c/ptsd | basement of my brain

Little Suns

August 17, 2023anna maughanbpd, c/ptsd, depression, family, mental health, poemLeave a Reply

I remember thinking of all the bodies before me on the plastic-wrapped mattress, sobbing or still, raging or silent, all aching with the weight of a broken mind. I remember asking for daffodils to put beside the bed, next to a picture of my children, to try to make the cold room feel like home. I remember how the flowers opened overnight, going from tight buds to full suns, shining on the faces in the photograph. And I remember realising that I wasn’t going to give up, seeing those little suns, so bright, the promise of a future that held more than just darkness, a future I had to stay around to see.

compassion

September 4, 2022April 21, 2023anna maughananxiety, bpd, c/ptsd, chronic pain, depression, mental health, poem, self imageLeave a Reply

my psychologist encouraged me to write another version of ‘shame’, from a compassionate perspective. so I did my best to do so…. perhaps you could write about the damage done, the bruises on your soul, your heart that walks with a limp, your voice that only sings when no one’s there? or perhaps it hurts too much, or frightens you, to show those parts that no one knows, the wounded and scarred fragility of the self you’re afraid never will be whole? what if they knew that you feel like a thousand torn and tiny pieces moving as one? what if you were able to say that there are things you don’t even know about yourself? what if you don’t remember, because you don’t want to remember, though you were there and carried the shame home, heavy on your back? why do you think you’d be judged as harshly as you judge yourself? what if they knew that something chewed your heart that night and left a bloody mess inside your chest? why do you think they’d see you differently, just because you’ve been too ashamed to speak of something that was not your fault, that has left you feeling as though you are all blanks and fractures, missing pieces, and the aching, endless, misplaced weight of shame.

little boxes

July 16, 2022April 21, 2023anna maughananxiety, bpd, c/ptsd, chronic pain, depression, mental healthLeave a Reply

the truth is, I was desperate, or I never would have joined a peer support group for mental health, online: a zoom meeting with strangers that might be as mad as me. I clicked a link and there I was, looking terrified in my little box on the screen, among the other faces in their little boxes, all with their own histories, all unknown to me. I can’t do this, I thought. this is just another place I don’t belong – they each took a turn to share a slice of life, how they had spent their week, their day: shopping, writing, crying, raging. everything was equally welcome and treated with care: “I took a shower.” “I left the house.” “I cried for hours.” “I did a big thing.” “I did nothing.” all were valid as they came, peppered with unnecessary sorrys, salted with choked-back tears. my turn came round. awkwardly I raised my hand, (and watched the me in the box awkwardly raise my hand,) I tried to smile as all my piled-up words spilled out and spilled out in a messy tangled heap then I waited to be judged but I was not judged nor was I treated like a stranger. instead, I found empathy, encouragement and kindness. someone told me I was brave – this was not what I expected. now week after week you’ll find me here in my little box, with all the other little boxes, amongst friends.