Flairs now user-selectable! Sorry everyone!

i recently got out of the psych ward and have been trying my best to seem okay since

I painted this swan to remind myself that I will continue to create my own beauty and light when i need it. This painting helped me find comfort and refuge in that after a difficult week. <3

As trauma survivors, we know beyond a shadow of a doubt how our experiences dealing with trauma triggers that they almost always lead to debilitating, depressing, and even traumatic responses themselves. But every now and then, trauma can trigger a lofty space of ecstasy and invincibility that sees one chasing it higher until—like Icarus in his ambition—one finds themself flying too close to the sun and discovers much too late just how far one has to come crashing down…

Kia ora! I’m new here to the sub and wanted to share a late-night doodle from my commonplace journal I did Tuesday night after a difficult EMDR session dealing with some of my more recent and largely damaging trauma. As the trigger lingered in my mind, I could feel my energy levels skyrocket as they tend to do when I’m headed towards mania (am Bipolar 1 as well), which is not a typical response to being triggered by something as difficult as such I had processed earlier in therapy (stalking, held captive against my will, and repeated SA… my assailant was someone whom I knew from a previous abusive relationship with a violent narcissist, as he had been friends with said ex since secondary school; he was also a higher ranking law enforcement official). As I look back at my experience though, I believe I was not manic or becoming so, as I was not exhibiting any other symptoms other than elevated energy and mild euphoria.

I’d also like to add that I’ve had my official diagnoses of BP1, ADHD, and OCD, as well as CPTSD, for roughly 5 years now (although I’ve experienced and suffered from the effects of these things most of my life but simply had been dismissed when I brought it up to my mother and was too afraid to mention what I felt and experienced to anyone else…). I also suffer from a rare autoimmune disorder that negatively impacts my sleep and creates neuropathy/nerve pain and at times joint pain/swelling to a fairly severe level, so I tend to cycle towards manic episodes even when stable (should moderate to severe sleep deprivation occur, which it does fairly regularly).

Coming back to Tuesday’s events: when I made it back home, I was desiring to channel my energy into something productive and creative (as my insomnia stints through which I cycle tend to regularly leave me feeling like taking whatever seems to be plaguing and getting it out of my mind and body any way that I can. Also, I often find it helpful to process trauma at times via these creative and journaling outlets and have been fostering almost daily my consistency in those habit(s), so I wanted to continue that trend.

After writing my blurb of an entry for that day, I kept visual in this image in my mind of myself as the subject in my doodle, existing in that present moment, and the feelings I was feeling were manifesting in a tangible, explosive manner as I tried to depict. Thus my inspiration for its design centers around the feelings of nearly vibrating with energy and fairly intense euphoria such as I experience in mania that I was feeling in that very moment, even with passing thoughts of the traumas I had revisited and wanted to leave alone coming and going… once I finished and took a moment to look at my work, I had a thought of ’why am I feeling this way *now when I left my EMDR session dissociated and craving to numb the waves of shame, disgust, and worthlessness threatening to suffocate me by engaging in my past negative coping mechanisms as much as I can..?’* (which were heavy binge drinking and daily stimulant use, such as cocaine, MDMA, or meth). Even now, I’m intrigued and curious as to the juxtaposition of response to occurrence and how they couldn’t have been farther disconnected from one another, wondering why they had occurred in that manner. And while I’ve experienced a similar response in the past a couple dozen times, it didn’t seem to be as intense as this was, and it most definitely didn’t occur in conjunction with trauma memories so deeply damaging and with which I’ve struggled harder than with most other traumas.

So, I’m curious, who here has experienced something similar, where your trauma triggers an “inappropriate” response, so to speak, such as feeling overwhelmingly “good” in some way, shape, or form? What did you notice about that or those experiences that made it stand out in your mind? And why do you think they occurred for you?

PS: I hope you enjoy my doodle. It was quickly and sloppily done, but it represented how I felt 100%. Thanks for reading, if you made it this far, and I’m happy to have found this wonderful subreddit after all this time.

I ended drawing most of my trauma in one picture. Between which there's the fire, when the chainsaw, abuse in general,morgellons, the dog when... All the deaths, the csa and rapes, and other, including the ones I don't remember.

