Don't Call Me Strong

I write and share a lot about trauma. I want to be clear though my existence in spite of trauma doesn't represent some sort of inherent strength. I am not a better person because I'm surviving. For anyone who's ever experienced trauma there were only two paths and for the fact that I am here taking up space I am not more worthy than those who chose the other path. Cause the thing is trauma is in many ways insurmountable. I will never be a person without trauma. I can only hope to be a person healing from trauma because I'm not even sure one can be a person healed from trauma.

Self Discovery

The sheer neglect

I compromised myself

Crashed and burned from straddling the line

Was swallowed whole by a crush

And my heart split open my chest

Isolation

I was on the beach with my family a couple of days ago. Generally just enjoying and taking in a relaxing late Summer day. I walked only a few feet away from my group to get a picture of a really cool dead tree and nearly stumbled over a dead bird. I audibly gasped, disgusted by the stark reality of life, and yet I continued on and took the pictures. On my way back to join my group I stopped to take a better look at the bird. I felt disgusted with myself for my initial reaction because

it's that guttural discomfort with the harsh realities of life that have kept me up at night. My own suffering has made me feel like a sideshow freak, the kind kept in the musty corner of the tent with signs warning that what you are about to see is not for the faint of heart, that it may upset women and children. My trauma feels like a chasm between myself and the rest of the world. I don't blame the gawkers or those who avert their eyes, I am them, I avoid the darkness. And yet I live here now, shrouded in my own pain and suffering, feeling I am too much for so many.