Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) Support Group
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Not Everything Needs a Reason
There is no wide hewn path from here
No lasting swath, cut and clear
The eternal growth of passing seasons
Has many a rhyme
And many a reason
I keep forging the path
And it keeps growing back
In the endless cycles of life
You know what to do.
Only if you want to.
There is no wide hewn path from here
No lasting swath, cut and clear
The eternal growth of passing seasons
Has many a rhyme
And many a reason
I keep forging the path
And it keeps growing back
In the endless cycles of life
You know what to do.
Only if you want to.
This popped into my head for some reason just now.
When the abyss looks back
And it winks
As if it knows the joke
You realize
You are the punchline.
Yes, grim, but it was that kind of morning....
Been too long since we shared poetry.
I can't sleep, can't feel
Anything.
Time passes in chunks now --
A month passes for me
Like someone else's day.
Zombies don't have rhythms;
I go wherever my trance
Takes me.
Today I panic in a store,
Where danger doesn't lurk.
Maybe if I stay awake, there
Won't be any nightmares tonight.
But I can't go without rest forever.
It's over, finished. So why am I
Sweating? Why am I still afraid?
Today I saw most of my family
For the first time in a year.
Nothing felt real; everybody was a
Stranger I am supposed to know.
"Dissociation," I think a doctor said.
No bumps, no bruises. No broken limbs.
But my mind is shattered, along with my
Soul.
I don't know how to tell you that, don't
Know how to put the genie back in the bottle.
When my emotions got shut off, I didn't get to
choose which ones I wanted to keep;
They all left; they are all gone.
And it feels like there is an invisible hand
Keeping me frozen on my bed.
I used to care about how I looked, but now
All I can think about is what I saw, what I
Experienced; nothing seems to matter beyond
That. I will do anything -- anything at all --
To keep from repeating that time.
I think more now, talk less. Months of numbness
Are followed by a week of depression and tears.
I am weak, frail, imperfect.
Broken.
My identity then irrevocably altered.
Do I want help, you ask.
How are you going to help me?
You weren't there; you don't know
What I saw, what I did.
What was done to me.
How does one 'undo' a scorched mind?
Deep within me a voice mumbles 'help;'
But you'll never hear that. All you will
See is my distant, fixed stare and my
Clenched jaw. I can't take the chance.
How long will it be before you
Give up on me? I know it's coming;
I'm resigned to my fate. Resigned to the
Universe, go with the flow
Band-Aids
by Shel Silverstein
I have a Band-Aid on my finger,
One on my knee, and one on my nose,
One on my heel, and two on my shoulder,
Three on my elbow, and nine on my toes.
Two on my wrist, and one on my ankle,
One on my chin, and one on my thigh,
Four on my belly, and five on my bottom,
One on my forehead, and one on my eye.
One on my neck, and in case I might need em
I have a box of thirty-five more.
But oh! I do think it's sort of a pity
I don't have a cut or a sore!
Where the Sidewalk Ends, 1974