Category: coping mechanisms

Thursday Straight Talk (a day early)

Tw: mention of abuse, suicide, and rape.

I have ptsd. This is not something that I tend to talk about often because it has a stigma attached. I get claustrophobic. I hyperventilate. I dissociate. I struggle with the urge to hide. I am an insomniac. I am a survivor. None of the things I have listed make me a bad person. Most are the result of trauma and of keeping myself so hypervigilant for so long. I see a doctor. I take meds. Some days are better than others. I have learned coping methods. I have learned to be aware of my triggers. No I am not a snowflake. No I don’t have to have a safe place. I don’t even know what a safe place is. I take life one day at a time. I have panic moments as so many people do. They are from knowing that real monsters exist in this world. Monsters that hide in human skin. I am not suicidal. I really don’t want to die. However on my bad days I find that I wish I had never been born. I struggle with telling my story. I spoke my truth. I was called a liar. I came forward with one piece… And was not believed. I only told one person, because I was a child. If a child tells you their pain… Believe them. For you may be the only one they tell. My journey has been long. I was so fractured that I had at one point nearly 13 separate “alters” I am down to two. I used to have nightmares nightly. I am down to on average twice a month. Struggling with this does not make me less. I have come an amazingly long way… From losing months of time to now I lose an hour rarely. I am healing.

This is not something that I expected to post, if I am honest. I am careful about letting this all be “known” because I have others in my life that I know are embarrassed when the topic comes up. I have no reason for embarrassment. I am not ashamed of who I am. But, I love them. So I hold my tongue sometimes. However, I have been thinking about it. Perhaps it is not the right thing to do. I think that perhaps sharing the struggle might be more helpful for others who are struggling. I don’t know if I will share the details, yet.

I am a survivor of childhood sexual abuse. The man who did it abused others. He served time for one, and only one, of his victims. He has never been to court for what he did to me.

I survived a gang rape. And I survived another rape.

I survived domestic violence, by more than one of my relationships. My current love is the first time I have not been physically abused by the man in my life.

I have been homeless. I have been without food. I learned how to survive in each of these cases.

I have done things that I was not proud of. Hasn’t everyone? So, if I have a bad day… I might post some depression memes on social media. My poetry may get a bit darker. My art angrier.

Still. I survive. I am always here ready to listen. I understand what survival costs. Some days are better than others. Today I did not sleep. My mind would not quiet. Today my mind was attacking me with my faults in litany. Tomorrow may be better.

I know that this is published on Wednesday. I will post the art for Wednesday a day late because I think that this is important.

If you need support right now, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255, the Trevor Project at 1-866-488-7386 or text “HOME” to 741-741. Head here for a list of crisis centers around the world.

If you or a loved one is affected by sexual abuse or assault and need help, call the National Sexual Assault Telephone Hotline at 1-800-656-4673 to be connected with a trained staff member from a sexual assault service provider in your area.

Writing Friday

Writing. Crap. What do I say? Do I sit here and try to explain that, at least for me, writing is something akin to breathing? That there’s never been a time when I didn’t need to put words together? And then I would have to tell you just how it feels to read what I wrote and think that I am not cut out for this. How many people who I know personally who are brilliant at this whole writing gig. Still… I would have to mention that the idea of stopping is actually painful. It has been how I was able to see the answers to life, since before I ever realized that there was a question.

Usually, I try to use the Friday post to give tips, and help with the whole writing and publishing thing. And I think that is great to keep the blog going… But today I was thinking about the reason why I write. Yeah… I could probably claim that I was trying to add beauty. But I don’t generally lie. My art is more how I do beauty. Abstract and pencil drawings to encourage happiness in the eye of the beholder. My children’s books are a way of connecting with my daughter, as they have thus far been stories I told her, or wrote for her. Serena’s stuff is stories that I want to read. But if I am honest with myself… My main writing is my poetry.

My poetry will never be hallmark stuff. My poetry is raw emotion and survival. I have lived a survivors life. My poetry is how I have been able to express myself even when my voice was stolen. I could write my story… Even though I was being told I lied. I could write it and it was accepted because it was poetry. It was written in a way that meant I was non-threatening to those who were part of hurting me. And it was written off as just an angsty teen writing depressing poetry… For don’t we all have that stage?

After I was free, and I was no longer needing verse to speak my truth, well it was still the easiest way to speak my pain. To spread my views. It was habit. I may never be able to sit along with the likes of Poe or Dickenson… But my words will remain. I will be there when another lost soul seeks to know that they are not alone.

Migraine madness.

I normally do either teaser Tuesday or tech Tuesday… And I still might. But as I am fighting back a terrible migraine…. It will be later in tomorrow before I am able. Thank you for your patience.

Pad pain

poetic asides

Today that prompt was one that I have had for a while. Broken. And I was battling a migraine. So I have considered it before and only came up with cliché poetry. Today that prompt was right.

Migraine headache means that writing is cruel as I use electronic means only. Arthritis pain means handwriting is not a great idea. So I am struggled with even doing a poem.

Day five

poem a day challenge

Prompt a private poem.

