she knows (ptsd)

she knows.
she knows it’s ptsd.
she knows it’s flashbacks.
she knows it’s not weakness,
she knows,
but it haunts
and it breaks.

she knows.
what she needs to do.
to drop all the lingerings of attachment,
to maintaining structured stability,
so she can run off into the jungle,
so she can scream out her demons
so callously loud, it amalgamates every cell in her body,
then allowing the surrender of patience heal the wound-
letting the truth settle into absorption,
allowing the entanglements to float to the surface, to be knifed out and skimmed away.
all while not disturbing not a soul.
the things on her mind,
all while not disturbing not a soul.

no one knows how the past can taunt, but souls like her,
wounded and disfigured to beyond a western solution.
she is sober and that is her victory,
she is still alive, and that is her light.
the tools she uses to awaken into the pain,
equaling the crutches she uses to escape.
peace comes in sleep, so sleep she does.
until the hour hits 3 am and her body is woken by the call.
nothing can lullaby away a traumatized loneliness.

sometimes,
she knows,
how pained she is for more male presence in her life.
not in the role of lover or partner,
but family. or strangers walking into the role of family.
whole heartedly. there. present.
brave enough to ask the questions,
to be there, to encourage, to hold.
to fill in the void that is missing in her life,
one robbed by cancer, the other robbed by mental illness then the latter.
“maybe,” she ponders, in her truest of longing,
“when life aligns for my human to enter into my life – the one to love all the dark, the wounds and the hurt, in addition to my light-
in our union,
maybe,
i won’t just be gaining a partner,
but also an adopted family, his family.
maybe,
his father will see something in me,
so loving, so truthful,
maybe,
even treating me like his own.”

fucking brave,
are the ones who lean into hope and the belief in second chances.
yes, even the foolish fairy tale beliefs of acceptance.
the triggers, the flashbacks,
the raw undoing of the work,
the yearning of an escape,
she knows.
she knows all of it.
she experiences it,
she researches it,
she breathes through it, she sits with it,
she knows.

what she doesn’t know
is how many words are caught in her throat,
roaring to escape-
they say to heal is to share?
but why is it so damn scary?
i cannot understand – why do the innocent self destruct in order to protect the guilty in their demise?

more triggers,
more flashbacks,
more pain.

even in the pain,
she knows,
it’s going to be ok.
one wave at a time.

– davey h


model credit: Brittiany G  // instagram – britts_littleadventures
photography + narrative credit: Davey H Productions / K. Presslee

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