I know that I am going forward. I know I have come a hell a long way from the years I trapped in male violence.
But PTSD can be soul-destroying.
I want to cry. I want to scream. I want to mother myself.
But I so used to feeling nothing. I am too used to being brave.
I just become stoic.
Then I am sick. Sick from the bottom to the top of my feet.
When I lived with my mother, illness was never real. Each time pain came into my body, I was just attention seeking.
I had headaches over and over, but it never taken seriously.
I got so scared, without kind words to calm me down, I thought I had a brain tumour.
There my stoicism begun. I resigned myself to a painful death. I said nothing, knowing no-one would care.
Pain became my everyday. My body try to get help by giving out sickness.
But the pain went on and on.
As each time I was raped, my body went towards death. Each I was battered, I run away from my body.
As I got sick, I could not cope with knowing in my heart it was connected to the violence.
I could do nothing to stop the violence. I could do nothing to survive the hatred.
I could not be sick. I did not have that luxury.
To be sick, I needed safety. I needed slowness in my life.
How could I take any care of myself, when pain waited all the time.
So, now I am sick. It pisses me off, for this week I have a friend staying. She is coming in a couple of hours staying till Tuesday.
And I am sick again.
We are going to Pride, I should happy. The sun has decided to come out. I should have joy.
I don’t want to be sick.
Sometimes I bloody hate PTSD. I hate my body carries all that poison that abusers force into my body.
I deserve happiness, not always having to struggle.