As with listening to music, physical and emotional pain both have the power to be so loud for so long they affect your hearing it anymore. Pain is powerful. Pain has volume.
My hold on reality is tenuous at times. I roll up in my sheets, comforter, and pillow, wrapping my arms around me. I don't know how I fell asleep—fearful of his coming, down the hall, through the door, and for me.
Any fragment of my body given from the outside must be experienced ... by me from within myself, and it is only through this experiencing from within that it can be rendered part of myself, part of my once occurrent unity.
You don't have to go to war, be abused by your parents or your teacher, or go through fire or flood for it to traumatize your mind and, therefore, your body.
Guilty Priests and Dismissive Witnesses--Pope Frances "wants to root out the tragic horror" and survivors want advocates.
You can Google all sorts of information on PTSD and lesser on Complex PTSD, but what is harder to sort out is what it is like on a personal level.
Out of a world of mass shootings, bombings, child abuse, murder, depression, disease, and decay--a generally dismal world, you choose that burgundy throw pillow and place it at just the right angle on your sofa, creating delight.