Lived Experience Forum

[Rick]

F#ck it!

I aint right. 

I have longed for death since I was a little boy.

It is stronger as I age. 

It is upsetting.

Debilitating.

Just another in the conucopia of symptoms. 

I am not in danger \

Have no fear for that.

But it is a constant monster. It never goes away. Good day or bad it's there.

Aww F@ck it...............................

[kristin]

No words can really be sufficient in this space, so instead I send you  & virtual hugs. And I will pray for epiphanies.

Kindest regards,

Kristin

[Loopy]

Rick, what can I say without sounding patronising but "stick with it"

loopy

[Neb]

Hey Rick, I hear you! I am mostly in a good space these days, but that little demon is always lurking in the back brain.

Nothing else to say that is not trite or maudlin!

[Rick]

And again and again. 

I was recently puled up on the forum for being profane. It was true and I was sorry I made the person uncomfortable.

But it was like being taken to task. I don't enjoy that experience, it works as a trigger for so much nasty stuff. 

So I have'nt posted for awhile. I've still been reading but I can't my typing to myself.

I've been researching abuse and complex ptsd recently for some articles I'm writing. I've learned alot about my own condition.

I understand that there has been very significant damage to to the structure of my brain. This damage once past a certain point in a persons phsical development becomes a permanent part of the architechture.

Now I kinda knew this, but at the same time it was a nebulous kind of knowing. Hearsay evidence. But now I've read the studies and the research it all makes more sense. I understand why I feel and behave as I do.

But I don't like it.

Not one f#cking bit of it.

Cos for the last 4 days i've been upset, weepimg, remembering, feeling chills, feeling shame, anger,pointless. 

Not depressed, the meds have done a good job on the suicidiality. Awesome. Wonderful, but the rest has been thrown into stark relief.

And nothing I do stops it. 

I now understand why that is, but it is a cold comfort. Of little worth other than being an intellectual knowing.

There are times like now when I get overwhelmed by symptoms of the damn thing.

I find it so hard to leave the house. I get it, but it still confuses me. I am afraid to leave my controlled environment. I hate being afraid. 

I keep flashing onto that f#cking woman. A mother? I am so angry and I'm still frightened. 

I see what she's done. Not every instance for there are too many to see in a day. But it's in technicolour with surround sound. 

I see me begging to make it stop. And the emotions are those of a little boy. 

I'm not a little boy. Dammit@!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

But that's the deal.

I'm feeling so much I don't know what I'm feeling. I'm seeing so much but I do know what I'm seeing. And I remember thinking I deserve this. 

It did'nt make sense otherwise. 

The past should stay in the past. It does'nt though.

[Peppermint]

Hi @Rick 

I'm sorry that you're struggling. I hear what you and others say about the moderation. I acknowledge it can be heavy sometimes. It's hard to balance expression against triggers. We just want everyone to feel safe and that's not easy to accomplish.

You sound incredible self-aware. Does knowing feel better than not knowing? It's a new level of control. 

[Loopy]

Rick, I seached and found this poem about P.T.S.D.. It was an eye opener for me as a PTSD sufferer. I hope it helps you, a bit. Its long , but so is PTSD.

PTSD

The cell I live in is my mind, where I reside, the place I hide.

For when the past comes here to stay, I fold away, I hide inside.

This cell is dank, it’s walls sweat blood, it’s ceiling crushes from above.

The floor is wet, the stench is sweat, this place is lacking warmth, and love.

I built this place with my own hand, the reason for to lock away,

The light of day.

And darkness reigns in this foul place, the flashbacks come, the nightmares stay.

For when the past comes round to call, my sanga hides me from the truth.

It shelters me from all that hate, it is my only covering roof.

And though to all I’m brash and bold, my outer skin seems hard and cold,

Reality is a different thing, I feel so weak, so used,

So Old.

I’ll tell you how this came about, although I really have no doubt,

That you already know,

Because like me you have this room, the place to go, where you can shout,

It came about as I am weak, a person plagued by simple thoughts,

That are not simple anymore, they squirm and toss, a hate, of sorts.

And when I close my eyes so tight, I see again the shattered forms,

Of burning buildings, burning men, in bloody lightning storms.

Of screaming children, arms and legs, just lying there, the dawn to find,

Of shattered lives, of shattered minds, of shattered hopes, from my own kind.

And so my cell protects me from this scene, but in itself provides a place,

Where torture rules, the stinging whip, the tears of blood run down my face,

For in my mind, I built this place.

The brick’s are moulded from my hate, and kiln-fired in the fire of life.

The morter mixed from fear of death, and watered down with tears, and strife.

So course by course, as years went by, I built this cell,

I learned to cry.

And when at last my time does come, when I lie down, to wilt and d.e,

Then this fine shelter will collapse, fall over and be turned to dust.

For all my fears will go with me, my legacy of brick and rust.

My spirit then will fly so free, the past not there to trouble me.

I hope.

And so to you I say these things, to fellows who have lived like me,

To you who’s anguish rules your lives, fear not,

For someday we’ll be free.

The Words of an Angel

[Rick]

@Loopy 

 Geez Lopped One,

That it isnt it.

It's just like that. I'm weeping right now not because it's beautiful, it's not.

But it draws a picture of what this crap is.

I saw so much flash line by line. It is a very upsetting piece but at the same time it's too correct to be ignored or hidden.

So often I am as alone as I was as a boy. And I was very alone then.

I had two brothers, yknow.  Neither of whom were hurt so were never there though they saw and denied. My father was often home in the next room but he was never there. Though he swa and heard and denied.

So I was alone. Surrounded by family but alone. Adopted into this family. Chosen for this family.

Alone.

I have copied this poem into my docs. It is a work of great talent and insight.

In my own work as a writer I have never been as honest as that.

Thank you Loopy.

Rick 

[Rick]

@Peppermint 

Hey Peppermint.

S'ok. Was'nt a moderator anyhoo. It was the person who's post I was respoding to and they certainly have the right to say how they wish to be addressed.

As far a new level of control goes, self knowledge for me is a little old hat. I understand the process and the whys and the wherefores. 

Knowing for me, is a let down. Because I understand what's happening but I can't intervene. It's most vexing.

It's the reminder that I can't control this stuff which guts me. It confuses and confounds.

I can deal with the every day acuteness fairly wel. Just grit the teeth and let go. But there is also a cycle of severe acuity that always catches me. 

As a part of my recovery process and the acceptence of the unchanging nature of this rubbish, I reseach to be able to understand objectively this and other complex MI so I may eventually when I'm finaly employed to work constructively as a mental health worker/ advocate. 

So the knowledge is important. The objective view of the knowledge is important. 

I just hope I get the chance to use it.

R

[peace]

@Rick I am glad you were able to write and share with us again. So sorry you've suffered the feelings of shame and what not. I do not think you deserve it as your post was one of compassion. No more beating yourself up.
Thanks for sharing what you are learning about PTSD.