Recovery, Selfportraits, trauma


Authors Note:
This series of writing and art documents a period of time from November 2011 through March 2015. This is primarily a written excursion intended to retrace, understand and release the events surrounding a trauma that took place while I was still living in New York City. Eventually there will be five chapters in total. My only desire is to bring hope to another while I learn continue to grow along my written path of discovery. And as always peace love and light as we each venture through our own life journeys.

Part One:
I never quite understood the power of my PTSD. At some point I had slipped through the boarders of my denial, sheltered, safe from the impact and the grip that my trauma has held over me these past four and a half years. Although this event is not new, the threats feel as fresh as this morning’s news. Throughout this time I have attempted to remain protected by my minds invisible shield. With large shards of my memory set patiently on hold, select thoughts have sat waiting for an appropriate moment of release. When the time is ripe they exit accordingly, seeping through the boundaries of my mind, wandering out through the soft fleshed walls of me, where I have kept them fenced in and safe. Or have they kept me? When moments of unspoken permission arise, I give my inner workings a gentle nod and attempt to do my best to come to terms with them. At these moments I work to the best of my ability to become reacquainted with a nearly forgotten self. I promise to be patient although frustration, back-stepping and rage arise. As I relearn to live, I begin to trust. And with the universe on my side at last I pray for the re-assemblage of my life to begin.

I do have hope absolute that my mind terrors will decelerate, no longer wielding weapons, aimlessly thrashing throughout my muted unprotected thoughts like slow dull blades ripping, wounding my slow restructuring spirit that I now choose to claim once more as my own. The reality of course is that these memories have always been and always will be a part of who I am. Now I am learning to own them, to walk with them to no longer cower in their presence. What I am really talking about is pain management and harm reduction.  Ultimately I am learning to love all of my experiences and come to terms with them while at the same time, expunging the power that the memories of this event have held over me and their physical and mental impact. The moment had to be right and no life journey is the same. There are no rules. I know in time my life catalogue of experiences, like all of our journeys will be looked upon as a magnificent tool, for both my own health and well-being and I am confident to also help another as my existence continues to expand and unfold and as my heart opens. (sorry-not sorry if some are tired of hearing my mantra…xxx)

Up until now I have spent much of my time perched high riding lost on the back of my denial, blindfolded and numb. Living cocooned in a synthetic liquid escape of injected crystal meth. Through the first half of this dark adventure I had participated in a delusional codependent relationship. Unknowingly creating my own not so safe-safe space of disintegrating independence, flesh and sense of self. Later, I have found out that most of my actions have been fairly normal reactive behaviors. Over these years I have ridden the wicked waves of my emotional and phycological destruction. Each thrust seemed cruel, malicious and often difficult to define. I’d find myself smashing high then crashing low, I collapsed with each rush upon the shores of my physic reality. Spiritual erosion nibbled at the framework of my fundamentally kind yet isolating character. I fumbled about with good intent, generally clueless throughout this journey. I have experienced many rebirths, peaks and ravines on every level. I have struggled up and down round and round through sobriety and spiritual awakenings. I often revisited the ruins of my personal truths, although my visits may have been momentary. A perpetual syncopation of interruptions was in motion. Consisting of terror, regret, hysteria, self blame, and an endless series of nagging how’s what’s and why’s? My existence had become a constant dance of two steps forward and three steps back. It was a slow death cha-cha!

This experience, as I assume it is for many others has been a hateful beast. It had kept me addicted to meth for what seemed to be a lifetime. Although I understand the meth protected me from the shock and scars of trauma, and I am actually grateful for this tool, I think I would have been off this planet long ago without it. But “TINA” only kept me among the living dead and she sure as hell seemed to have dragged this healing process out. As I skip back down Flashback Lane it is no accident that my drug use skyrocketed immediately after my hospital excursion that pre-Thanksgiving week. It took me six months post trauma to admit what had happened or to even choke out that word, that word being RAPE. It was about another year before I was able to muddle about for help. It was a nervous scurry of manic frantic motion that bore no fruit. At the time my nervous system was rattled with drugs, I was a fractured in spirit. No longer stable, my medications were on a fluctuating schedule and my diet was fucked. This boy was wasting away, paranoid and completely lost. I also had become embedded emotionally and mentally in my abusive relationship. The purpose of the partnership was as much about keeping me addicted to the man as it was about keeping me addicted to the drugs and breaking me down. The trauma was the bonus glue that kept the disaster spinning in place.

As time moved forward, sometimes at sparked speed sometimes at a mind snagging crawl, life became more and more unmanageable. My PTSD just evolved into a way of life and I adjusted to the grotesque. I became comfortable with the uncomfortable, I came to accept my demons as part of my life, we almost became friends. I had always prided myself on few yet tight, close and healthy friendships and partners. Now I had several unhealthy ones, I hated my addiction-actually that is a lie, I loved my addiction. My addiction to crystal meth kept me alive, it was the only thing that made life palatable although maddening and nearly killed me as it robbed me of life’s beauty and joy. I hated my partner yet loved him in that weird twisted way. I lived in fear of him, I feared everything I hated my rape, I hated my life, I hated who I had become and I was completely miserable. I was in a state of decay slowly being engulfed a sinkhole of my own life wasting. I was living a very slow and painful death and I know this was not a pretty site to watch. Nor a pretty life to live but this is not the end of my journey it gets so much brighter and so much better.

Love and Light Always

The Empowered Runt-lil Big R


Love, Light, Progress and Prosperity Always

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