Ruminations on 15 years of ptsd below:



I was about 15 when I realised something was happening to me, something inside me was changing. I was spinning, loose and chaotic, getting angrier with everything more that I looked at around the world (from shitty people and casual cruelty to nations' arguments to my own thrashing out against anything that would hold up for me to hit at it). I couldn't understand what was happening and at various points over the next two years or so I wrote, it was all I could do just write poetry and hope that out there somewhere were other people who could understand and maybe explain). This is a huge aside but I think of the moments when the judge looked up at me in the balcony, he said my words had an impact on him and was constrained to a shorter sentence by law.. I look back at that now and I see a man, perhaps a little vulnerable and maybe moved. Oh, his words. He thought I had something and that's why he wanted to be harder on the asshole.. *clicks teeth* no regrets man (if my judge ever reads this) thank you. In that case the words meant more to me than I think the action could or would've done.

..Gotten off track, so I was 15 and spinning and changing (I had a whole series of poetry: Change I, Changing II... Change XXI etc). And at some point.. I think it may have been when I was trying for physical damage and my step-mother [oh, how I love and hate that woman.. haha she's fucking incredible] grabbed me in a bear hug, held on when I was kicking at her and told me stop and take a breath. And I did. She changed the way I saw it all, for a second I felt her strength behind me, and I held on for as long as I could until my gyroscope made sense again. And I stopped trying to kill anyone in front of me (my Dad, as it happened).

Been talking with a friend a lot lately about rage. Red hot. Blind. Cold white. Dissection Blue. [Not always a rage type, I'm sure, but for me it is].

Somewhere in there, probably the bear hug, I took stock and realised that this change was happening and I couldn't stop or not allow it to happen somehow; I had to ride it. Let it be my catalyst.

I'm not perfect, no one is, it's taken 15 years or so since then to really start to understand what that deep breath did for me. I will withstand my anger, I will channel it and allow it to fuel me. This being the case it is easy to then become fuelled by anger, it will not be my guide. I will not allow my anger to harm another, it is my fire and I will build a furnace around it. Anger is enriching, it's inspiring and when you can let your anger do something amazing (i.e. protesting) without burning the people around you... gah, you're a master. [I'm not quite there yet.. gives me something to aspire to].

Thanks for listening. Hope you're having a great day. And a random thing but if anyone did ever want to get in touch, talk or whatever drop me an email.... sort of not expecting anything either.. so it'd be a nice surprise lol :P


[Add: there's something powerful that I learnt while going through the process of court (as it happened for me). Now I'm nervous writing this today because I know someone who has a decision before them, and I'm very conscious of that. So let me just say, I never want harm to come to anyone I love and weighing a decision like this takes time of which you have some luxury. Action; by action happens. So whatever you do, know you want to do it. Personal power is something that I feel is defined more accurately in American English than mine, it's .. more than just you, though it is uniquely yours. My education in personal power came formatively through court. Through discussions with a cop, and anyone (really I've never stopped seeking these conversations) who will discuss the giant (larger than self) and complex issues faced when there's someone hurting others. And the price of peace will hurt only you.*  I stood witness. I couldn't not, really. I saw faces that were more vulneable than mine and instinct took over. And then I questioned it the whole time and a while after, in the end (maybe, if doing this could, maybe) my instinct to help those kids was too fucking strong. So I burnt myself because that was the better option.

*(Trump is an idiot, presidents don't get to own their pain. There will be a decision at some point that is larger than you, and it sounds to me like Trump has already failed his first most critical test).


 [maybe i'm burning my future right now but I can't not say this]
I presently do not accept that psychopathy and sociopathy are by nature negative or selfish. It was sociopathic to decide that (in the grand sceme of things) my pain was more bearable. I'm not kidding. I've been thinking about this a long time. It's the anti-social parts of me that made that choice. Because in that moment, that boy in the picture was part of me (rest of the world could hang) so if I damage this little physical bit, a bit, then he could have a chance to heal. I wasn't thinking of anything beyond that. and (it seemed to me at the time, though I didn't understand the thought fully) the girls that had learnt to love and hate one another in the cruelest ways because they were both there, and that meant I was doing the right thing too. Maybe the asshole could learn [or get burnt], you never know. So maybe it's selfish to want an extended-limb to heal, my perception of life around me could be skewed. Maybe I'm right and throughout history people of an anti-social frame of mind have been given misinformation on how to manage our personality traits. [Metaphorical, not all circumstances will conform:] Lying doesn't hurt people, it's why you felt the need to lie - don't tell me it's wrong, tell me how not to misuse it.

There will be more on this.]