For awhile I stepped away from this blog because I’d been focusing my efforts on a short story (that has now become a novella as it becomes much too long for a short story and has still only just entered the second act). But I have missed it here. There have been many things I’d … Continue reading Life After PTSD?
Life tries to break you. And often it succeeds. But it’s the relationships we make, that allow us to pick up those shattered pieces and put them back together again.
We carry our own stigmas with us and apply them even as we feel their sting and reel away from it. We are our own, sharpest, pointy sticks of doom.
I dreamt of being on my boat again last night. It was a common dream for a long time, mostly comforting but a little bittersweet since I can’t afford her anymore, that changed one to the other only in the minutiae but not the subtext.
While the persistent state of being serene can encompass contentment, that it might even be presumed in the understanding of the word, the latter is a much more slippery thing than the former. So much so that I struggle calling it a state of being even though I am pretty sure it’s not an emotion.
Since I’ve been openly sharing myself, my thoughts, my explorations, and my journey such as it is, and certainly not by deliberate action but still with the knowledge it would happen, there’s been a wee bit of light on me.
The onus is ours to be prudent consumers, to advocate for ourselves as much as we can without losing sight of the contribution of others we trust, and to be our very own educated healthcare professionals.
For most of my life, I identified as a writer. When I was younger it was all about fiction and even then mostly bad, formulaic genre fiction that I had a whole lot of fun writing. I worked very diligently and established strong routines around it that adapted to whatever else - work, relationships, geographic location - happened to change.