I am inside trauma, inside a place that I hope many of you do not know.
Trauma for me is the ghost that follows me.
Trauma for me is my stomach ripping itself apart without the release of being sick.
Trauma for me is laying in bed with the weight of punters fucking me to waiting to die, with no-one else in the room.
Trauma for me is being on the edge of a headache as my silent terror screams in me.
Trauma for me is drowning when nowhere near water.
Words need to describe this hell.
Words must compare, must paint poetry, must reach past the brain into deep grief and pain.
I will not invent words, but use common words to write blood and guts that is trauma.
I do not look for supernatural goddesses or gods to rescue you, I cannot find philosophises to fit this pain.
No I reach into words that do speak to a single truth, but using fiction to explore the complex nature of trauma.
I reach into novels to see people as complex, I reach into ghosts stories for the sense of not understanding or knowing solid ground.
I reach into testimonies of slaves, of soldiers, of survivors of too many genocides, of native people, and hidden histories of the oppressed.
I reach into diaries and letters of those who seen the evils that men do to women and girls.
I read the histories of the prostituted knowing to read between the lines as it was recorded by those who gain by the status quo of the sex trade.
I search hard to find the hidden words of the prostituted and honour their survival from censorship or being written over.
I do not use or trust statistics and facts that are shape by hiding the male violence or making it small enough for others to handle.
Instead to get inside trauma, we must go beyond simple facts and into the world of emotions or the world of being excluded from emotions.
Trauma is being dead but fighting to live with joy every moment of every day.
Trauma is wanting to remember but knowing it is too broken to see with the clearness of knowing full truth.
For the truth of trauma is knowing in the body more than the mind.
The truth of trauma is seeing small moments as you want to close it down, but at the same time want to yell it out or act out in order to show the injustice.
Trauma is going back to rooms where the unspeakable was commonplace.
Trauma is going back to so many punters they have no faces, no names and just are fear landing in you.
How can write to trauma, only by going back into it till it becomes complex and not simple so others think they understand.
Trauma is always slipping away.