Tag Archive | poem

Therapy

This is from a group I’m part of for recovering from Complex PTSD. It’s not my own (and actually I’m waiting on permission so I may need to come back and either delete or add an attribution), but I wanted to share it because I could easily have said the same thing myself. All the calming, positivity therapies don’t seem to have much effect, and I have been doing these things for a long time – far longer than I realised I might actually have mental health issues. Back when I thought I was just a feisty redhead who needed to calm down a bit. So what is the answer? Can things change? Is it just a long road? I wish I knew.

I have a seasalt lamp.
I have a lavender pillow.
I drink milk before bed.
I try to limit my coffee to one a day.
I journal.
I try to go for a walk.
I volunteer each month.
I limit my contact with my family.
I attend my counseling.
I take my prescriptions.
I take magnesium.
I take vitamin B.
I try to eat meat free every second day.
I sit by the sea each week.
I count my blessings.
I do deep breathing.
I try to limit sugar.
I limit my screen time.
I paint.
I draw.

I do all these things to manage my cptsd.

And at the end of all of that I’m just the same.
My anxiety roars in my ears.
My depression wears me like an uncomfortable coat.
I disassociate.
I suppress my emotions.
I comfort eat.
I cry.
I don’t sleep.

It’s a complex recipe, being well and finding the right path to wellness.

Having cptsd is a complex maze of experiences,
conditioning,
inner mind talk and responses.
And some days I manage.
Other days I don’t.

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Unravelled

​I found this poem in my facebook memories for today, and had to look it up to discover where it was from. I liked it so I thought I would share it. 

The book was probably the best one I had on pregnancy loss because it was offering art as therapy rather than just commiserating about the loss. As it turned out, the art form I chose was writing (and my first attempt at NaNoWriMo was an unexpectedly intensely personal piece of fiction that I haven’t been able to even go back and edit because it was so raw, but getting it out helped me I’m sure). 

I like this poem because, while it is heart-rending and painful, it is more beautiful than dark. I hope you enjoy it.

After three months
of silent stitching

what finger let slip

what growing row of cells

unravelled, loosing life and

leaving the lap empty?

– Olson Binder, 1993

Quoted in Grief Unseen, Healing Pregnancy Loss through the Arts by Laura Seftel

First Sunday of Advent

advent1

Psalms: Psalm 122
OT: Isaiah 2:1-5
Gospel: Matthew 24:36-44
Epistles: Romans 13:11-14

The Psalm for today was 122, “I was glad when they said to me, let us go to the house of the Lord.”

I was unable to go to church this Sunday because, in addition to my own health issues, I am now looking after my mother who suffers from bipolar disorder.

My mother always becomes anxious, tearful, angry as Sunday rolls around. Having grown up in what was effectively a very abusive religious home, she is deeply conflicted about church. She wants to be there, she yearns for community, but it is tainted by the memory of forced religion.

I, meanwhile, would love to be there but my health more often than not prevents me, and I am constantly angry at the way the church neglects us, rejects us, forgets us.

I saw this poem on a facebook group and decided to share it because the words are so close to my own heart.

How baffling you are, oh Church,
and yet how I love you!
How you have made me suffer,
and yet how much I owe you!
I would like to see you destroyed,
and yet I need your presence.
You have given me so much scandal
and yet you have made me understand what sanctity is.
I have seen nothing in the world
more devoted to obscurity, more compromised, more false,
and yet I have touched nothing
more pure, more generous, more beautiful.
How often I have wanted to shut the doors of my soul in your face,
and how often I have prayed to die in the safety of your arms.
No, I cannot free myself from you,
because I am you, though not completely.
And besides, where would I go?
Would I establish another?
I would not be able to establish it without the same faults,
for they are the same faults I carry in me.
And if I did establish another,
it would be my Church, not the Church of Christ.
And I am old enough to know
that I am no better than anyone else.

– by Carlo Carretto, from The God Who Comes

Life with ME

Pacing
Is a thing
We’re supposed to do –
Determining
At the start of the day
Which activities
To choose
And which
Must fall by the way.
No matter
That we only get to choose
Half a life.
Which half
Is worth preserving
And which must be
Sacrificed?
Can you pace your emotions
So you only feel half sad –
Mildly disappointed
At the injustice
Of being cut down in your prime?
There are worse things
To suffer
After all.

(c) Sharon Tootill (Shoshana) 2015