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.
Christmas won't be the holiday it once was, staying home all day in pjs, curled up with cat, watching Christmas movies, and eating per no schedule nor health. I am thankful God graces me with celebrating as I know how right now.
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.
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.
I have to have a little bravado to overcome fear and a little hope to overcome doom to move beyond.
This is one of those times when the discoveries in trauma with PTSD often overwhelms me. I would sink in a morass of despair, anger, and hurt if I didn't focus and meditate on something pure and simple, such as, the photography I am practicing this summer. I am concentrating a lot of effort in …