I keep catching myself thinking back to the last year when August was still alive and September was safe. The traumaversaries are closing in on me, eating pockets of time, stealing months away and replacing them with trepidation. Soon the edges of the traumaversaries will touch leaving no pockets of peace to hide away in; robbing me of a reprieve until the next wave of brutal memories rip me into the storms I have desperately fled from. I wonder how long these memories will pierce my soul like shards of glass I have gotten so used to being there that their removal almost seems more callous than how they got there. I shudder when people tell me to forget the past as if those memories are invited to invade my today and offered my peace rather than stealing it away from me as I desperately try to cling to the beauty that is Now. I wonder how people who have not experienced trauma think about it. Do they picture me purposefully searching out the memories as if they don’t bubble at the surface waiting for the sights, sounds, and sensations of an ordinary day to remind me enough so they can throw me back into a panic as if my next breath means literal life or death? I am exhausted from being kind to people that do not comprehend the cruelty of their well -intentioned advice; that I do not need reminders to be grateful or encouraged to try to forget things that have stolen my sense of security as if I do not try these things unprompted every waking and sleepless moment.
Published by EmSpiration
As a survivor of multiple traumas I have been told by "professionals" that statistically I would complete suicide by my 20's. I literally score out of the Adverse Childhood Experiences tests and that just describes my childhood. By the time I had reached midlife, my brother was in jail, my biological mother had completed suicide, and a natural disaster stole every single thing I had worked two and three jobs for, skipped meals for, left friends and family for....once again I found myself starting over. But this time I was 43, no family, and three daughters depending on me. People kept asking me "how" I did it- over and over- trauma after trauma, loss after loss. It was not until I had lost it all to the Bayou Goddess that has become my pet name for the Devastation that is Hurricane Harvey, that I even realized that I think fundamentally different than other humans. Survival is not an option- it is an obligation. My calling is not to teach people how to survive a trauma- it is to model for them how to THRIVE through adversity. View all posts by EmSpiration