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Things continue shifting, different, unfamiliar;
and yet I've never connected more to the past
Smells, music, and the changing daylight
pulls me backwards all too fast
Floating through time, I am remembering life
as it felt when it still felt new
Unveiling the years for as cold as they were,
and hoping peace will follow through
Meeting the moments i feared to experience-
they lived relentlessly, testing, intolerable
Coming to the same realization again,
and endlessly digging through the inoperable
One day salvation will come as a gifted warm bath,
to clean her, and finally wash away all of our sins
To free us of what has always been too heavy
to have ever been made to hold within.
draft on here :) first i've made in awhile
inthewater May 20
terror turns my legs to stone

I can't move, and I'm afraid to think
because if I think, I'll see
and if I see, I'll know
and the terror will grow
- what does this mean?

my legs sink through the floor
while tears melt into a face
which has bled all its color
and the face belongs to me

as the terror grows
my eyes do, too
to get a better view of my life
which is flashing before them

every memory

in a matter of seconds

and I'm left smiling

despite the slowly growing realization

of what lies in front of me

- what does this mean?

and my smile disappears as quickly as it came,
because I realize why my forgotten moments are
whipping through my mind
at a breakneck speed
and that is because my subconscious has registered
before I can think it:
I am face to face with death

the terror turns two-fold:
I'm afraid of what I'm looking at
and fearful of what caused it
am I in danger, too?

for a moment I mouth soundless words
looking for what to say
- what does this mean?

and once again my subconscious overrules me

I feel it in my toes
it bubbles up
through my stomach,
and I am startled by the horrific, primal sound
that escapes my throat

my heart and mind are at odds with each other
to protect myself in the present,
while trying to salvage what remains of my future
trying to piece together what this means

have you ever experienced
a soul-level rupture?
Quincy May 19
A silent god, both mute and deaf. You only speak to me with your hands, with the soft trailing pads of your fingertips.
burning, scorching, tearing the flesh from my skin. You split me open, Moses and his ****** red sea.

You dissect, examine. You sew up. You do not put back together. Or maybe you do but wrong. All my organs out of place. Dirt swimming in my intestines. So wrong I rip myself back open to make it right. Rip until I can't taste the lavender on my tongue.

You don't wear gloves. You don't Because you don't care, or maybe because you do. Because it won't matter, or because it matters too much. Because this isn't dissection this is ****. Because this is your hands inside me. Because this is the satisfaction of stealing the last thing that was mine, the last pure part of me. This is you staring desperately into the murk hoping to see something, this is the horror of seeing nothing but tar.
Hey, so this is pretty dark. I've been having a PTSD episode and writing has helped tremendously. It's hard to express how it feels to someone else, how afraid and sick I get. But this is as close as I can get.
Lizzie Bevis May 19
Inside my fragile mind,
thoughts swirl like a whirlwind,
tumbling and crashing
as flashbacks build stress and fear,
and I am not strong enough,
as I plead for the old me again.

Yet I pause,
searching for the silence,
as I challenge my senses.
I let it all settle,
like dust finding rest
on an old sunlit
cobwebbed windowsill.

It takes patience
like pulling tangled linen
from messy cupboards,
slowly unravelling and refolding
all of the trauma and pain,
arranging them carefully
back onto their shelves again.

Processing 
one
thought
at
a
time.

What if this trauma reveals
no flaws, but stories
with each courageous step forward
on this discovery journey,
each moment a lesson,
blunting the sharp edges
of my harsh self-judgment.

A kind hand reaches out
talking and listening
as the healing cognitive shifts begin,
and the storm clouds slowly part,
revealing warm sunlight,
teaching me at last
that it is okay to feel.

Step by step,
we build upon the foundations
of the past and future,
finding anchors,
to ground my scattered thoughts,
as I learn to breathe easy again.

From my traumatic moments,
hope emerges from an open book
as my life turns a page,
revealing a fresh chapter
and a newfound strength
as my vulnerability now stands
free and fiercely proud.

We gather up
the scattered pieces,
and walls crumble down,
as an understanding dawns.
Life's chaos grows quieter
when faced with the truth,
and in each moment I found resilience
to this part of my challenged life.

Together,
We rode through the storm
to find the calm within its eye,
where clarity begins,
the heart and mind unite
and I finally realise
that we are all worthy
of finding peace.

©️Lizzie Bevis
Today I stood in the fire, my mind and heart torn with stress, my spirit weary.
And in one moment, someone said the one word I needed to hear, "God."
My weary mind, battling with PTSD and OCD, calmed instantly.
Your peace enveloped me and carried me above the waves, back to shelter, back to grace.
I have never asked for an easy life; I have asked for grace to persevere.
I have asked for grace to show others kindness when my flesh is anything but peaceful, when war has taken me over.
In your wisdom, you have given me grace.
Thank you isn't enough, though maybe if I leave that here on this page, perhaps tonight it will suffice.
-Rhia Clay
Contemplation

I find myself sitting here for a moment, gathering my thoughts like fragile treasures in my hands, collecting my heart as it stretches across the night sky. I carve out a sanctuary where I can discover a bit of solitude and tranquility. I inscribe my faith onto this page, creating a space for reflection.

I write a name that brings serenity to my weary mind—a name that envelops me in peace: God. This peace fortifies me against the relentless pressures of a life that sometimes feels foreign to me.

Even now, I struggle to fully understand how living with PTSD has transformed my mind. At times, I find clarity, while at other moments, simply existing feels overwhelming. Yet one truth remains clear: I have weathered storms before, and during those trials, God stood by my side. Even in uncharted territories, he is already there, waiting.

He was with me when my world felt like it was collapsing, bursting apart from within, and he remains with me now. So, I take a few more deep breaths, pondering the depth of his love for us. How can it be that he loves us so beyond measure? Yet, he does.

-Rhia Clay
There was stillness, all was held in place.
Untouched beneath the world’s design.
Particles drifted in quantum space.
Slates unmarked by hand or time.

Trauma struck as it cracked, it would stir.
The mind betrayed and the self, unmade.
A tremor passed like my whispers slurred.
And from my depths, the void would invade.

fractured pulses spread and came apart.
The fixed quantum law began to bend.
Reality unravels, alongside the heart,
broken strands of thought began to descend.

Screamed echoes take a visual shape.
Waves collide in the fractured pulses.
What once was whole, begins breaking down.
Protections kept, now stripped from their holsters.  

Energies spin untethered, unbound.
The self just dissolves, with no grip to keep.
The sky starts crying with quantum sound.
as shadows stretch by a time growing deep.

The mind, a mirror, shattered and gold.
Reflecting a new empty void from within it.
Each thought disperses and shatters its mold.
Where once was trust, now grows resentment.

A field of force has been left unstable.
Blackening a heart that is no longer true.
Where once was love, now hate fragmented.
The self, adrift. Forced to weather through.

In my withering thought, the echoes still roam.
Their dreamscape heaven has been swept away.
The pulse of life now hardened to stone.
My silhouette dwells in the shades of gray.

And still when my skies cry with quantum sound,
The whimpers of essence frowning frail and thin.
The hope that was pure can no longer he found.
The self is restricted from all it might have been.

♦ Đerek Λbraxas ♦
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