Survivor’s Guilt

Time is slipping away from me

minutes, hours lost

not complete blanks but blurs, periods of fuzzy memory

gaps that I can’t quite fill

My therapist brain dispassionately tells me

that I have been dissociating again

disappearing from my own life

My grip on myself, on reality, increasingly tenuous

Part of me is deeply concerned

part of me is professionally fascinated and

wants to keep case notes as I disintegrate

part of me just wants to hide under the desk until reality and time are done playing head games for the day

I remember now why I avoided dealing with past for the last forty years or so

this shit is exhausting

The past is starting to breath down my neck like a shadowy beast

with foul breath, its acid saliva dripping down onto my bare shoulder, burning my skin

refusing to be ignored, no intention of going back in the box

As I unravel

I do what I do best

I talk around what is consuming my thoughts

take a bubble bath in my self-hatred

turning the water pink as I inflict the psychic harm I am so fucking good at

because blaming myself

hating myself

is so much easier for me to swallow

than the helplessness

the vulnerability

 

© 2017 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All rights Reserved

 

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