Shattered Glass Life After Abuse

I was experiencing a trauma trigger. Writing this poem centered me and calmed down my emotions. It is odd but it is what flowed. I do not apologize or analyze because it is real. Poetry coming from trauma is healing; don't look to critically; simple gaze upon like you would abstract art hanging upon a wall. _______________________________________________________ I sense I am coming unglued. Drip, drip, snip, snip Like a rag doll, stitches removed, Pecked away by a raven or crow. It's okay it doesn't know. Carelessly, unaware, It's a bird: it does not care. Hear the water hit the pan, Irritating is the sound, Slowly dripping to the ground. Tin, tapping, repeat, repeat. A dripping faucet, I have a leak. Sadness seeps out of my core. Superglue-- it holds no more. Glasses broken, my dress is tore. How many times did she survive the war? Battles her both day and night? Still she hangs on in the fight. Warrior, so others claim. ...

Being a survivor of child abuse doesn't seem to ever end in "she lived happily ever after again." I have made so much progress, but on days that I dip - frankly, I hate it: disassociation. The past few days I have felt like I was in my body but another person was controlling me - Miss. Edgy Depresso! I tried to hide in my bedroom because I didn't want to snap at anyone. I knew I was plunging; a few days ago I had my girlfriend pray for me. I know when things are not right; I feel it all over my body: heart races or pounds, blood vessels bulge in my hands, my arms feel like someone has punched them, and I am irritable. Yet, the worst symptom is feeling trapped inside my body and the mood--unable to snap out of it. All I can do is keep "bubble wrap" around me and try to lower any pressure or stimulus so I wont pop. I pass mirrors and see such a sad face; a shell; a flat affect - zombie lady. Where did I go? If this never happens to you, feel ble...

Alone - something that we never are,  but so often "alone" feels true. God says, "I will never leave you or forsake you," therefore, in reality I am NEVER alone. But ... But... We all have our own answers to what comes after that word. Sometimes when I feel as though I am trapped, stuck, can't get out...that I am alone. I want to adventure, I want to be with people who want to be with me, I want to see what is out there. But... Again, I am stopped. I have an exception. I have a pinnacle turning point that is specific to me. Forgery, formed of flesh and filled with my being. Yet I am floating in a quasi-plane of knowing. Dipped, spiraled, tumbled. Until I land in the cell, door slammed, key turned. Locked away--my penalty for surviving. Existing in the midst like a mirage, Any moment, the pendulum swings. Parallel worlds, simultaneously misunderstood. Strong, yet fragile. Brave, yet broken. Passioned, yet deflated. How do so ...

These words-this poem- came today because it has been a hard day, frustrating. A day when I keep blundering and still I never give up. All I know is to step in the presence of God and allow Him to fill me up every time I am bumped into and spilt over. An exercise in humility and grace. Type, Delete, Repeat Is the rhythm of my day. Gutting all I need, Makes me have to stay. Floodgates opening, Wear the dam away. Missing all I need, Help me Lord to pray. Million Chances- False start tries Feel the glances. Adrenaline slides. Go, Slushing, Relief Is the volume in my mind. Fighting to believe Keeps me close in time. Exhaust, Repenting Do you still see me? Taking all I need, From Your hand receive. Millions Chances- Lost in Gambles Move, E-vances Humbled pile of clay. Off the ledge I fall Into Your embrace. Trusting all I need, Supply me Thy GRACE! And I type, delete, repeat, Every step I take, Still I'm forwarding, Forwarding, I Sent Me. ...

Motherhood is a blessing - a gift from God, but it is also a very difficult job - particularly for woman who are adult survivors of child abuse. Great thoughts don't always become great reality. Often what I see in my head as being something sweet, meaningful and appropriate crumbs into a struggle, hurt feelings, offenses and never-gonna-happens. I can not tell you how many times this scenario has repeated that past 20 years. It still never gets easy to be part of this two-step dance that is more like a tug-of-wills. A heart slashing - never what it was intended to be - occurs. This poem was birthed out of such a time as this. Phone is ringing in my ears, My heart pounds, message clear. Why are people not listening, To the words - what they mean. I try talking to my child, It'll be good, I decide. But it blows up in my face Homemade cocktail Burns the place. I only longed to talk it out, Think about, what was said, I listened to the voice I heard Sympa...

I want to help others but I can't help myself. I love and know God and trust Him too, but that doesn't stop my brain from being a jumbled mess.  Jumbled thoughts can be pretty! Scattered thoughts keep bombarding me.  I feel like a rattle-head.  I think I wrote once about this before, being a rattle-head . And it was the least-read post...Even I couldn't relate to it much after the episode passed. I have cried out to God for help this morning and for the past two days. I have gone to others for prayer and carefully, with exercising great inner control tried to explain to my family of three teens and my dear husband (I almost didn't want to say dear, oh, how hard it can be on a marriage--to twirl out of control and to not know why or how to make the top stop spinning). I don't know what pushed the top into its first spin.  And that is part of the problem I can't think clearly. I can't remember even simple things.  It is like the f...