Tagged dissociation

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Voices and Comfort

I can’t open up to my psychologist yet.  I realized this when I finally took a breath after weeks of relentless cycles of giddiness and tears and I knew it wasn’t medical or needing a check.  No.  It does this; when something bothers me–in my heart and who and where I am–it manifests in my…

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EB-125

EB-125 I think I’m seeing white birds white birds scattering away from my window, out there in the cold January, their wings sound, from here, like sheets– my grandmother’s white sheets– on the line in June. The light coming in is white. Color? Or space? Like the space we can never fill. Like the start…

Curious Things

Readers I Have Questions, I see my psychologist friday but I wanted your insights. Aside from a lot of dissociating (not severe) and hearing voices when I am stressed out, I want to talk about something that has been going on for a very long time–and it's getting stronger and stronger and happening more often:…

The Center’s Keep

The Center’s Keep There are slights–these subtle moments, in between–that I forget I’m looking for. There’s no perfume or intention to stumble me but, if my head’s quiet enough, I see that inside the folds of my many faces there’s an opening. I know it’s legit if the “we” turns to “I” and the disaster of compulsions falls to a floor and I’m left without all my chemistry clogging the way And for a brief moment my head ends and I begin and for the sweetest moment I am my center. It’s enough to get me by as I try try…

Orbiting

I would have preferred a monk and maybe a lifetime of discipline over the pace I chose to find some way, collecting my hospital bracelets from the bin as if they were peace treaties to some god. They say the ego is the last to go; even the broken ones seem to think they have something worth holding onto. But once mine did I spent a year in a cave, afraid and starved, trying to fight for that last little part of me that liked to slip away and send me off into the air. The revolutions of seasons finally ended and…

Panic

it sounds like a circus back there, behind me where I can’t go, trapped in my mute carnival and I’m suddenly alone in a huge wide world, a spinning playground and the people are paper cut-outs with empty expressions and painted souls like balloons; there is no love in this place

Flat Affect

there is a piece I lost a great, big piece I lost and I don’t know where I am. I slipped away once upon… I stole inside where touch and sight could never reach me. It was, truly, a brilliant escape but it had a high cost I can’t suffer the balance. There is a…

the panic of peace

scattered prose LISTEN & READ: 05 – 4am  The Panic of Peace Flat affect.  What a depersonalized symptom to give the hider.  Yes, let’s play, you seek.  You seek out your DSM and professional books among the cranberry-colored spines with gold writing, or solid, knowing, black fonts.  And inside pours out six.  Six disorders I have because I fit the criteria like a glove.  I was better off not knowing. Yet it was something, a list, I could point to, aim the finger away from me.   I wanted to say “of course I have flat affect, I’m fucking stunned that…

…excerpt “Mason Jars”

  I wanted part of my soul to shine with that purple gloss of independence like hers did.  I’d wait around after relaying my young thoughts or invocations for her eyebrows to arch over her large, grey eyes.  I was originally drawn to her indiscrete way of telling everyone what was cool.  She had balls.  I wanted balls.  I figured if I stuck around enough, she’d rub some of that purple off on me.   She was charming in a way all her own.  She was no sun-kissed bee charmer in white cotton sundresses and dandelions, but close enough that…