#optimism?

"...and if you are still alive when I am grown up, you can come visit them!"

I didn’t ask for this.

Who could ever want this?

This is a tightened chest, a hardened heart. This is a skittering gaze and a fighting stance. This is 24/7 fight or flight. This is trauma at first.

This does not go away.

Because it’s been almost a year since I‘ve thought of it with any sincerity. It’s been several months since the incident that had me pulled from my bed at two in the morning. I think I shouldn’t be affected at this point.

That’s the thing with trauma. It doesn’t go away.

Images stick. Sounds echo. Memories repeat.

I see red sports cars and feel my heart clench in anxiety. I hear footsteps in the hall, a knock at my door, and I’m filled with dread. I am afraid to let people know who I am.

My trauma—I’ve only recently learned to call it such—isn’t life ending. In the grand scheme of the world and all the problems that exist in it, my trauma is insignificant.

But in the world which is my life, my trauma has impact. And I know I will not die from my trauma and I know that I have to believe I can beat it in order to beat it, but I will not diminish the impact it has had on my life.

I am scarred.

I think all of us are scarred in our own way.

I think that’s okay.

(I have always had scars, physical and emotional. I have been prone to scars since birth. Take it from someone who knows: it’s okay to have scars, no matter the shape they take)

Scars are old wounds healed over. Scars are struggles and traumas that have impacted us, but have faded with time.

Scars are permanent; scars can fade.

There will always be a mark, I will always know it’s there, but it will fade until I cannot see it.

It will take years for my trauma to fade into the lightness of the scar you only see when you look for it. It will take years for me to stop turning at every red sports car, stop panicking at every knock on my door. But it will fade.

I have to believe it will fade, I have to hope.

There’s a change in the air, its felt everywhere. Will it be warmth or an icy blow? Outside’s to venture to ever know. ~ The future nears, with future fears. The past’s a guide, or where to hide. ~ Scrambled thoughts shaped in rhyme, shadows mask the light of time. Moments killed, perspective’s born, clearly focused or forever torn. ~ Doors lock, window’s seen, vistas vary with a lean. Steps taken never still, ups and downs, want and will. ~ At a point all paths meet, minds move not feet. Hearts feel, hands express, lips promise; life’s a guess.