Complex Post-traumatic Stress Disorder

I’ve been asking myself why I’m here. Why do I feel compelled to write, to use my voice, and to share?

This is my attempt to answer that. A note to hold me accountable, and a promise to you, whoever finds yourself reading.

Writing is like breathing to me. If I hold it in too long, I pass out. And when I come to, I’m doing it again. No matter how long the unconsciousness, when I live consciously, I write.

It is not all philanthropy. I want to share myself.

Not because I’m wise or special, but because being witnessed confirms I exist. You, almost as a mirror, prove that I’m alive. My past, my trials and my dreams. Maybe this will be an artifact, a fragment, for my lineage.

Or maybe simply: I share, therefore I am.

It’s a compulsion, a force I don’t understand.

I don’t have the answers as to why bad things happen. I’m no learned theologian, great philosopher, or logical statistician.

I’m just a thinker. A seeker. Someone trying to make sense of the senseless.

A regular person burdened by too much sensitivity, shaped (like many of us), by our own unique flavor of suffering. For a long time I felt utterly alone in that.

What I hope to offer throughout my life is whatever support can come from sharing what I’ve learned through my experience, for the sufferers and for all.

If one person feels acknowledgment here, if one person feels less alone because of something here, that’s connection. And connection is belonging.

I am on a journey of discovery; finding the stardust that I was meant to be, and the stardust life has made me. Both are me. All of it.

We belong by virtue of creation, and we belong together.

#MentalHealth #PTSD #CPTSD #service #transformation #Healing

I’ve been asking myself why I’m here. Why do I feel compelled to write, to use my voice, and to share?

This is my attempt to answer that. A note to hold me accountable, and a promise to you, whoever finds yourself reading.

Writing is like breathing to me. If I hold it in too long, I pass out. And when I come to, I’m doing it again. No matter how long the unconsciousness, when I live consciously, I write.

It is not all philanthropy. I want to share myself.

Not because I’m wise or special, but because being witnessed confirms I exist. You, almost as a mirror, prove that I’m alive. My past, my trials and my dreams. Maybe this will be an artifact, a fragment, for my lineage.

Or maybe simply: I share, therefore I am.

It’s a compulsion, a force I don’t understand.

I don’t have the answers as to why bad things happen. I’m no learned theologian, great philosopher, or logical statistician.

I’m just a thinker. A seeker. Someone trying to make sense of the senseless.

A regular person burdened by too much sensitivity, shaped (like many of us), by our own unique flavor of suffering. For a long time I felt utterly alone in that.

What I hope to offer throughout my life is whatever support can come from sharing what I’ve learned through my experience, for the sufferers and for all.

If one person feels acknowledgment here, if one person feels less alone because of something here, that’s connection. And connection is belonging.

I am on a journey of discovery; finding the stardust that I was meant to be, and the stardust life has made me. Both are me. All of it.

We belong by virtue of creation, and we belong together.

#MentalHealth #PTSD #CPTSD #service #transformation #Healing