Trauma

Trying to explain what my trauma is like, and how it affects me, feels like trying to explain why my heartbeats, or how two clouds overlap in the sky. It feels beyond me and also to close to me to see. It is something that I cannot articulate but will try all my life to put into words, because these words call me home to myself, and may just call someone else home to herself.

There is the afterglow of intercourse, the nourishment of conversation, the clinking of wine glasses, and the smooth texture of soft cheese. Then there is laughter from the gut, there is the satisfaction of a job well done, there is the exhaustion that comes after a long, full day.

There is all of that, but only until the wire is tripped. It’s unspeakably wonderful until

the damn wire is tripped and there I am inside of the worst memory I have only I’m not there

I’m still in the moment I was in when the wire tripped, but now the moment has the memory superimposed over it like words stamped across

a poster with a photo as the background. My reality becomes the background and

the memory is the words that traipse across, obscuring

any real view of the photograph itself.

The tripwire could be a word (mine or someone else’s), a thought, the recollection of a memory (perhaps brought on by a building, or driving down a certain street, or hearing a certain stringing of words on the radio). It could be the harmless lack of a response to a message I send, it could be a

breakup. Once it is tripped, I am stuck. There isn’t texture, there’s no glow inside, I’m not sure I even have a body. 

No one has seen me, no one ever will. I may never feel anything positive again, and I am utterly, truly alone. I am utterly at the memory’s mercy, anyone it says

that I am with no hopes of being

anyone–or anything–else, ever. Existence becomes static rather than dynamic because

I am triggered. Memory clouds my vision. Was there ever a clear photograph behind the words or has it always been these blocky, irritating words that obscure anything beautiful.

The words aren’t right. The essence of trauma eludes me, even now, as it has me wrapped inside its’ talons. Mercy is that every time I trip the wire is another chance

to put into words this ruthless phenomenon that I and so many others experience daily, weekly, maybe foreverly (I don’t know):

trauma. It is ours, though, and we carry it courageously forward.

Life in Pain

Living with chronic pain & health problems is a lot of things. Easy isn’t one of them. For a person who wants to give & give & give to the people around her, it can be difficult to communicate my own needs. It can be nearly impossible for me to hedge myself in rather than opening up to the needs of others. These are the things I need to say for my own healing, & because most days I can’t get the words out to my loved ones.

Living with chronic pain & health problems is being run over by a freight train before you get out of bed every morning. It is a thousand nights of crying & asking “why” under the steady stream of the shower head. It is being someone whose existence makes other people uncomfortable. It is being married to pain & suffering, wondering if they are your soul mate. It is 1,000 existential questions before breakfast and trying to predict how bad the day will be although the day itself offers only positives.

Living with chronic pain is walking down the hall knowing you might pass out & then accidentally spilling your tea into your lap because you were too busy thinking about the possibility of passing out to notice the mug there. It is having high hopes for an outing & finding yourself gritting your teeth & trying to get through it instead of enjoying what you had looked forward to.

It is learning to accept that you’re going to cry in front of your co-workers sometimes & doing your job well anyway.

It is forgiving your body 1,000 times & forgiving yourself for being unable to heal your body 1,000 times more. It is knowing what you need to do to improve your situation but being too paralyzed by the pain to follow through with it. It is listening to people make the same suggestions of things you’ve tried over & over because your unresolved pain makes them uncomfortable.

It’s being mad at yourself for being unable to give your best–or anything–in your work & relationships. It is millions of tiny sacrifices that you make in order to salvage enough energy to get you to the end of the day.

Living with chronic pain & unresolved health problems is hoping that every day will be better than the last.

I see those of you who suffer. In my suffering, I am united to you. We are one as a body of pain. Our stories overlap in this most difficult way & mysteriously it makes us more beautiful. One grueling moment at a time, our love for ourselves & each other overcomes this pain. How do I know? Because we are still here.

 

 

 

tell me

tell me

what I said that made you think

I belong to you

 

tell me

what I did that seemed to prove

I belong to you

 

tell me

how I touched you that made you feel

I belong to you

 

tell me

what detail of my life I shared that told you

I want to belong to you

 

Lovers of mine,

tell me. So I can

take it all back, spend those nights

alone and free.

