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Been told
I have travelled far
In this healing journey
Of mine.
And yet
Find myself
Clawing
At the walls
Trying to maintain
My equilibrium.
In being triggered
By the slightest thing
These past few weeks.
Questioning
My grasp
Upon sanity.
In my struggle
With PTSD
And chronic depression.
As if
They're imaginary friends
I have invented
As hold overs
From my childhood.
Wondering.
Is this
The new me
That I have
The pleasure of
Looking forward
To?
Of being
A virtual prisoner
Within my mind.
Never
To experience
What parole means.
Or
Able to remove
These burdensome shackles
Of my hyper-vigilant senses
That bind me
To this plane of existence.
Isn't
A lifetime
Long enough
To punished?
Even
The most dangerous
Of prisoners
Who are serving
Life sentences
Have a faint hope
Of parole.
Therisa © 2016
Author's note: My first exposure to PTSD, occurred, after my electrical burn, to my mouth, in November 1974. Have been told, I was lucky, to have survived, with my mouth being blown out, and not being buried, as a result of this event. Even now, over four decades later, I still experience sensory flashbacks, to that November night. Never had any formal therapy, for this traumatic injury, over the years. Unlike, the visual and auditory flashbacks, I have experienced, from my abusive past, as a child and an adult.
Over the past 9 years, I have had some counselling, but it has been focused, primarily, upon my chronic depression and various anxiety problems. And pharmacological therapy is, a "no go", for me, given my chemical sensitivity, and the side-effects that it generates, in my body.
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