Four Men in Seven Days
Last year I committed to the hardest intention of my life. To heal from trauma. Quite an undertaking considering my CPTSD began at 4 and I was 33 when I started. I also have Bipolar 2, Maladaptive Daydreaming, and Agoraphobia. As you can imagine, this makes healing all the more difficult. Yet I’ve stuck to my goal and in several ways, I’ve improved. But I’m not where I want to be. Where I need to be. I want my life back. Not just my life, but the one I’ve always [day] dreamed of.
Another hurdle is that I’m a survivor. A CSA and SA survivor. And while no trauma is more important than others, being a victim of violence [whatever that may be] comes with its own territory. And that’s not a fact that’s bragged about. It’s just another obstacle.
But this isn’t about healing or survivor politics.
Exactly a week ago [from writing this], I shared a poem about intimacy after sexual trauma. It was straightforward. You could not mistake the theme for anything else. Yet someone still took it upon himself, to reply with his own poem on the matter. Using my words. My own words about my own real life experiences.
And for what? Exposure? An ego that says he can heal others? To feel like he’s done his part?
