If Only For Today (sonnet)

Warming my soul with a glass of champagne,
I float away to a land of sweet peace. 
Drowing the memories, drowing the pain,
Finding a small way to find some release.
Is it very wrong to not want to feel?
Is it so horrible to run away?
Is it so bad to wish it weren't real?
Is it a crime to "numb away" the day?
I know it's the past, I know that it's done --
I know it is not still happening now.
I know that I am not the only one
Who has been tortured like this, but somehow
I wish I could just make it go away.
And so I shall, if only for today.

Christmas in Reverse (sonnet)

It's almost like Christmas, but in reverse.
There are "gifts" to be opened and explored.
Known or unknown, I'm not sure which is worse --
One thing's for certain, I will not be bored!
I wrapped each mem'ry and stowed it away
Because the pain it held was much too great.
The time has come and today is the day --
No more excuses, no more time to wait.
Do I shake each "box" to see what appears?
Do I judge what is inside based on size?
Do I measure the impact based on tears,
Or do I poke and hope with tight-shut eyes?
I must admit, of this I'm most perplexed,
Which "present" shall I choose to open next?

Freeflow Journaling Through a Flashback or Body Memory

I've found that sometimes there's no escaping from the grip of an intense memory (especially if it's sensory-related). Although deep breathing, progressive muscle relaxation, and meditation help a little bit sometimes, I've discovered that in some cases there's nothing I can do except "hold on for the ride."

One tool that I've found useful is what I call "freeflow journalling." I've heard others refer to it as "freewriting." Basically whatever thoughts, sensations, words, images, etc come to mind, I write it down -- without worrying about using proper punctuation & grammar (or even whether or not it "makes sense," for that matter).

There are several reasons I've found this helpful:

1) It gives me something to do while I "ride out" the traumatic memory.
2) It helps me sort through what happened afterward so that I can process it.
3) It sometimes lessens the severity of the physical aspect(s) of a flashback (maybe because my hands are "occupied").
Here's an example of a "freeform" journal entry that I wrote about a year ago when I was triggered by simply hearing someone say the phrase "Just take it all." (Note: I added some punctuation to make it SOMEWHAT easier to read.)