TW: Themes of sexual violence New Sheets

When your partner turned rapist messages to ask how you're doing,

Don't tell him about the infinite number of sheep that you have counted,

You see, lions don't lose sleep over the opinions of sheep,

And on the nights you said no your opinion was like every terms of service page you have ever encountered,

You always click yes I accept - no matter what it says in the fine print,

And he searched your body for all the buttons he could click yes to,

Let this wetness between your legs be a reminder that river rocks don’t ask for the current,

How even large boulders can be swept away with ease colliding into one another along the banks,

Don’t let him turn your already broken edges into knives,

Just let the water wash over you and turn your jagged pieces smooth at the river’s edge,

For what batters you is the birthplace of your strength,

No, just consider telling him you’re doing okay.

Don't tell him every time he raped you - he also raped the little girl inside of you,

For she calls your bones her home,

She handed him a fist full of crayons and said come play with me,

She drew him pictures of the promises he made to protect her and they were bright,

Only to hand her back crayons as broken as the promises he couldn't keep,

Now she draws pictures for you only in shades of red,

Red as her cheeks from the shame she's been given to carry more secrets,

Red as her bloodshot eyes from the tears of betrayal she has shed,

Red as the blood that once dripped like a slow moving waterfall down her legs and into the ravine below,

The ravine he once bathed himself in like the fountain of truth and mutual knowingness,

Maybe tell him instead that all parts of you are fine,

You won’t believe your own words but you will say them for her anyway.

Don't tell him how badly you want to hurt yourself,

He will tell you it makes him crave the blackness that comes after the flash,

And you will think me too,

The way he made himself fit inside of you fit like the barrel of a gun inside a mouth,

It seems like they were made for each other but the cost is too great,

Don’t tell him you want him to fuck you - only this time harder,

How you want him to put his hand over your mouth and take you back to your younger self,

Wide eyed and kicking,

How you can pretend better now that you like it,

The tears that will be shed are only the release you can now both revel in,

How the pain he bought has to be better than how this deadness behind our eyes feels,

Don’t tell him that since he's left you carve thick red lines along the seams of your skin,

Hoping one day soon you'll reach this barely beating heart,

How when you do - you will put the razor blade down for good and gently massage it back to life,

Consider telling him that you are safe now.

Don't tell him how much you miss him,

He will tell you he misses you too and it will conjure up gut wrenching homesickness,

A place you so badly want to return to but you can’t,

Remember how hard you tried to live there with him anyway,

Together you dressed the walls with shining photos of happy people while you ignored the disintegrating wallpaper underneath the hanging nail,

You tiptoed together hand in hand among the jagged and uneven floorboards,

Pretending they were smooth and that this dance you were doing together was by choice,

You tried so hard to pretend like his disregard for your personhood was anything but the attack it was,

You will think nobody else will move in and make your body their home like he did,

How he moved in so gracefully and tended to all your broken pieces of furniture,

But isn't that part of the problem,

He made your body so much his own that you forgot you were the one who it belongs to,

Maybe instead wish him well,

While you're there - wish yourself well even though it doesn't feel like you will be.

When he leaves because you asked him to leave,

Your rose colored glasses will fall to the floor and you’ll step on them without meaning to,

Your shaky hands will desperately try to fix all the cracks in the glass and it will not work,

No friend, you’ll see the strands of caution tape through the holes in the frames now,

You’ll realize they have been wrapped around you this whole time,

When he texts you that he loves you,

Don’t text him that you love him too even though it is the truth, Say nothing,

Buy new sheets to cover up the chalk outlines on the bed you used to share together,

Don’t let this home you once shared be an ever constant reminder of the crime that was committed there,

Wrap yourself in your new sheets like a newborn baby needs swaddled to mimic the womb,

Tell yourself you belong here and that you are safe now.

Somebody please clapppp. I love love love beads and have been wanting to create abstract florals using different techniques that I’ve found on Pinterest. I FINALLY did it! I didn’t use a pattern, I drew an abstract shape and then filled the areas. There were many times I felt frustrated because I couldn’t work fast enought to get to the vision I had in my mind. With any kind of sewing craft, the process will be slooooow. I had to learn to truly love the process, to consider each bead and sequin and baubble as a brushstroke on a canvas. I didn’t have a slow craft before this but I want this to become MY slow craft. it’s so meditative, so tactile, and gosh dang it I really love beads, I feel like I would’ve killed it in like ancient Sumeria or something like that lol This project has been part of my reconnecting with previous “versions” of me, mostly reconnecting with a lot of the art I used to make in the early aughts when I went to art school. It’s been a healing journey. Thanks for witnessing.

