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Living With Cptsd - Blog Posts
I write this with
melancholic music
blasting in my ears.
It's comfortable,
relatable.
It's hopeless,
as I long to be.
I'm not the past version of myself who didn’t rest,
I'm not okay and I need the help.
If my mental illnesses weren't enough, the seasonal cold has been sitting on my head making my mind even more cloudy and jammed. How is any of this fair?
My mother once told me that she would have dreams that she was attacking and yelling at her own mother.
I did not speak up about the fact that I had these same dreams about her.
Suddenly I was in the shower. I looked down and my legs and my feet weren't my own.
It was like I was watching a movie or a cutscene in a video game.
Trying to put clothes on a dead eyed stranger.