-----------------------------------

Just take it. Take it all. Stop your fucking complaining. Can't. No room. Stop. When will he come? Please God, No MORE! Arms over my head. Tight. Wrists. Pillow. Face. No air. Can't breathe. My duty. For my children. I can do this. I CAN'T do this. Lord, give me strength. Help me Jesus. Help me. Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil. Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me. Burning. Enough. Searing. Too much. Go away. Arms numb. Make it STOP. So dizzy. Gonna throw up. So gross. Gagging. Salty. Over me. In me. Dribbling on me. Musky smell of him. Smothering me. Holding me. Fading. Drifting. YOU ARE MINE. I am his. I am gone. Disappeared. Where did I go? Darkness. Don't fight it. Let go. Wandering. Lights. Turning over. Spreading. Slipping. Again. Here we go again. No more. Please God, no more. Hurts so bad. Stretching. Splitting. Tearing. PLEASE let him be done. Mind over matter. He's spitting on me. Says that's good enough to go again. Mad at me. I'm dry he says. Better that way. Spits again. Good enough. It's NOT. Sticking. Pulling. Feels like he's tearing me apart. He likes it. Says I'm so good and tight. Every stroke burns. Agony. Searing pain. Deeper. Harder. Stabbing straight through me to the other side. ALMOST DONE, he says. STOP SHAKING. SHUT UP. Just a little more. Thank God. Hold on. Slipping away. Almost finished. Is he? COME AGAIN. I can't. Can I? Thrusting. Counting. Two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, twelve, fourteen, twenty, sixty nine, HUT. I miss playing football. Think about something else. Anything else. Deeper. Harder. He says he's done. Please be done. Finally. Breathing. Gulping air. Curl up in ball, knees to chin. Is he gone? Have to pee. No, I can't. Too late. Burning. He's still in me. GET IT OUT. But he's gone. Not there. Need ice. Ice. Find the ice. Make it stop. He's gone. Don't care where. Away from me. Quiet. Curl up in a ball. Make the pain go away. Lord, please... Why ... Why ... Why... Is this how it's supposed to be? Am I so weak that I cannot do this? Help me submit willingly, Lord. My body is not my own. It is his. Strengthen me, Father. Need to sing. It will be better one day. I just need to trust. Singing -"All the way my Savior leads me, what have I to ask beside? Can I doubt His tender mercy, who through life has been my Guide? Heavenly peace, divinest comfort, here by faith in Him to dwell. For I know, whate'er befalls me, Jesus doeth all things well; for I know, whate'er befall me, Jesus doeth all things well." Tears. More tears. Why? What is wrong with me? Am I a horrible wife? I must be. This is my lot, my portion in life. I shouldn't let it upset me. God is in control, this is His will for my life, so who am I to question it or complain? Singing-"Day by day, and with each passing moment, strength I find to meet my trials here. Trusting in my Father's wise bestowment, I've no cause for worry or for fear. He whose heart is kind beyond all measure gives unto each day what He deems best -- lovingly, its part of pain and pleasure, mingling toil with peace and rest" . . . God must approve of this, otherwise He wouldn't allow it. And it says there will be pain mixed with pleasure, so I guess I should be thankful even through the pain.  This must be what He wants for me, and I'll just have to accept it. Lord, help me accept it .... Singing-"Have Thine own way, Lord, have Thine own way. Thou art the potter, I am the clay. Mold me and make me after Thy will, while I am waiting, yielded and still" ... I need to just yield. Lord, help me be still and yield. I confess my weakness, my frailty, my inability to properly submit to my husband as is my duty, my inadequacy as a mother, and my incompetancy as a housewife.  I humbly bow before you, Heavenly Father, and beg for your mercy. Haven't you punished me enough? I know I don't deserve to be rescued, but I cry out to you, oh Lord. Footsteps on the stairs. Coming up. It's him. He's back. Wants more. Shaking in puddle. Still singing. Want to believe. Hands trembling. Ice melting. In the doorway. His face. Sneering. Ridiculing. God won't hear me because I'm a slut. Worthless whore. Why am I singing to a God that can't hear me? Or doesn't care to listen? He throws hymnal against wall. Says we need to pray. Pray for my forgiveness. Pray that God will help me submit. Pray that God will forgive me for my weakness. That He will forgive me for my unwillingness. Pray that God will have mercy on me. Pray that God will make me a better wife. God help me take it all. Take it all. He wants more. No, Please, no more. Please, no. He says he'll be "nice" and only do my mouth. Please no. Please. On my chest, he's so heavy. Choking, gagging, suffocating. Bite down. Slap! Let go. Stop. No more. Finish yourself. You have two hands. Will I watch? Video. Awful & disgusting. Makes me watch. Hate porn. Skin crawling. Sick. He can't come. His arm is tired. YOU FINISH. My job. My responsibility. Take it all. Swallow. No. Sick. Gross. BASTARD! Gag. God help me. Darkness. Slime. Room spinning. Pillow soft. Quiet. Fading. Take it all. Just take it all.

Standing Tall (sonnet)

I did not give up, did not cease to fight.
I chose to find a way I could survive.
I weighed the risk, did what I felt was right;
I saved myself and vowed to stay alive.
I held onto my "self" as best I could.
I fought to stay in touch with what was real.
I lived through things that no one ever should,
Experienced feelings none should have to feel.
I lost some battles, but I won the war.
I'm still not whole, but I am standing tall.
I may not understand the reasons for
The pain he caused or why I took it all.
I cannot blame myself for giving in;
By letting go, I found a way to win.

