The joy within me busts out like wildfire. Shinning from deep inside my 'well'- my hope center. I am alive and vibrant. I feel invincible. Unshakable. Laughter trickles out like unashamed lightening- Bold and permanent. I make my mark in this life with confidence- structured within the core of my passions... I feel successful.
Before PTSD that is. Before the traumas, let downs, fake families, and failures. Before my life changed forever.
Doubt walks in like a sneaky watermark on the pages of my future. Toying with my potential as it weakens my resilience. I sense the shift inside even though I am willing it not to be true. Walk with me as I unpack my experience with poise. Power-Full. Am I strong enough to erase my insecurities? As I face "time"- both my friend and my enemy- I dare keep learning how to live this life.
When I look in the mirror today I see myself differently even though the world can not visibly see my disability. I mean, maybe they notice my lack of self care in the grooming department, the way I slouch more, the few extra pounds, the empty beer cans... Who am I kidding- I think I somehow gave up on convincing myself I still have dreams. The spark I carried so poignantly, prior to my gut wrenching pain, has lost its luster. Its ok though- because I have not stopped at least believing that there is a way to recover. Something inside me keeps me able to fight and press forward. I keep stepping, even though at many times blindly, trusting that eventually I will find solid ground. Substance worth bringing to the surface for the world to see. Substance I can celebrate with childlike ease.
I am a painter. It is what I call myself. The only true definition I label myself in terms of identity. Painting is my avenue to greatness- even if just on canvas. I know buried in the shelter of my heart I am so much more than a painter. I often ask myself, "where is your spark?", "Where is your light?". I gaze in the mirror and just bid that glimmer to rise up and ignite. To start an inner inferno that can no longer be snuffed out by negativity. Doubt I wish you out!
There are times I see actors in movies or TV caught in legit visceral despair- like the wind is knocked right out of them and they have forgotten how to breathe. Everything stops except the anguish. I can recognize it written all over their face. I think wow- I feel that way too... just below the surface. I have become a pro at disguising it- like my life depends on it. I wonder what life would be like if that sense was removed. If I could just start over tomorrow- maybe I could write a happier story. Even dare to claim a decent destiny.
Fear, rejection, denial, guilt, and the epic gut punch of shame wrestle their way through my bones without grace or mercy at times. I am sure my face shows it when my fecade is battle worn. You know that term "to save face"... its a whole lot harder to achieve than it sounds. In a way maybe I can label myself a hero for the effort it takes to face my past on a daily basis. Do I qualify for a purple heart or metal of valor?
I have wonderful days too, I have light filled happy moments- even of small achievements, and I most of the time sense I can look at a day and pass its tests- except for this weight on my back that just plain makes me tired and haggard with grief. Grief- because I know that I could be a better human, be more rounded- be more whole, because now I may not become as much as I could have been... I am seemingly facing the road "alone". I have friends but I have deep loss too. I literally have no family- not one person who shares my DNA talks to me. That phrase 'family is who you make it' kinda falls short here. Adoption was at first very life changing, after time I live with the label "damaged".
This is where my anger lives. It hides away until my mask is too weak and then wrenches out of me with such profound force- how could I not be shaken by it? Disarmed even... In shock of its gravity? Yet I still have to face the day AND somehow seem "normal" like my "whole body" paints me to be. Please do not think to yourself that this visceral anger is linked to my forgiveness level or my faith beliefs. I mean that is a tiny part of it- well yes actually huge, but small in the bigger picture I am trying to portray. PTSD is messy- even for the most sophisticated or masterful face-mask keepers. For me- even though I am a Christian and have Faith- the road is treacherous at best. Well, maybe not at best.
I have overcome many facets of my past with the Grace of God's love for me. I still have PTSD. My brain is even wired differently- hens the disability. Cortisol- the stress hormone- short circuited by brain pathways. Entrenching me at times in a place where I am forced to relive the traumas- and all that comes with that. I am no longer able to efficiently regulate emotions, multitasking is a full on monster. The physical shaking is not a seizure- at least not anymore- it has been 20 years since my last stressed induced seizure. Fine tuning memory is not even existent. To carry out some basic tasks, that I used to be amazing at, is like learning to walk with a broken back. I somehow keep walking.
I can scarcely recall any positive childhood memories- until a smell, sight, or emotional stimulus for example aids me to remember. It is like my positive self is locked behind a impossible to cross vortex- littered with distractions and tangents of the heart that I can not possibly navigate in this lifetime. I step through a few hurdles just to face bigger ones- all while "trying to adult" and be responsible.
I find ways to cope. Coping is not overcoming. Overcoming is not denying my past or trying to forget my troubles. I want to actually overcome but I do not think I know what that looks like. So I keep waking up and putting one foot in front of the other. I dare to look in the mirror every single day and hope I find grace present there. I think so stinking much that I almost live in my head more than I embrace my heart. More than I can even begin to hope for a centered future. I keep bidding tomorrow to come so that I can somehow find myself in the act of this so called overcoming.
Am I lost? I am not sure. I think it means I sense I am "unseen" -for whom I know I am without my past- as my pains tricks me. I feel somehow incomplete and I think I have resolved that I will always be this way. At a deficit- even though I am a great person. I am a loving person. I am strong. Somehow living will become more exciting to participate in so please do not feel sorry for me. You can not fix me. I will be ok. I am ok even. I am just not "arrived" yet. Maybe nobody is.
All this to say, be kind to those whom are not so polished or professional at living life. I am so professional at juggling that my walk is somewhat wonky. Shaky even. Definitely ODD... at times. Help me through by caring to suspend your judgments so that I can better drop my own hurtful labels which echo endlessly in my head. Help me connect to my heart so that I can glean love and truth in my identity- as I keep trying to walk. Are you brave enough to walk with me? Come along- lets rewrite my future. Lets dive deep into the chaos together- real friends make all the difference.
