Reaching deep inside of myself and grabbing some horror or other by the scruff of the neck. Then wresting the damn thing to the ground and pinning it down. Or to put it in more moderate and realistic terms, writing about traumatic events, is an extremely difficult yet rewarding process.

Or perhaps not so much rewarding as necessary and valuable. That is unless the relief of having an abscessed tooth pulled from your jaw, for instance. Is to be considered a rewarding experience.

Regardless of the definition or analogy used, the end result is what it is nonetheless. An injury treated is always to be considered desirable. And the relief of pain and distress is always welcome. Even if the administration of said relief is in itself a difficult experience. And even if that relief is but transient and limited in effect.

There is a certain degree of empowerment in taking adverse events and pulling them inside out and dissecting them. Or in other words, turning them into art.

There is an agency to be claimed, a degree of ownership to be seized. And the plain brass tacks fact of the matter is, I can talk about things in semi autobiographical fiction, which I doubt I will ever be able to speak frankly about in real life.

Some words are still too painful to say yet. And some memories too excruciating to remember. But I’m getting there. Somewhere.

But, who really knows. There are no practical limits to the pain barrier concerning traumatic events. I suppose you just keep fighting until the day you die.

And this statement is nowhere near as bleak as it may sound at face value. No more so than the simple fact that you keep learning until the day you die. Or you don’t stop breathing until….well, you get it.

But be all this as it may be, I am on a quest. And the holy grail is recovery and something resembling completeness. A certain unity of self. Or perhaps a degree of intellectual and emotional cleanliness. A purging of my blood perhaps.

I guess trauma is a little like heavy metal poisoning. Once that element is in your blood, it is there for good and all. And you either find a way to live with it, or you spend the rest of your days dying.

And not to put too fine a point on it, fuck that.

And today’s lesson for me is allowing and accepting and even expressing anger. I do not want anger. I recoil from those things which prompt me to feel it. And the truth is, I shrink from expressing it.

But I do not mean to allow it to consume me. So express it I will. I have practiced this principle and put it into action here.


Thank you for reading.


Whippoorwill XO