Giving up the Fight (artwork; trigger warning)

I apologize in advance if this piece of artwork is disturbing to you.  I'm simply trying to wade my way through all of the perverse images that swirl around my mind these days.  Sometimes it's so hard to fit the pieces together.  What I find the most disconcerting is that in many of these images, I see myself in such a submissive state, as though I had completely given up, as though I no longer cared what happened to me, and had simply accepted what was happening as my "lot in life."  Sometimes I will have a clear recollection of thinking to myself, "If I do this, at least something worse won't happen tonight."  It's like I had lost all will to fight back. 

I've tried to determine when exactly this change took place.  Was there a moment in time that I decided it wasn't worth the struggle, that pain was inevitable and I might as well choose the least painful thing?  Was there a day that I suddenly relinquished any right to my own body? Or was it a gradual process that incidiously ate away at the very core of my being until I had no strength left to resist?  I honestly can't say.

I'm ashamed to admit that I gave up, that I stopped fighting back, that I just lay there and "took it" like a lump of nothingness.  At some point, I guess I quit feeling.  But did I really?  I find it hard to believe that there wasn't at least some internal response to the excruciating pain, humiliation, and degradation.  It's more likely that I dissociated whenever I got overwhelmed physically and/or emotionally. 

This is a very difficult image for me.  I know it happened a lot.  Several times a week, as best I can recall. I can feel my face mashed into him and his hands pushing so hard against the back of my head that my neck hurt.  I can smell the musky smell between his legs and sometimes I wake in the middle of the night with a choking sensation and a salty taste in my mouth.  I chose the swirly background because sometimes I would get so dizzy that the "room would swim" and I'd "see stars" because it was very hard to breathe.  Aside from the fact that I was probably a little low on oxygen to the brain now and then LOL, I would put myself into sort of a trance and visualize something sort of like the swirls in this picture.  I would close my eyes and points of light would go around and around in circles.

And yet, I would just kneel there. Like a robot. Like a servant.  Like it was my duty.  I can see myself just sitting there totally limp and lifeless, gagging, trying to breathe, trying to pull away just enough to take a breath and him smashing himself down my throat.  "Swallow it," he'd order, "Just swallow it."  I can feel the cold tile of the bathroom floor sometimes.  Other times, he'd have me sit on the toilet and he would stand in front of me.  That was a little "better" because at least my neck wasn't at such a crazy angle. 

Truthfully, even though I DETESTED sucking him off, I'm ashamed to admit that sometimes I would OFFER it to him to avoid the more painful alternatives.  I hate myself for being so weak, for thinking so little of myself that I would essentially try to "bargain" my way out of pain.  "I'll give you a blow job if you'll leave me alone for the rest of the night."  I don't know how many times I said that.  The sickening thing is, sometimes I'd go through a half hour of agonizing fellatio, "comforting" myself with the fact that at least for that night I wouldn't get raped, and then he'd go back on his word and wake me up at 2 in the morning ANYWAY and say, "Oh, that was just a warmup.  Time for round 2."  

How did I manage to survive?  Why didn't I go insane?  Maybe I DID go insane . . . a little . . . LOL . . . what "normal" person would spend hours on end recreating disgusting graphic images of horrible memories. 

But at the moment, it seems to be helping me "get it out," so bear with me and I apologize for the content of the "art."  One of these days I'll have to do something a little more "nice" for a change. 

7-7 New artwork (trigger warning)

I've been having such trouble with nightmares lately.  And what I call "daymares" LOL . . . I'm awake, but it feels like when you're trapped in a nightmare and you KNOW it's a dream, but you can't wake up.  Anyhow, there's a lot of stuff that I can't really talk about yet, but I've been able to "draw about it."  I can't even really say much about these except that each one took several hours to complete. 

Anyhow, I hope you didn't find these too disturbing.  I'll post one in a new post that's a little bit more conventional that I've just finished today (Shadow Girl).