Before PTSD that is. Before the traumas, let downs, fake families, and failures. Before my life changed forever.
Doubt walks in like a sneaky watermark on the pages of my future. Toying with my potential as it weakens my resilience. I sense the shift inside even though I am willing it not to be true. Walk with me as I unpack my experience with poise. Power-Full. Am I strong enough to erase my insecurities? As I face "time"- both my friend and my enemy- I dare keep learning how to live this life.
When I look in the mirror today I see myself differently even though the world can not visibly see my disability. I mean, maybe they notice my lack of self care in the grooming department, the way I slouch more, the few extra pounds, the empty beer cans... Who am I kidding- I think I somehow gave up on convincing myself I still have dreams. The spark I carried so poignantly, prior to my gut wrenching pain, has lost its luster. Its ok though- because I have not stopped at least believing that there is a way to recover. Something inside me keeps me able to fight and press forward. I keep stepping, even though at many times blindly, trusting that eventually I will find solid ground. Substance worth bringing to the surface for the world to see. Substance I can celebrate with childlike ease.
I am a painter. It is what I call myself. The only true definition I label myself in terms of identity. Painting is my avenue to greatness- even if just on canvas. I know buried in the shelter of my heart I am so much more than a painter. I often ask myself, "where is your spark?", "Where is your light?". I gaze in the mirror and just bid that glimmer to rise up and ignite. To start an inner inferno that can no longer be snuffed out by negativity. Doubt I wish you out!
There are times I see actors in movies or TV caught in legit visceral despair- like the wind is knocked right out of them and they have forgotten how to breathe. Everything stops except the anguish. I can recognize it written all over their face. I think wow- I feel that way too... just below the surface. I have become a pro at disguising it- like my life depends on it. I wonder what life would be like if that sense was removed. If I could just start over tomorrow- maybe I could write a happier story. Even dare to claim a decent destiny.
Fear, rejection, denial, guilt, and the epic gut punch of shame wrestle their way through my bones without grace or mercy at times. I am sure my face shows it when my fecade is battle worn. You know that term "to save face"... its a whole lot harder to achieve than it sounds. In a way maybe I can label myself a hero for the effort it takes to face my past on a daily basis. Do I qualify for a purple heart or metal of valor?
I have wonderful days too, I have light filled happy moments- even of small achievements, and I most of the time sense I can look at a day and pass its tests- except for this weight on my back that just plain makes me tired and haggard with grief. Grief- because I know that I could be a better human, be more rounded- be more whole, because now I may not become as much as I could have been... I am seemingly facing the road "alone". I have friends but I have deep loss too. I literally have no family- not one person who shares my DNA talks to me. That phrase 'family is who you make it' kinda falls short here. Adoption was at first very life changing, after time I live with the label "damaged".
This is where my anger lives. It hides away until my mask is too weak and then wrenches out of me with such profound force- how could I not be shaken by it? Disarmed even... In shock of its gravity? Yet I still have to face the day AND somehow seem "normal" like my "whole body" paints me to be. Please do not think to yourself that this visceral anger is linked to my forgiveness level or my faith beliefs. I mean that is a tiny part of it- well yes actually huge, but small in the bigger picture I am trying to portray. PTSD is messy- even for the most sophisticated or masterful face-mask keepers. For me- even though I am a Christian and have Faith- the road is treacherous at best. Well, maybe not at best.
I have overcome many facets of my past with the Grace of God's love for me. I still have PTSD. My brain is even wired differently- hens the disability. Cortisol- the stress hormone- short circuited by brain pathways. Entrenching me at times in a place where I am forced to relive the traumas- and all that comes with that. I am no longer able to efficiently regulate emotions, multitasking is a full on monster. The physical shaking is not a seizure- at least not anymore- it has been 20 years since my last stressed induced seizure. Fine tuning memory is not even existent. To carry out some basic tasks, that I used to be amazing at, is like learning to walk with a broken back. I somehow keep walking.
I can scarcely recall any positive childhood memories- until a smell, sight, or emotional stimulus for example aids me to remember. It is like my positive self is locked behind a impossible to cross vortex- littered with distractions and tangents of the heart that I can not possibly navigate in this lifetime. I step through a few hurdles just to face bigger ones- all while "trying to adult" and be responsible.
I find ways to cope. Coping is not overcoming. Overcoming is not denying my past or trying to forget my troubles. I want to actually overcome but I do not think I know what that looks like. So I keep waking up and putting one foot in front of the other. I dare to look in the mirror every single day and hope I find grace present there. I think so stinking much that I almost live in my head more than I embrace my heart. More than I can even begin to hope for a centered future. I keep bidding tomorrow to come so that I can somehow find myself in the act of this so called overcoming.
Am I lost? I am not sure. I think it means I sense I am "unseen" -for whom I know I am without my past- as my pains tricks me. I feel somehow incomplete and I think I have resolved that I will always be this way. At a deficit- even though I am a great person. I am a loving person. I am strong. Somehow living will become more exciting to participate in so please do not feel sorry for me. You can not fix me. I will be ok. I am ok even. I am just not "arrived" yet. Maybe nobody is.
All this to say, be kind to those whom are not so polished or professional at living life. I am so professional at juggling that my walk is somewhat wonky. Shaky even. Definitely ODD... at times. Help me through by caring to suspend your judgments so that I can better drop my own hurtful labels which echo endlessly in my head. Help me connect to my heart so that I can glean love and truth in my identity- as I keep trying to walk. Are you brave enough to walk with me? Come along- lets rewrite my future. Lets dive deep into the chaos together- real friends make all the difference.
