Read introduction

This was incredibly difficult to write.

Firstly because the "defining moment" I describe in here, although an old buried memory is like something new and I still feel a deep pang of sadness when I reflect on it and the changes I underwent as a result of it.

Secondly because talking about this at all is still very new to me. Every time I do, I relive it as if I were right there. The physiological effects notwithstanding (very tensed muscles, headache, shoulder ache, pains in my legs etc - basically all the bits of me that got "broken") they are unpleasant memories (obviously) and I would much prefer NOT to think about them, even though I know I must, in order to heal.

Lastly, because my daughter came in half way through writing this. I've perfected the art of switching out of "flashback" into loving daddy, thanks to some tricks that my PTSD counsellor has taught me.
One of the most potent of these is two bottles of scent. 1 containing albas oil, the other containing my cologne (cartier - declaration).

The first, grabs my attention; making use of our primeval ability whereby smell seems to have a super highway in our brains. Apparently, smell was a very important part of human evolution!
This brings me out of the flashback and back to the "here and now"

The second is a soothing smell. Helps bring the threat response down, allowing my compassion (for myself and others) to flourish, where otherwise my drive and threat systems would choke it, like weeds.

I hope that talking about this helps someone out there who is going through or has gone similar problems.

Finish it

Evil-minionby Ethel Twigg29 Apr 2015

Eventually
I wanted them to finish it
sick of the pain
broken I thought
beyond repair
bits of me I rely on
to maintain my dreams
my fingers on a piano
the head I use for love
my shoulders that I use to carry
the wings that keep me airborne
all bleeding
all broken
dull aches and fresh stabs of lightning

I wanted them to finish it too
wanted to deny them their fun
the little games
of inflicting pain
to see what I would do
there's rarely an uglier sight
than a face screwed up
in twisted delight
as a species we really perfected
the cowardly art of spite

But last Thursday
Hannah my healer and I
discovered something hidden
and forgotten
really not sure why
a defining moment in that time
when a steel wall came down
with such crushing, destructive force
obliterating my panic, fear
and need to release through tears
and said to me
"No"
"Despair is not welcome here"
and I became numb

So though I could no longer feel
the despair welling up
I still wanted them to finish it
to be free of the sick fucks.