There’s monsters under my bed.
Or maybe they’re just figments of my imagination,
that linger in my head.
They’re coming to get me.
But there’s no one to be seen,
maybe I should just let it be.
But oh, no, they’re back again.
Or am have I lost my mind completely?
Nope. It’s just that I can’t make amends.
I know it’s hard right now – dealing with those awful voices in your head that shout at you to give up entirely. With the constant curveballs life throws at you, and all the physical symptoms that come along with mental illness.
Trust me when I say I know how this all feels.
I know just how much it hurts, and some days don’t really make it seem like you’re worthy of a life, even.
But that’s not to say you should give up.
I am a firm believer in fighting tenaciously when it seems as though every little thing has fallen apart, in the power of a helping hand, and of course, in recovery.
The internal wounds from the battles of the mind may feel overbearing at times, but you must know that these are part of you, whether it’s what you want or not. In saying that, it’s important to know that these things give us strength and hope and the hard times are what solidify who you are as a human.
So choose, do you want to be a fighter?
PTSD recovery is taking two steps forward, then one step back. This is the reality of it, for recovery is so very complex.
It’s changing everything about yourself – in order to survive, and this is all well and good until the inevitable happens and you are triggered by something that sends you back that step.
What you need to remember, is though you’ve taken a step back from your progress, you are still one up. You are still recovering.
If it’s a slow recovery, so be it. What matters is that you carry on the fight, ignore the steps which take you backward and pursue a happy life.
In the beginning, she dreamt of the end.
You see, she was overrun by thoughts that no human being should ever have to endure.
Her thoughts told her she wasn’t worth it.
Her thoughts told her that no one would care if she were to die.
Her thoughts told her that she was nothing but a burden.
Her thoughts told her many nasty things, and she knew that this was just the way of life with mental illness.
So she did what she thought was unthinkable, and she fought. As hard as she could, she fought, she persisted even when knocked down, she found solace in the little things in life, she learnt to love herself.
And this is when she learnt that life, was, in fact worth living – so she dreamt of the end no more, and her life ended up changing drastically for the better.
And I’m always replaying the events in my mind,
I’m always overcompensating by trying to be kind.
But isn’t that what got me here in the start?
I trusted too much, loved too much, cared too much, all for a soul with no heart.
Now here I am, filled with devilish thoughts and ideations,
And you’re there, blissfully unaware that you’re fucking bleeding in my imagination.
And those words I uttered first, are the ones that ravage my life.
“I think I was just raped,” I whispered, whilst tears rolled down my face.
“You should report it.” the taxi driver said, but kindly.
Now I hear my words over and over, while I remember what they did to me.
I’m sick of it all.
I’m sick of holding in the thoughts that make a mess of my mind, every single day.
I’m sick of smiling and saying “I’ll be alright” when I don’t know that is the truth.
I’m sick of feeling like there is not a soul on earth who could ever understand me or what I go through.
I’m sick of pretending to be okay when I’m not even remotely close to normal, or good, or fine, or whatever you wish to call it.
I’m sick of the pain that is always in my chest from holding back tears.
I’m sick of the rage I feel inside that makes me hurt myself and turn against myself.