This one is a bit of a thing for me. I don’t believe in secrets. I am a survivor of childhood sexual abuse. The word secret carries some tough pain with it. Please if it has to be a secret, don’t do it…

My thoughts, and other imaginary things

Fighting the mental gremlins mean that even though I feel inadequate, I keep going. For me this often means writing, even if I feel like it is not something anyone wants to read. I have been sharing my poetry more lately on my Instagram. My reason? I am getting the reactions there. It makes me feel like I am pimping out my soul to ask for reactions, but I end up using the positive feedback to boost myself in the fight against the voice in the back of my head… You know that voice… The one that tells me how awful I am, how awful my writing and art is.

I have been avoiding any posting of opinions lately, mostly because I have been feeling less than qualified to have opinions. Much less speak them. What that means is that I have been hiding behind my poetry a lot more lately. I finished and published Music For The Soul. I am about thirty poems into the next volume (Poetry Kisses). I am also looking into helping to promote other authors through my blog. (Which would give me more to post here as well as help with promoting my fellow writers.)

See, I firmly believe that as a writer, I should be helping other writers. I am not in competition with anyone, and the world can only benefit from others who are writing. Lately, I have been seeing controversy over trademarks in the writing world (specifically the romance genre…) I watched horrified that it was even a consideration. How is a single word causing so much trouble.

So I have been watching that and keeping my opinions to myself.

I will be trying to post more information as I receive it about the promoting.

Miscommunication hazards

It hurts to be ignored. I was invited to help with an interesting project. I was to blog about a apocalyptic anthology. Then it was suggested that I might be able to contribute… By the editor, not the organizer. The organizer became very angry with me for contributing a poem as I was asked. So today I see her asking for female zombie writers. So I am doing the best for my mental health and walking away from the project.

I will still write (as Serena Mossgraves of course) apocalyptic fiction. My book (Rust, Gore, and the Junkyard Zombie) will be live on May first. I want the other authors in the project to do wonderfully well. I just will not be giving any more whispers of that project. I have been asked to assist with another anthology, and I will be posting more on that as it comes closer.

Please forgive my need to no longer speak of a project that I was obviously never wanted for.

Capability vs self worth

(Picture borrowed from Debbie Burns, head unicorn and founder of Debbieburns.me all rights to it are hers)

My writing mentor posted this picture earlier. It brings up a topic that I believe I would like to try and tackle. I have no doubt of how capable I am. I am aware of my strengths, my flaws, and the areas I need to work on. Still I have moments where I question my worth.

Now I could blame my past for that doubt. Claim that I am flawed because no one has ever seen my worth….but I really hate that. It is possible to both know your capability and to doubt your worth. I am a strong and open minded individual, still I struggle. I don’t see what others claim is talent. I see a lifetime of fighting. Of me trying to be half of what those around me said I was.

I struggle because this is the path I see. I stuggle because I refuse to quit. Perhaps the above is true, perhaps some can see the ability within and it will set them free…still not all of those who are struggling fail to see their own capability. I am a strong woman, I have a generous heart. I am creative, with a quick mind. I am a survivor who has learned to be more….still I have days when I don’t understand the love everyone around me has for the broken soul I am. Days when I am the one that sees too much of life and has no way of processing it.

This is just part of being me. Those who love me generally understand those days. They are quick to reach to help me understand why I am loved. And even then I understand my capability…even as I have no understanding of my self worth.

Kindness and cruelty

I struggle to see myself as others do. I can list my flaws innumerable. I logically know that I am not what my mental gremlins say. I am not selfish, nor cruel…not intentionally anyway. Still there are those days where I expect more out of people simply because it is something that I can do. I am a poor uneducated woman who is more than a little crazy. I am in constant pain due to physical issues. Still I show up, I do what needs done, and I move on. So on the occasion that I need to remind myself that I am not normal….well I find myself also reminding myself to be kind.

Kindness is not just for the rest of humanity. Sometimes the person who needs your kindness most is yourself. My writing coach, the Amazing Debbie Burns, gave me a couple of methods of dealing with the negative thoughts. One involves listing 100 words about yourself. You then relace negative words with positive ones. This is meant to try to get the brain to replace them when you think about self. We have to try and train ourselves to keep the mental gremlins at bay. Still after a lifetime of self abuse, it is not terribly easy to see the good that everyone else does.

So I will continue to do my word lists to help me see the bright light shining. I will start with the words I did above. “poor uneducated crazy” are all three replaceable. Yes, I have money woes but I have food, I have clothes, I have shelter. So I am content. There see one word replaced. Uneducated is not true. I have my high school diploma. I have taught myself computer programming in c#. I have studied several other things independently. So I can replace that with self educated. Now only one word remains. Crazy. Ugh it is the hardest. After all, I am struggling with mental illness. I am aware of the stigmas. I think perhaps for that I should use the word Unique.

So what words do you say about yourself that perhaps you need to change? I would encourage everyone to examine the labels we use to define ourselves, and in turn the labels we call others.

Holidays burdens

In our society there is so many choices. Things become somehow expected and so many of us end up overwhelmed. Addiction and depression drag us into deep meaningful arguments. We often feel alone during this time of year, a time when family and socializing is expected.

The problem is that we are not all social. We do not all have loving families to make us strong during the cold months. If you care for someone, please I beg you….check on them. Not everyone knows how to express that feeling. How to say they are struggling, and those that do are often hesitant because it feels like they are a burden.

Sometimes just knowing that someone hears us, that someone is on the other side of the phone….it can make a difference.