I write about trauma and ADHD.
(I’m not a medical expert, but speak from my own perspective and from personal experience. Everybody would experience this differently).
Having experienced trauma, I use writing to take the power away from my thoughts. As an opportunity to reflect. For many, reading journal entries or raw words back after putting them down on the page could feel triggering (for me, too). Exploring where my head is and piecing that together, in a reflective way, can feel connective and meaningful in this form, though. When I type words that feel, almost, too true, I get a buzz and power from that. I’m sure that no one in my real life would want to hear every thought, reflex, pattern or piece of self-doubt that I notice on a daily basis (might feel too intense!) Untangling my head like this helps!!
Whispers of words take their power
and wistfully blow the cobwebs from the day
Shame
·
Have been thinking about shame. If anybody else blamed themselves or felt that they were faulty, somehow, I would say ‘of course not’.
Wolf Moon
Senses heightened Emotional intelligence wilder Spidey senses, fire The moon tastes Blooming, with every feel and touch You make life exquisite The bearer of disillusion and, perfectly, matted - truths Almost, Too much Held together with the force of our soul Once gated, and locked up A legend in layers of realities felt within fingertips Screech and release The synchronicity of Out of Control A purity within depths of connectivity Creatively, stifled into wild moon and demonstrative, groans
‘You know your problem. You keep it all in’
Learning to be real
and raw.. slowly
Urgh.. all the yucky attachment stuff just feels gross. But, it’s so natural..
I wrote this a couple of years back and not sure where / if I posted it..
Can’t take the goodness
When I first started doing therapy, I never had a drink of water. Then one day, I was hot from rushing to get there - and from my anxiety. I asked for a glass of water (new for me), which I took. Held it in my hands! Don’t think I ever drank from it! And, it dawned on me that, even though I was thirsty, I never took a sip. Living in survival. Not used to all of this. It was ten minutes later that I realised.. Gasping, reaching, thirsty and not taking it in. Not accepting the goodness. Feeling I’d have greedy and unacceptable eyes. Was that just me? I couldn’t absorb. Needs, ricocheting off me, with me barely noticing. Or laughing. Most often, shrugging. I was indifferent, yet felt so much pain growing within me. The void was engulfing me - and still can do. I watched an interview with Davina McCall where she talked about a hole inside that nothing could fill. It was such a great analogy that she used and I related completely. She was speaking about drugs and alcohol mainly, but the push / pull relationships, the clothes I didn’t need, the one-day dreams and fantastical thinking.. it all didn’t do it. My arms couldn’t do it. I felt incapable. Inhuman, but so feeling. And numb. How could I fill the hole inside me? Believing I was worthy of filling up my cup has always been the problem. And, expecting the next let down. I was too busy seeing the dreamy end goal that I didn’t focus, or was so overwhelmed by imposter syndrome, that I’d be waiting for the shoe to drop*. *ADHD thought - That’s an interesting phrase - look it up? (I haven’t - one of a million thoughts!) I was too busy avoiding and dissociating. I’d had a lifetime’s rehearsal. Writing poems, sometimes, and then collapsing into a heap for days after a session, but never truly connecting with anything. My ‘insignificant’ issues didn’t matter and I was taking up too much space. (I wasn’t really, of course). Filling silence with hyperbole, but nothing real. Or, without being present in the moment and connecting to my words. Leaving the room when I did. Not physically. What stuck with me was that me, this ‘waste of space’ was the exception to everything I believed about being human and the universe. I maintained the feeling that all the ‘little’ things I was doing weren’t (quote) ‘normal’. I felt inferior. Unworthy. That I was handling life ‘badly’. That I would be troubling anyone I ‘bothered’ with it. Even the few close friends who’ve cared, I’d keep at a distance. I’d never have called them at a bad moment.. how could I explain that I was crying (as I often did) over events and feelings I developed years ago. It was too much to put on people and might sound bizarre to them. How could anyone understand?! People do. And people try to understand what you are going through. Even if they don’t have first hand experience. Just the bear minimum was all I wanted back then. Enough of a confidant to keep the dark nights away (it didn’t). To stop the loneliness and isolation I still felt, because the only person I was vaguely honest with (who I could only see some of the time) I was paying. This made me feel such shame. Like paying someone to be your ‘friend’. Your ‘supporter’. I know this isn’t that. It’s a different kind of, unique, relationship. People generally don’t train to be a therapist unless they want to help people. Yes, they are paid, but, so they should be. And you aren’t paying for their friendship, but for their expertise and ability to hold space. When you find relationships hard, though, and have an avoidant and disorganised attachment style (flitting between wanting to build relationships and avoiding them completely at all costs) therapy, and life, can feel yucky, scary and messy. I was realising, slowly, that obsessive and negative thought processes might be a huge part of the problem. I was talking to myself, internally and sometimes verbally, in a way I wouldn’t wish on an enemy. Me wanting a cuddle from my therapist, brought so much shame. I always felt to blame. What if all these people are caring about me and I can’t connect and feel it? I did feel ‘different’, though, and that had just never gone away.
I would trade drama for consistency
That’s what I’ve needed to do (internally and externally) and I deeply value those that are consistent in my life. They mean the world to me.
Also, in therapy consistency is what I needed - and got.
Trying to create consistency for myself
Sometimes, I feel totally alone
Can you smell love and souls?
Feel I could sniff out the potential
for care
and for abandonment
Caught up in delusion
and hope
Sometimes, I don’t write.. we doubt ourselves It’s what feels like the enormity of it. I’m afraid of words, badly, representing me (but, no words aren’t doing anything. I’m ruminating).
I’m moving forward. Gradually.
I have changed.
I’m able to start to voice some of what I experience, as I’m noticing and have more awareness of it. And, as I want better for myself. Then as I feel greater contentment, or more settled overall, I’m more able to express where I am - and where I’ve been. In the past, I’d be more likely to convince myself (and you) that it was ‘all alright’ and that I needed to ‘Just, get on with it’. Minimising my own needs and feelings.
Poetry..
Just do it.
Before you have the chance to doubt yourself.
Create.
Make your ideas happen.
I blame me
I feel like a ‘loser’ (not words I would use)
I’m so embarrassed, I cringe
I can’t be there
It’s my painful
Full of no absolution -
forever crawling, inwards
Unoriginal, sin