Where time is buried

I’ve been telling myself it’s gonna be ok ever since Saturday. Haven’t been out of bed except for going to the bathroom. Had a major flashback that made me realize a huge theme in my earlier trauma that was playing out in my behaviour in a way that truly shocked me. It knocked the wind out of me. Within minutes of the realization I became drowsy with sleep as is normal of cptsd (complex ptsd) triggers. Knocked out for hours. Felt like a rag doll. No movement. No will. Just frozen in shock. Like I had been playing in the dark and someone switched the lights on. Things became real in a way they never have.

I don’t know how to explain how this feels because I don’t know how much of this is my cptsd and how much is just normal. It’s all normal to me. Anyway, the mantra. Everytime light flooded that room, the one in whose darkness I’d previously seek refuge, I’d just calm myself down. That’s all I have left. I’ve spent years turning every stone and corner and page in a bid to piece my infinite fragmented psyche together, and now the image was.. much to my chagrin.

It’s gonna be okay. Because even though I have no idea what would happen to me henceforth, I know Allaah knows. I know He’d make it ok because for the first time I’m actually confident in having done my due diligence. I have hope Allaah would acknowledge my hard self work and just… I don’t even know the form of what I’m seeking. But having seen my coping system in its entirety, I think I’m finally ready to let go of form and let divine redemption find my focus.

The irony. In search of myself all these years only to disperse all my pieces in the place I found all of me.


When you’re in survival mode you can neither perceive or receive love. A gloomy and absolutely loveless reality has you under siege and your nervous system is acting accordingly. The concrete is preferred over the abstract ; the predictable over spontaneity. Not until one finds safety within again can the liminality in the world be entertained. Because love is always an initiation and never an interruption..

The collapse of a nation is the birth of another

“That’s incredibly fascinating and an unusual account”. He leaned back with his arms crossed and looked at me across the small round table where I sat, along with my psychologist.

I had an appointment with my GP in the same building as my psychologist’s office. He was to renew some prescriptions and update my medical certificate that details the conditions of my disability. I had explained to him why the sleeping pills he had prescribed me months ago stopped working after a few days. He said it’s normal because the body gets used to it. What we’ll do is increase the dose. I objected to this by saying that the dose is perfectly fine and my issue isn’t pharmacological. I’ve had severe depression and ptsd which I’ve battled since I was 16,17 and I’ve adapted to the symptoms. Merely correcting the sleeping patterns disrupts me and triggers intense anxiety because it exposes me to the daily routines and the emotional unsafety I encounter in being awake during the day as well as sitting with the expectations that come along with a normal circadian rhythm.

He said, ah, because it makes you face everything you hadn’t dealt with while it was just as easy as taking sleeping pills?

No. This is the only way I can remain alive. When I’ve faced these systematic battles without sufficient resources, understanding and support it’s led me to such desperate extremes that I’ve attempted suicide. That’s why my psyche reacted so viscerally to being snuffed on its only safe space : the peace of mind the night affords. I don’t live in conditions conducive for emotional security. I’ll have to deal with the underlying system before I pull the plug.

“I’ve never heard this before. You’re unusually conscious and aware of this.”

She’s an unusual woman, my psychologist quipped, to which we all laughed. I was beaming because I was believed and relieved that a man of his stature saw it fit to concede to my self-knowledge. It was a validation I could believe.

I’m not disabled by my inability to adapt, but because the system isn’t equipped for someone like me. And it’s easier for people to put that on me than jeopardize their blind trust in the infallibility of the system. If it’s all you have it’s not unusual that these cognitive dissonances arise. No one wants to live in existential uncertainty. But I’ve had to. That’s why my insight and vision is so piercing – clarity is all I have to survive, to avoid being exploited and deceived.

Going back to infinity

No healing can take place when disconnected or dissociated from the entry wound. It may take a long while before you’ll be able to return to the crime scene, the impact crater. It’s a time travel through pain, so don’t feel worried or ashamed if you’re unable to just yet. Focus on making contact with this moment before you think about your existential radius. Try to offload your mind because the more you press it to figure out what it’s not equipped to do, you create more fragmentation and trauma. The stillness of one moment reconnects you to your essence, and your essence is always connected to the divine.

The point is, the longer you can remain present without forcing, the more you’ll come together inside. Healing is about the process to make all of you return to your core after a trauma your mind wasn’t equipped for dispersed your presence and anchorage in your body. Your spirit was evacuated because your body was flooded with stress hormones which are like constant missiles flying overhead and never ending sirens.

You don’t have to fix or figure anything out to be ok again. You don’t have to trauma-proof the world to feel safe again. When you learn to feel safe in your body, you won’t have to rely on your mind keeping guard. You’ll be full of love and you’ll be able to withstand anything because of that strong inner presence. Nothing can budge that or destroy that. You’re still hopeful and aware, despite all the trauma and hopeless nights. That’s all the proof you need; you’ve survived this long without active healing. Imagine what devoting yourself to bringing all of you back to your body would do and mean?

A point of needed return

I was watching a video on a MKUltra monarch program survivor and something she said made me stop dead in my tracks:

She said, a lot of trauma survivors create unsafe environments for their inner child to come forward with the trauma. They recreate their trauma so as to prevent its processing by numbing the pain with physical pain and overstimulation. Basically, drowning out the inner screams of agony.

I don’t know if anyone who hasn’t undergone extensive trauma can relate to this but it’s bonechilling to me because that’s exactly what I had been doing for all these years up until 2 years ago. I tried to erase and kill the traumatized parts of me and live an alternate life just so I wouldn’t have to go back in and relive the shit. Everytime I attempted suicide it was because the traumatized parts of me broke free to my consciousness and I just wanted to jump ship.

Why run when you can walk

Dawn always makes my heart sink and my mind restless. The darkness of the night was a protective cover, and the morning reminded me of the constant hell that my life had morphed into and that the peace of the night was but a dream, fleeting. Even though those days are buried in many years ago my body hasn’t forgotten. It’s amazing how much sorrow and fear I can store. It seems like the more sensitive you are the more you notice and consequently store.

It’s like the first sun rays are so sharp that they burst my bubble of safety that felt invincible in the night. I feel exposed and my wounds translucent; naked confusion.

Dawn makes me nauseous by its intrusion. How rude.

Beam me up Scotty

I don’t know how to live with this kind of pain crowding my body. It feels like there’s no room for me to investigate, as if I’m just pushing up against the sore places, making things worse by my curiosity. As if understanding amplifies the pain and exacerbates the suffering. As if the darkness of repression is a safe house.

But that safe house is where hope dies, so now what? Did I just dig my own grave by believing that the best way to deal with pain is to keep it out of mind?

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