Returning to Trauma

I am not saying that I wish to suffer, I am saying I physically cannot accept freedom.

I blatantly exist in a space that I am fully prepared to entitle: Toxic. Having all the necessary means to revive myself, yet holding my breath, and holding on even tighter to the dream of being rescued. I’ve rationalized this space passing as some form of sanity. For me, it is less damaging than being forced underwater to drown you. I rather drown myself.  That’s my truth. No matter what life bringing emotions once surrounded me or bore me comfort, at this point in my life, those people and places are indistinguishable. When you are drowning from memories you cannot escape from, even across borders, it’s difficult to recognize yourself. More recently, I returned to my trauma. It paralyzed me. It had been a place where the evolution of myself was at it’s prime and consistent.

That part hurts the most because trauma is customized for you. Set to hinder your growth and separate you from spiritual and earthly forces alike — the most significant misconception: that it is only pain. Pain is a mental consciousness, and trauma is psychological suffering. You exist in it every day, it triggers you, yet there is no consciousness. Maybe for the better. Who would want supreme knowledge during dinner with your torturer because he’s still apart of the family? Or during small empty business interactions with someone you once called a friend? During brutal conversations with a man, who when I look in his eyes, am only reminded of another’s death?

So I stepped into the room. That’s the funny thing, no matter how much growth you muster up, returning always yields withering. It is so unbearable that it makes drowning seems like the better bargain. I don’t know yet, if I have a choice or not like people say, you know, to not let it hurt me. In reality, I won’t choose to let go of the hurt. I am not saying that I wish to suffer, I am saying I physically cannot accept freedom. That I psychologically haven’t healed from the way you touched me so young. I emotionally can’t get back what you took from me. I mentally am not over the abandonment, and I will never fathom losing you before I could say goodbye.

It hurts. I hurt. But in the end, it hasn’t broken me. My focus isn’t pressed on trying to rid of the pain; it will always exist. I am more adamant about creating more spaces of comfort, places that welcome joy, and me as I am in the current moment. I am focused on finding freedom in the moments I still choose love.


Miss Parisia B.

Photo by Laurent Perren on Unsplash

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