Because Others Might Understand: P.T.S.D.

She can’t explain the sudden fits of rage and despair
She can’t explain the feelings of hopelessness that have gripped her for the past three years

She can’t tell her family, although she’s tried, but they just brush it off as normal stress
Stress of school
Stress of moving
But that is nothing compared to the stress of simply making it from day to day

The day to day interactions with her family
A family who doesn’t understand what she’s feeling
They don’t understand that she cannot control her emotions.
The roller coaster that has become her life

So what other ways can she express her rage?
How? Everyone simply thinks she’ll get over these issues.
She won’t.
She wants them to leave her alone. She wants them to understand without having to break the chain she’s placed on her emotions.
She’s locked then down so tight she hardly feels anything anymore
It’s just a numbness that makes it easier to function.

But she’s so completely over the despair. The rage needs to be finished. The flashbacks need to be finished.
She needs her life back. She’s begging to have her life back.
She wants herself back.



This post today was to spread awareness that not only service men and women can be diagnosed with PTSD. It is something that many  other people suffer, and regardless of how you came to be diagnosed with it, it is a struggle on a daily basis and it is very hard to feel like your life has any worth left. I do have moments of hope where I think we can get better. Keep trying.

Flash Poem #1: Ask me the question

Ask Me the Question

I don’t understand why you ask me the question.

Other than it is social protocol that you do

Because we both know that you don’t care about the answer;

And I don’t care about giving you a response.

You don’t look me in the eyes when you ask,

But stare beyond me to a space far more interesting than myself.

I wish to glance fully at your face,

Afraid of what I might see.

Instead, I keep staring at the frown line at the side of your mouth.

So miserably static in my own shyness

I tell myself it’s alright to keep my eyes down.

But, you’ve asked me the question,

And despite my understanding and loathing of social decorum

I find my mouth opening without prompting.

Maybe it’s because I want me to like you.

A desire so strong it burns away any intelligent words I could use from my lexicon.

My mouth, still open, hangs in the air

And I am more awkward than usual, but the deep breath in, and a push of courage allows me to ask you the question.

How are you doing?

This was my first attempt at writing a poem just off the cuff. I generally don’t write poetry because a) I’m pretty sure I suck at it, and b) it has the ability to make my brain explode. Anyhow, any constructive criticism would be great. I might make this my Wednesday post if there is a good response. Happy reading!