When I was younger I loved greek mythology. Excuse me, I loved Odysseus and how he escaped to the giant blinding him and hiding himself under a sheep. I thought that I might need that cunning trait someday, so I was very careful to know the myth by heart, and all tricks.
Nobody—that’s my name. Nobody—The Odissey
so my mother and father call me, all my friends.
The next excerpt is written by Joseph King: “Living with PTSD, the song we sing to ourselves.”
This is an aspect of trauma recovery that is almost never talked about.
Your dissociation served you.
Going numb, shutting off protected you.
Raging, raging, raging defended you.
Depression kept you from breaking.
Controlling your diet kept you from being consumed.
Self-injury kept you from splitting apart.
In order to not risk being killed by your parent or someone else, or neglected unto actual death, you abandoned yourself instead.
Yes, these coping mechanisms also hurt you.
But they protected you from much, much worse back when they began.
They were your friends — your dysfunctional, fucked up friends — but they had your back.
One day, one day, our sun will rise and our nightwatchman’s shift will end.
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