One with this Moment

In this moment, the only thing I heard

were the birds happily singing,

The only thing I saw were the leaves gently

swaying on the branches. The only

thing I smelled was the earthy moss

growing throughout the woods. I was

one in the moment with the wisdom

of nature.





Calling the Warrior to Fight my Demons

Take a deep breath-breathe-don’t project-don’t anticipate-just wait!

Take it one day, one moment at a time.

I can fight this. I can beat this.

I am determined to live the life I want and I will forge on.

Try to learn the lessons, and just sit with it….good!

I can fight this. I can beat this.

I am determined to live the life I want and I will forge on. Keep all the lessons, good thoughts, well wishes and the prayers from all the people who support and care about me and use them as Ass-kicking agents.

The healing has already begun!



A cloudy week of PTSD

I want to wrap my brain/mind and myself in a straight jacket, cover it with honey and be put in a room with puppies so that I feel the happiness of drooling slimy puppy breath that brings smiles from oozing love.

I want this new person that I sometimes don’t recognize and feels like a shadow to go away and give me room to  continue to become the person I was feeling good about working on last week. Even though I didn’t know who I was becoming, at least I felt whole.

I want to deep breathe naturally not because I find myself holding my breath as I come out a flashback.

I want to ease the pain in my body that I know is not really there, but is there because of body memories. How about some medicine for the pain in my psyche that feels so bruised and damaged?

I want to be able to have a conversation with someone that doesn’t sound like I’m speaking through a plexiglass partition, wondering if that is really my voice saying those words; I wonder if the person knows I’m triggered?

I want to know that my pain-filled, mixed-up, fragile brain will settle down and I once again will be able to get back to the business of healing.

I want to know that this week is just a glitch. That I will once again be moving slowly along the scale of fucked-up-edness and that this feeling of sliding into the abyss of PTSD will end and I will not become a sad statistic.

I want to know that even though I don’t have the strength of mind, body and emotion right now that I am still mega-tons stronger than any abuser that ever tried to kill me physically, mentally, emotionally or spiritually!   

It’s been a cloudy week of PTSD!


I Seek to Feel Content

I will conquer this metaphorical mountain. I can do it. It may be hard. It may feel  emotionally, spiritually and physically excruciating at times, and I can do it.  When I do conquer the mountain, Is that when I will feel content?

It’s my goal to live life with my eyes open, to let go of the person I am not, to own my story, to work through the torture and come out with a gnarly scar and not just with a soft scab over an oozing past. Is that when I will feel content?

To reach out and ask for help, when I feel so vulnerable that I can’t move left or right. To ask “will you take my hand and hold on to it until I feel steady enough to walk beside you again, unaided?” Is that when I will feel content?

When I accept the changes I’m going through, releasing and gently letting go of the protective barriers because they no longer serve me.  Is that when I will feel content?

To “just show up” even when I can’t remember how to be okay. And to accept that sometimes I won’t be okay. Is that when I will feel content?

Knowing that I am safe, and to trust the  safety. To let the safety permeate my body, mind & spirit. Is that when I will feel content?

Understanding that to feel content is as involuntary as breathing. I don’t have to seek it, I don’t have to mark certain milestones along my healing journey. I don’t have to be free from the symptoms of PTSD. I just really have to understand that I’m enough. I was always enough, and that not only am I okay now, I was always okay. Is that when I will feel content? 

To understand that feelings and emotions are fleeting and impermanent, as well as the feelings of contentment. Is that when I will feel content?

Yes, yes I believe that’s when I will feel content. Perhaps I already do!


My Anatomy of HOPE

My anatomy of HOPE:

Hearing myself speak, and read the words of what happened to me out loud; trusting that no one can ever take my truth away again.

Okay with where I am on my journey of healing. Understanding it is never a linear process, and growth is a life-long endeavor.  

Prepared to continue to do the hard work it will take to heal from the effects of my trauma.

Eventually having unyielding acceptance that being vulnerable, and authentic is what keeps me surrounded, supported and loved by the people in my life now and who I have yet to meet.  


The Mirror

Looking into the mirror in my hand…well I can’t look into the mirror in my hand. I can’t look into my eyes. But if I could I would ask the mirror do my eyes betray what I feel inside? Do my eyes show what happened in my past? Do my eyes scream? Do they give away the sadness of a child through young adult who lived through abuse, neglect and terrible torture?

Or would my eyes say “look at me I am a survivor.” I lived and survived. Would my eyes twinkle with delight knowing I can see, hear and touch my beautiful children? Would my eyes reveal hope for a future of me? Would my eyes reveal one strong person or would my eyes open to reveal the shattered and fractured survival techniques I used to cope?

Are my eyes flat and dull or do they shine with life. And would my mirror respond to those questions with, “Yes, All of the above.”

“Now” the mirror would say, “Now, look and see the reflection of a life worth living.” And then – I would smile into the mirror.



Because my wounds are not visible, people often ask me, “what does it feel like to have PTSD?”  I wrote this poem to explain what it feels like for me to live with post-traumatic stress disorder.



It doesn’t matter if it’s cold, hot, sunny, snowing  or raining.

There is no telling when it is going to strike

Are they alive or dead?

Is that pain real or echoes from pain long ago that

Resurface with a memory?

It’s like being held hostage by your mind.

Thinking that today would be the day I am free.

I look like everyone else.

I know the difference between right and wrong.

Yet in my head I often can’t remember

The last ten minutes of my life, or what day, year or time it is.

Are those smells real or is that a smell from a place and time

when I was being held against my will.

Am I really hearing the sounds of helicopters, planes, cicadas or birds?

Or it that the sound coming from a place that no longer exists and

Should never be talked about?

I want so much to be like everyone else.

So I will keep pulling myself up the rope,

Out of the clutches of PTSD and all the skeleton hands of the past that

Keep trying to pull me down.

I am like everyone else only my job is to live, so I CAN live.

That is all I can ask of myself if I am going to have a future.

                                               Alexis Rose