Love in Real Time

 

 

The Last Mess We Made

When you make the bed–

the last one you’ll ever share–

for the final time and

your heart nearly stops, but

instead starts to beat

harder, faster, and

you feel free for

the first time in

a long time.

 

Ode to Love in Real Time

I realized that

I had chosen him over

me which would kill

me, and us, if I didn’t

say “no more”, “sleep

in the living room”, and

“I am my greatest

treasure.”

Always. We may or may

not last, but I will, for

I will go on

forever.

 

Try Me

Something inside

of me cracked open–letting

light in, softly–when

it occurred to me that

I may sleep with other men and

I may have the chance to try someone different and

allow them to

try me.

 

We’ll See

We will see if

you want this as badly as

I do (how badly do I want it, I don’t know). All the dishes

and messages despite

utter busyness. All the

nights spent waiting to be

seen and engaged while you

chose anything other

than me. We’ll see if

this time you really mean

it when you say that forlorn,

“But I love you.”

 

3 Poems

Most of the Time

Most of the time, poems come

from a deep broken place;

it’s a conundrum.

I like to write poems but do not like

to be in that place. Good thing

life does not let me choose,

most of the time.

 

Evening Poem II

To wish that others be happy seemed to be

such a good wish to wish, then

I actively wished it and witnessed my happiness whisked

away. Is it my mistake or theirs, that I wish it? Perhaps

the wish is not wrong, but the insistence that

the wish for happiness be what others wish too.

Wish them happiness I will, and to wish–but not insist–that they wish it too

won’t hurt.

 

Less-Than-Human, Worriness Poem

The police in me woke up;

I awoke with depression. Never had I interested myself in

rules or the line one must walk

certainly, with exact step and without stumble. I danced,

then, brought to a thin place, I scrutinized daily motions necessary for life to determine

which I could neglect and still cruise by the state

trooper, with a decent justification, and not get pulled over

for being less-than-human. Yes, depression makes me feel

less-than-human because I cannot fathom closing the fork drawer

much less mustering the energy and will to braid my hair or hold a full

conversation with another who may notice my less-than-human.

A full conversation may awake the police in them to finally incarcerate this restless mind

for being less:

10mg less than human.

30mg less than alive.

If I cannot close the fork drawer, or leave my bed without counting to ten slowly,

am I enough to merit the space I take up? Ask the police

of my mind–she still does not know.

 

Surrender Poem

Tears fall

my chest with a knife lodged

my abdomen tied like rope

my shoulder scalpel-ed by every inhale

my feet with naked bone touching ground

all remind me it was born to die,

this natural map, from toe to pony-tailed tendril.

I laugh white teeth with gap in between

because I’m closer to Heaven than ever before.

No spiritual song, no kiss in moonlight,

no day on the lake nor mountaintop moment

offers this free fall forward so explicitly.

In front of my face, inches away,

is a God who says,

“I’ve put your soul into a broken jar.”

All I can do is flatten my feeble frame

against the floor and say, “Thank you.”

This is where I get my faith:

debate between Emergency room or living room.

He waves white flag for me,

ushering me into the abundant existence.

This broken jar is brimming,

to breathe is to be blessed.

And not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies.~Romans 8:23

I’m laying down my sickness and pain for the glory of the Lord~Darrell Evans

What the Tornado Took

He bolstered me for a trial of which there was no foreshadowing.
God was so near. In the blue lights, His Spirit took hold and spoke through me, when my shock was great.
Those are moments that I ask for the strength and memory to hold in my head and heart as pillars of faith in a living God.
Selfishness, frustration, and lack of faith bares its ugly teeth,
All while I seek to enter the pain again and again, to be rid of it.
It hurts now to laugh as family and friends seek to cheer me up;
Their support is invaluable.
May Jesus’ people be mobilized to support those with no (loving or living) family.
I had forgotten how physical the pain of a broken heart is.
There is a a heavy rawness in my chest
That wells to the forefront of my emotions when I see the wreckage, see the swathe of destruction.
My mind takes me to the place where the curtain was torn in two;
How much worse was Christ’s pain?
I could have washed my friend’s feet many times over with the tears that I have shed for her.
Let me live in such a way as to be washing the feet of those I love
(everyone)
Daily by my actions and sincerity of heart.

