My therapist told me
that I have a way with words.
She  said that I am able to tell the story
without telling the story.

As if my word wasn’t good enough to be heard
so I made a collage of pictures that were easier to handle. Cut and paste smaller chunks to complete a sentence. As if the sentence was ever really complete. My trauma was too large to swallow. How sad that must be.

Once my therapist told me that if I hadn’t had a life full of trauma I would not have survived my most previous. And maybe she is right.

But today I was informed that my ****** was being released early from prison. His six year sentence was too long for him. Well I will have to fight for my life for the rest of my life. how exhausting that can be.

Work release program. As much as I believe in prison rehabilitation I never thought that it would come to backfire. Never once did I think my core values would become my enemy. Now I’m a slave to my bleeding heart.

find a new place. find a new beginning. find a new life so that he can’t ruin what I have restored. They say I am crazy for being afraid, as if he hasn’t broken me to the pieces that I was. As if he hadn’t shattered what was remaining before.

Today I went to a store I bought every weapon that I could buy without purchasing a gun because my therapist told me she was afraid that I would try to attempt again. She cried. And for the first time in my life I realized that someone does care.

Even with the catastrophic news, I have learned something new. I am resilient. I am so much more than I was before. And if anyone should be afraid, it should be him. I am no longer lost. I am no longer fragile. And I will not run in place any more.

I have an insatiable envy for the fortunate.
I blame you for things that you haven’t done.
Welcome to your first lesson in how to be trish.

Ever financial burden was always our fault.
Rent wasn’t paid. Food was scarce. Our clothes were too small. You learn not to talk about such trivial things.

Asking questions about a fight was never appropriate. That’s when you find out that the fight was your fault. Life would be so much easier without you. So would their relationship.

After we were taken by the state, our mother made sure we knew that was our fault. We never did the dishes. We never did our laundry. We were such bad children.

May 2017, I was ***** at a party. He fought hard to remind me that it was my fault for being drunk. For being there. For being a woman. For being alive. For breathing his air.

Now I punish myself in many ways because part of myself believes him. My brain has started to see things again. Though I am vegetarian, I bleed my fingers dry as if that’s not breaking the rules. My teeth hurt from clenching in my sleep because you will not leave me alone.

I walk around dragging my feet, heavy with armor. My calves are always protected. The last time they were exposed, my tendons were severed and I was rendered disabled. My therapist tells me that my armor is a flaw. It is unnecessary to be used all of the time. But don’t the public carry guns just in case? Wear masks just in case? Trust no one. For your own protection.

Growing up I was given this mindset. It was the only mindset I had known. So I kept it and now it is all I have. Such a curse to have bestowed.
So yes, this is your first lesson. Taking blame and bearing their cross.

My therapist said it is a benefit to realize that no one person is all good or all bad. But I cannot see you without seeing all bad. Feeling all bad. Hearing all bad. Seeing, feeling and hearing all bad for days that follow. Shadows and movements that creep, whispering my name, brushing against my body while I lay down at night. You are all bad. And if you are not, it’s only because you stole the good from me and left your bad as a gift.

And for this, I give you a solid *******, have a **** day.

My dreams are always bright in color.
So real yet so impossible.

Sometimes I forget that waking up screaming isn’t part of everyone’s routine.
There are time that I don’t remember that my story is sacred.

It drags behind me like the bumper of my car.
I am a terrible driver. But how can I get better with so many bugs on my wind shield.
The more I try to wipe it off, the more smudge and confusing it gets. I’ve learned to drive without my eyes.

Without my eyes, I run every red light, crash into every stop sign, I often wonder how I haven’t died yet. Why can’t I be that blessed.

My therapist says to use windex. I try but sometimes the windex stops working. Why isn’t the medicine making me better? I can no longer wake from the nightmares but how does that help me?

Constant running. Constant screaming. Constantly fighting for survival over and over again, sleep is my unwavering enemy.

Prison does not save a victim. When you took part of me, you left a piece of you and I hate myself because I can’t burn it out of my skin. No amount of bleach can cleanse you from my veins.

The water that pours from my blind eyes does not  erase you from my soul. oh how sad that is.

Once I was just me.
Now my dreams spell  WE.

“Use your story. Save someone like you”

I didn’t realize it was the brokens job to save the other broken people.
I didn’t realize people born with every advantage has no responsibility for those who weren’t.

I didn’t realize that pain and trauma automatically morphed me into a savior for all.
How does a broken heart heal while still in pain?
Doesn’t it occur to you that I might cause trauma of my own?

You cannot mend what’s broken, if you are not intact.

I am a ticking time bomb.
My PTSD left me with anger and rage that I cannot satisfy.
Please don’t spill your cup. Please take off your shoes at the door.
If I have to vacuum one more ******* time.

It’s not about the dirt. It’s not about the stain.
It’s about the chaos I cannot shake.
Constant instability, and disaster.
I am unstable.

So no.
I won’t share my story with someone to save them.
Because I cannot save the broken. I will shatter what is left.

This is my first refusal. My very first no.
And it is the kindest thing I have ever done

The Weight of the world rests on the shoulders that are willing to carry it.
It’s crazy that for so long
I carried your boulders on my neck
without any thought of the curvature of my spine.

Persistent years of ache and weary
Yet I still held the stones that would leave damage for a lifetime.
I allowed you to pile on as much as you please
And all I ever said was thank you
For allowing me to be part of what saves you.

Years past, and I did not save you.
Years go by, and suddenly
I am the one that needs saved
I am the one with boulders
I am the one with a broken back and nobody willing to help.

A spine can only handle
so much pressure over so much time.
My spine has had enough.
And finally it caves after years of neglecting myself for everyone else.

You watch through the Platforms
prowling through my history.
Knowing that these boulders are yours.
boulders that you never claimed once you left.

I stopped blaming you
For my inability to let go of the stones that you gave me.
I have learned to take responsibility
For my part in my own destruction.

Now, I have repaired my spine
Tremendous hills climbed in -0 cold.
Heavy Tsunami’s with no boat.
My hands have cuts from the rocks I crawled over to get here.

The only thing that really matters now,
Is that I made it. Spine intact.
With a lesson I will never have to learn again.

It’s always dark when I start to miss your touch.
The 12 o clock crunch of your chips in our bed.
The way you always smelled so strong.
Though, we both knew that being such was not your strong suit.

It’s always that song that makes me miss you.
The one we would blast our souls out to, on winding road.
The melody that melted our minds into one.
As if we weren’t already.

You always called me an 80’s movie.
Never was quite sure
if it was a compliment or not.
But it didn’t matter because You overlapped it with sweet fog.

You liked that I was more broken than you.
And so did I.

You once played a song.
When I didn’t cry you said “you must’ve never been heartbroken before”.
Now I break down any time I hear it.

You showed me all of the fire flies in my grass.
Now I see them and my eyes go blurry.
The blurry streams down my face even more when they are gone.

You must be visiting someone else tonight.

I still text your number.
I know I shouldn’t
but somehow I feel like you get the messages.
I hear your response in my head as I hit send.

I can still feel like pressure of your fingertips against mine, as if they never left.
It makes me wonder how I could fall in love with someone I could never get close to.

But you liked that I was more in love than you.
And so did I.