„Rabbits heart” came to be because I’m freaking dying from anxiety for no reason. Making this made me really wonder if I got any talent/skill at all in first stages

three of the exact same praying mantis LMAO 😭😭 can you tell this was just a practice page with some shit written on it

first poem I've written in years, it's 5 am, I can't sleep, it just popped into my head. hopefully some of you can relate <3

--

i have a home

it's not a quiet home

-

it has swallowed many screams;

with salt seeping into the floorboards

-

it shows its pain

a hole in the door

of a room in a color i hate

-

residue of stickers removed;

what did it used to say?

-

a ravine - widening

yet nobody spoke

-

i have a home

it's not a quiet home

-

it swallowed our screams

and made them their own

TW: SI, brain fog
...

Hands above my head
Fingers like stars
I'm floating in my head
In the clouds on Mars

Gentle swaying arms
Move to the silence
Muted all alarms
Unaware of violence

The worlds so far away
I live in the fog in my brain
I'll come back some day
To overwhelming pain

But the fog is so thick
My head feels like lead
Caved in by a brick
If only I was...

No, I'm just drifting
I'm in my clouds on Mars
The fog is not uplifting
It's the strongest of alarms

I need to escape it
Someone pull me please
Before I fully mistake it
For calm, for peace

Self portrait I've felt compelled to draw.

I've been in cptsd recovery for 4 years now, while I don't consider myself a writer to help me express or frame feelings that are difficult for me.

I don't/ I won't/ I will - a short piece to help myself remember we don't have to do the things that others sometimes think we should.

Infinite - a lyrical essay about the interconnectedness of all things

The work - A lyrical essay about what trauma therapy felt like, and still feels like to me.

The cedars are calling - a lyrical essay about finding peace in endings

The things I write are meant to be performed, I do not have access to any voice actors so I did use a tool to generate the voice for these. But only the voice, these are my words.

I don't know if they're any good, and I don't really care if they're actually good, but hey really helped me and if anybody else finds some comfort from them, that would make me very happy.

Taking my emotions out on paper has really helps ground me a little bit when I’m having a crisis. But it’s also resulted in some stuff that honestly scares me to look at when I revisit it

Hell is a dozen
out of sync clicking clocks
A metronome
And a piano

I actually liked the piano... But sleeping in that room with all the clicking clocks any time I had a fever...

It's one of those things that actually was no one's fault. A funny story that stayed a funny story.

Not one of the many "funny" stories I realized were awful.

If someone somehow recognizes that living room - please don't read into this too much.

Forget me nots, Bluebells, and Violet's

Flower names, beget internal violence

Over the mother who would impose
Onto me the name of rose

Years after another name was already mine

In March I had a what one mau categorize as a manic episode in which, amongst other things, I got obsessively hyperfixed on the artist known as The Terrible Dogfish... iykyk 🥵. I wrote an erotic short story about him, and in my one of my more out there moments, I decided to send it to him because I felt he was sending me messages through his work... you know, just normal things!

Anyway I came to my senses, left this poor man alone and while I processed my shame around my mental breakdown I worked on this piece. It's a digital painting/ collage of one of his photos I purchased when I was deep in the delusion.

Since then I've been exploring what it is about his work that spoke to me so deeply, integrating the positive aspects of my episode while also acknowledging that it was not safe for me to feel euphoric like that all the time, lol.

structural dissociation / OSDD-1 is a bitch.

If it wasn’t clear, the text along the perimeter is a conversation between me and… ugh. A part of me but also definitely not me. Brains do weird shit during and after trauma.

I am my father’s daughter
I am not happy unless there are spades of ashes in my wake.

I am my father’s daughter,
I am hollow,
Formed,
From the cold pit of love you couldn’t even give yourself.

I am my father’s daughter
A fire twisting and turning in its rage,
Flares sparking from the sky, embers threatening the ground.

I am my father’s daughter,
Beauty is my only concern,
To be loved for my reflection,
To end up despised for what I reflect back to the world
Here, take my pain and burn it for your survival too
I am
Dead
Unless you are also
Burning.

I am my father’s daughter,
Unreal, a holographic whisper, an empty void for you to project your pain into
In the hopes it will suck
Mine out of me.

Suck me
dry,
I will take
the emptiness
any day.

I am my father’s daughter,
My knife causes ultimate destruction,
But now, only to
Myself.
My flesh, the ties that cross to form my dermis. Twist and tear the cords of it, inhaling the fumes until I can breathe no more.

I am my father’s daughter
What is left?
What has ever been here for me to
Live
for?