He takes our transgressions away, as far as the East is to the West.
He loves us to the sky and back.
(Psalm 103)

If you, O Lord, should mark iniquities, O Lord, who could stand? But with you there is forgiveness, that you may be feared. I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in his word I hope; my soul waits for the Lord
more than the watchmen for the morning
more than the watchmen for the morning.~Psalm 130:3-6

Chosen Are We

I just can’t seem to sing it away
No way
No way

I can’t stay strong with my own burden.
Imagining Your pain
Brings me to my knees, yearning.

God I’m hurting
My heart is a knot
Tied up
But not in You
No it’s not
No it’s not
So lost in myself
Tied up in me
I
I
I forget how great You are.
I remember only how miserable I am
With-
With-
Without You.

But I’m not done
He’s still the One.

There’s a fountain that flows
For you
Me
And for all.
By all I mean you.
It’s my Kingdom, it’s Your Kingdom
It’s His Kingdom.
If we get on board,
If we say “Jesus” instead of
“Just us”,
We stop caring about our kingdom
(Of dirt)
And start living for His.
What I mean by
“There’s a fountain that flows
For you
Me
And for all”
Is that you’ll be seeing
Every race
In Heaven.
Hallelujah!

He cares
He cares for ya.

Listen, my beloved brothers, has not God chosen those who are poor in the world to be rich in faith and heirs of the Kingdom, which he has promised to those who seek him?~James 2:13

He has chosen the poor
Lord, Lord
I am yours

Yours.
The word melts on my mouth like a heart-shaped chocolate.
I belong.
I am being made whole.

Happy Valentine’s Day. Everybody love somebody.

Let Me Learn By Paradox

Pain crawls up my legs
From the balls of my feet it comes,
Slowly, achingly treading its’ way up my body.
Calves, knees they shake now, hips feel out of joint.
My back aches, arches, contracts, fights against me when I try to stand. Inhale. Keep going. On and on and on. My body is telling me that it won’t go anymore, that it just won’t work right.

So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day ~St. Paul

Meanwhile my heart and my head and my soul are excited for all the work there is to do.
I carry a message the way my Mama carried me. Everyday it is ready, longing to come out. I want to tell! There are more people everyday who need to hear this Truth. The Good News is eager to be shared. There is so much work to be done: look at the immense fields, ready to be labored over. Souls are ready to be won for Christ!
I long to work in the “fields” from sun-up to sun-down, and I know it is what I’m supposed to do.
Until my body slows me down

And I’m quite confused.

He’s my God and He never lets me go.
He said, sing it on the mountain.
Or fight in valley low
Every man is going to see,
And everyone will know
That peace runs deep in Him.
~Josh Garrels

Amazing Amazing

Always I’ve thought that happiness comes from circumstances, and joy-of course-from God. Joy is awesome to think about but not a reality, happiness is what we really want (shh.)
Not true!
Never have I felt such joy until now.
Little did I know that happiness follows joy that has found its’ root in Christ.

I would close my eyes to take it in but I’m driving.
It’s not the music that my stereo is retching out, it’s not the sun-striped hair on my head. It’s not the 2000 Nissan Frontier that is mine per use of hard earned cash, nor the lovely day that I’ve had.
Nope; it’s Jesus. Him, all Him.
This is what all that light burden and easy yoke stuff is about.
This is the joy that will either implode or explode. It will be shared with others or from me it will be withheld.
Say to the weary one, “Your God will surely come.”

What keeps the fear at bay?
Certainly not the pain in my neck and feet, the challenges that I face. Not friends or church or work or family.
It’s that Spirit settling down in me, like I’m being baptized all over again.
Amazing, amazing grace.
My arm finds its way out of the window, into the pressure of the wind rushing by. I wave at the trees, the clouds, and the people of my little city, just for the sensation of it.
A plea for joy that led to loving. Love that told me about grace. Grace that paves the way for peace. Peace that manifests itself in happiness.
Blessed am I!
Oh that my attempts to show people His love were half as poor & selfish. I wish to see my joy manifest itself righteously, as Jesus’ did.
By the power of the Spirit, it is possible. By the power of Jesus, love wins the war. By the power of the Father, everyday can be better than the last.

He did not consider equality with God a thing to be grasped but humbled Himself by becoming a man