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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