I didn't choose this. This cloak was chosen for me. It was put on me as a child by a revolving cast of caretakers. Some part of me realized that cloak was there and what it was doing to my life but I didn't have the tools to fully understand. I'm getting there.

Then there's this.

A beautiful day, marred by a careless comment that referenced somewhat ten years past.  My comment.  My apology.  Later, my tears, shed in private because you can't take back words.  Even the ones that you didn't know were going to ruin the day.  Innocuous words that related what you thought, by virtue of some history, were fine. 

And the day disintegrates in the wake of those words.  The joy leached out of it as surely as the sun bleeds from the sky in its slow decent but you know, you know, that the sun is going down now.  An apology, I'm sorry, stay, please, I beg of you....won't make the sun stay.

Even though the sun is shining, it's going down, no matter what.

The difference is, in my world, the sun doesn't always rise the next morning.  If I'm not careful, I will, by virtue of a careless word, live in eternal darkness.  And I will remember each of those words, every misstep, every actual angry word I've not been able to stifle, justified or no, in that darkness  The tears will fall soundlessly because to let loose the anguish is to draw further attention to my deficit.

When the sun does rise, my face will be fresh.  Unstained with tears.  And I will smile and pray silently that my thoughts and words are pure, worthy and right.  I will hobble the expressions, form and language into the most pleasing of manners and soak up the joy until the sun goes down again and I add upon the darkness one more word, one more action, one more lack,  to make it swell until I doubt that dawn will ever come again for me.
Posted on Aug. 3rd, 2010 at 08:03 pm

This I can provide context for. And I can say that no relationship should ever make anyone feel the way I did when I wrote those words. But aren't those the hallmark of someone with C-PTSD? Trained to accept the blame for everything. Trained to stifle every "negative" emotion. Trained to choke down the anger at being abused.

Thanks for taking the time to read. Feel free to comment. I'm also posting on tumblr along with some of my fiction if anyone is interested. Please be aware that most of my writing should come with a trigger warning. (Mods please remove if this isn't allowed.)  http://unlikelypostbouquet.tumblr.com/

[Dutch Uncle]

Thanks for taking the time to read. Feel free to comment.

Thanks for sharing.
I tend to refrain from commenting in people's journals. I feel privileged enough I get to share them.
I like to cheer people on in their personal recovery though.

You go Girl!