Cruise control

I ask that I be patient with the things in me that are still dawning. That are silhouettes and not yet solid figures. I ask that I be gentle with the parts of me that tiptoes around my self-criticism, that hides from my frustration against myself. I’ve been reluctant to ask for 2 things ; patience and what my purpose here is. I realized today that the reason for this is because I really didn’t want life and i was just going to do the absolute minimum to stay afloat. I didn’t care about my purpose, much less being so willing to know what unfolds within me that I ask for patience to sit through the discomfort. I put myself on mute very early on. Maybe when I was 5. I decided then that it was easier if I was just here in the capacity of an observer and not a participant. I wasn’t willing to make my life a battlefield. Nothing was ever that deep, especially my life.

Before it dawns

The antidote to trauma is silence I think. I’ll try adopt that this summer in shaa Allaah. No planning, no restlessness, no pressure, no figuring out. I’ve been doing enough digging. I’ll sit anticipating nothing, accepting everything that comes. Just the thought gave me a heavy feeling in my gut. It’s the complete opposite of what my life has been in the past 12 years, so being still and silent feels like being on a yacht in shark infested waters. The imprint of terror is so strong that I’m pretty certain it’s changed my DNA. I just hope my healing gets encoded in my DNA so that I’ll pass that on instead.


Seeing the truth of your wounds also shows you the wisdom of the divine will that allowed it to happen. And suddenly the picture changes completely.


I don’t want the roots of my dreams to be the avoidance of my nightmares. I don’t want the bitter aftertaste of shame when I reap the fruits of my actions driven by my need to be more than I am. Every action is shadowed by the intentions that gave birth to it. Only the vulnerable truth illuminates instead of casting a shadow.

Map our bodies

I’m not a performance. I’m an experience, an expression. I’m contained by the moment, not for consumption. Close your eyes and your mind and feel my meaning. Hear my breathing in your heart and you’ll know. You’ll remember what was carved into your soul, eons ago. Our shared love.


Fear and doubt take over when you have to deal with pain and desire without a meaningful context.

Finding a home in my planet

The truth in me… is so cold and sterile. I don’t know… how to relate to it. I’m afraid… I’d be frozen if I attempt to reconnect what trauma decimated. I thought avoidance would… soften the edges of the terrifying memories. But they only festered and grew taunting shadows. Shadow puppetry, Plato’s concentration camp. Release my focus, have it all just let me dissociate. Let me dream until death overtakes..


CPTSD (complex ptsd) corrodes the very core that creates meaning and the desire to connect. It burns down any attempts at relating because everything has been usurped by a volcano eruption that took over all mental concepts that helped me orient myself in the world and find stability. My soul is Pompeii and I’m petrified. I’m at ground zero and I can’t find any reason to start from square one.

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