thealmosttherapistwholosthermind - Tumblr blog

thealmosttherapistwholosthermind · 7 months

Text

MEDICAL TRAUMA

I am not a complainer by nature.

When the surgeon asks, "How are you doing?"

and I say, "I would like to revise my other side.”

I know I look calm and poised.

I know I suggest it in a pleasant manner.

But that DOES NOT mean I want to have brain surgery for funsies.

Hell NO!

Brain surgery sucks. No offense meant.

But recovery wrecks my life for months.

I can't be the mom I long to be.

The wife I used to be.

Or the therapist I need to be.

I am choosing this Hell a forth time

because I am currently living in it anyway.

Every time the dishwasher runs.

Every time my 9 year old is himself -- a loud rambunctious little boy.

Each time my husband runs his table saw and constructs something magnificent. I can't walk steadily for the rest of the day.

What am I supposed to do? Ask them to stop? Earplugs only help so much.

Nah, bro.

I am asking for you to cut my head open

so I can give them THEIR lives back.

So they don't have to dance around me anymore.

It's such a chore to be the one everyone works around.

Can you imagine what it’s like for them?

It's not about me. It's not about your numbers.

I just want my world to stop swaying with every clangor.

I want my world to stand still for THEM.

Even the air conditioner sets me back. But you didn't ask me that.

I could see it in your face.

I know the look by now,

I've had plenty of medical trauma

before reaching your virtual office space.

You could hardly wait to shut the metaphorical door in my face.

Wondering when my soul sucking need for surgery is going to end.

Well let me tell you, my friend,

I am also waiting to see how this story ends.

Like on it our lives depend.

#medicaltrauma #superiorcanal #scds #chronicillness #chronicillnesswarrior #brainsurgery #brainsurgerysurvivor #brainsurgeryrecovery #mypoetry #mypoeticjourneytohealing #originalpoem #poem

#medical trauma #poem #original poem #poetic #poetry #writers and poets #mental health #inspire #poems on tumblr #writers on tumblr #chronic condition #mental illness #brain surgery #prose #poetic prose #prose poem #prose poetry #daily poem

2 notes · View notes

thealmosttherapistwholosthermind · 8 months

Text

Recesses of Me With OCD

In my brain I scream, Oh please, set me free! But the jailer is always me.

I can’t step aside, elusive is outside. Defeated, alone, resigned.

I stay in my vest, ‘cause you’ll think I’m a pest. Review, ruminate, second guess.

Trapped inside my mind, craving chats that bind. “You offend” fear lied. Wait…did I?

You think I don’t care. I stammer and stare. Really, I long to share.

Yearning for our fate, with open gates. Secretly sensing we’re best mates.

I can’t bridge the gap. Can you make a map? Reassurance won’t let me fall flat.

You’ll do all the work. I worry and warp, convinced I am a twerp.

What is wrong with me? Is my inner plea. Is this how I am destined to be?

An affection hoarder? What keeps the border between you and me?

Oh yeah…I have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder and Social Anxiety.

A life of its own. Forever o’ergrown. I have learned to let it be.

And live behind glass, while longing to ask: Let us bear our souls intimately.

Make me clean, God, please. Brush teeth ‘til they bleed. Wash ‘til my skin recedes.

Yes, I have those. It’s starting to slow, ‘cept when sinister germs come close.

Waves of shame slay. Focus on the way. Must say novenas of the day.

Saints these and Saints those. Father, Son, Holy Ghost. For my soul, please repose.

Hours on research gate. Lost in a debate. Compulsive research of my fate.

Culling symptom lists, of me to make sense. God, am I a narcissist?

Down the rabbit hole. Lost touch with my goals. The psyched ward ate my wounded soul.

Gave me side eyed looks, labeled me a kook, my quirks the doctors all mistook.

What is wrong with me? Is my inner plea. Is this how I am destined to be?

It’s Hell, this disorder, fortifying the border between you and me!

F*ck you, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder and Social Anxiety!

I’ve tried to break free with ERP. Torture excruciating.

Then came CBT. It never helped me. Pulling me farther out to sea.

Perhaps ACT impacts, with values on track. Head out of my *ss, I’m back.

IFS reset. Now my parts at rest. Self-leadership provides a nest.

A True Presence be. Coupled with me, found my celestial nobility.

It’s quite the hike. I’ve learned my might. Gained my inner sight.

Even with my crown, I still fall down. Tumble, suffocate, nearly drown.

Again, I rise, with eyes on the prize, to walk the earth humbly and wise.

What is right with me? I’m starting to see. Who I am destined to be.

Life’s getting shorter. Action was in order desperately.

Social Anxiety and Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, you won’t beat me.

With wings pain once bore, today I soar. Balanced, centered in my core.

Joyfully, I sing. I am coming clean. My dark recesses disclosing.

A beacon of light, to provide sight, for others stuck in flight.

And you I see, too. What you’re going through. I’m supporting your inner coup.

Depth to hold dear. I’ll draw you near. Your story I want to hear.

You can’t offend. I will only tend to the places where you bend.

Let there be an us, pure and free of lust. It will be marvelous.

Friends’ everlasting, no longer casting ourselves in roles and acting.

I have found me. Allowing eyes to see journey for destiny.

Down with the border. No longer a hoarder, I’m giving of self completely.

Social Anxiety and Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, you are not me.

But with me you’ll always be—separately.

2 notes · View notes

thealmosttherapistwholosthermind · 8 months

Text

Soul (W)Hole

2 notes · View notes

thealmosttherapistwholosthermind · 9 months

Text

Just glimpsed into a soul. Eyes cast down at his toe. Never panders for what he is owed. Something about his gait, Whispers a resigned wait, Until White Man can treat him like gold.

1 note · View note

thealmosttherapistwholosthermind · 9 months

Text

0 notes

thealmosttherapistwholosthermind · 9 months

Text

Sigh After Denial

Today I am deeper than bone tired.

Recovering from my 3rd brain surgery has been different. I just don't have the "oomph" I had the first two rounds.

It's going well by all standards.

Symptoms have abated.

I walk around the block.

I cook dinner.

I even run errands.

But mostly I lay around.

It's going well. I am getting better.

I just can't put my finger on what's different. It's like something deep inside me has broken. I'm no longer fighting this disease and desperately holding on to the illusion that I will get my life back.

This IS my life. It's not the one I wanted. But it's mine.

It is a slow life. There is a lot of time to read. Time to ponder. Time to feel. Time to process. I like that. Is it strange?

I know it won't be like this forever. I know I can be symptom free. But my "old life" is long gone. There is no going back. Only forwards. Towards recovery and health, which will likely include some adjustment. I don't know what yet. But I am willing.

Maybe I am so tired because I have finally given up the struggle--the battle I was never going to win anyway. The one where, somehow, I would beat this beast of a disease back into a metaphorical cave and it'd be like it never came.

Instead, I am just going to let it be. And I'll be. And I'll manage it. And accept that I have a disability.

2 notes · View notes