sharing a poem

[Before you can make things better, you have to stop making them worse...]

Hi,

I don't really know if this is the right place for a poem, but it's the only way that I've been able to put into words what my ex did to me the day that she "left". It feels important to me to share it here. There is a content warning: sexual trauma. Also, I would ask people to be respectful about the content and not make any funny/queer comments (which I will report to the moderators). Otherwise, I hope that somebody here finds it meaningful.

Wellspring without sky
sky without remorse

A bird flutters onto iron
speech rests inside a glove

flickering, flickering,
the tongue of the lizard brain

the wayward, weary mind
collapses. Is it this room?

Is it this hour? either the body
cannot catch up, or the mind

cannot fathom. Once I had a day
so like this, and it took three years

before I could to speak again, before
whatever muscles are responsible

for trauma would cooperate.
Four months, now, in the day

I have not left behind. What have
I forgotten, what have I learnt?

that silence is an injury most bitter,
and that speech in the hands of a

criminal leaves absolutely no trace
of reward. So what if I said: assault,

rape, skin, morass, sorry, mine, teeth?
play, tale, evil, stump, rain, tar and echo?

The words merely sound out
inside an empty, borrowed theatre.

Rape, snail, tune, walk, her & bed,
Off, learn, prep, last, jump and scar,
yours, fate, press, pump, ill & grow.

It really doesn't matter. There are
no words. There is

no body to hold them in. What happened
to you, my body, on the day you've never left?

Burning. Somebody we thought was our
sister threw us in the furnace, and then
walked away, clapping.

Where did it burn, oh my body, my dear?
everywhere apart from the trench you

had retreated into. You need my love,
but I do not need your understanding.

Sink inside the hole in my chest and say it:

I was abandoned. I am alone.
I was raped by the person I loved,

with a word, she raped me with a word,
wall, rain, gut, swan, rough, pine & sky,

tell, wrath, ink, shape, joy, mask & over. 

the world spins, and I unravel.

Oh my body, my heart is breaking for
the emptiness of those who betrayed you,

so I will lift you up, tenderly, and cover you
with ointments. I will carry you to a grave of

remembrance, and sing an evening song to
mark your passage onwards:

let the powerful eat the dust of their reward
let the powerful eat the dust of their reward

nothing is stronger than the hope of your return. 

Oh my body, oh my dear, when will you
leave that day you've never left,

Speak those words you've never spoken,
feel those aches you've never felt?

there is a future day, awaiting you.

softly, softly, the waves of the mammal brain,
the embrace of the spirit, the arms of a human.
 

[poppy2]

Hi,

I don't really know if this is the right place for a poem, but it's the only way that I've been able to put into words what my ex did to me the day that she "left". It feels important to me to share it here. There is a content warning: sexual trauma. Also, I would ask people to be respectful about the content and not make any funny/queer comments (which I will report to the moderators). Otherwise, I hope that somebody here finds it meaningful.

Wellspring without sky
sky without remorse

A bird flutters onto iron
speech rests inside a glove

flickering, flickering,
the tongue of the lizard brain

the wayward, weary mind
collapses. Is it this room?

Is it this hour? either the body
cannot catch up, or the mind

cannot fathom. Once I had a day
so like this, and it took three years

before I could to speak again, before
whatever muscles are responsible

for trauma would cooperate.
Four months, now, in the day

I have not left behind. What have
I forgotten, what have I learnt?

that silence is an injury most bitter,
and that speech in the hands of a

criminal leaves absolutely no trace
of reward. So what if I said: assault,

rape, skin, morass, sorry, mine, teeth?
play, tale, evil, stump, rain, tar and echo?

The words merely sound out
inside an empty, borrowed theatre.

Rape, snail, tune, walk, her & bed,
Off, learn, prep, last, jump and scar,
yours, fate, press, pump, ill & grow.

It really doesn't matter. There are
no words. There is

no body to hold them in. What happened
to you, my body, on the day you've never left?

Burning. Somebody we thought was our
sister threw us in the furnace, and then
walked away, clapping.

Where did it burn, oh my body, my dear?
everywhere apart from the trench you

had retreated into. You need my love,
but I do not need your understanding.

Sink inside the hole in my chest and say it:

I was abandoned. I am alone.
I was raped by the person I loved,

with a word, she raped me with a word,
wall, rain, gut, swan, rough, pine & sky,

tell, wrath, ink, shape, joy, mask & over. 

the world spins, and I unravel.

Oh my body, my heart is breaking for
the emptiness of those who betrayed you,

so I will lift you up, tenderly, and cover you
with ointments. I will carry you to a grave of

remembrance, and sing an evening song to
mark your passage onwards:

let the powerful eat the dust of their reward
let the powerful eat the dust of their reward

nothing is stronger than the hope of your return. 

Oh my body, oh my dear, when will you
leave that day you've never left,

Speak those words you've never spoken,
feel those aches you've never felt?

there is a future day, awaiting you.

softly, softly, the waves of the mammal brain,
the embrace of the spirit, the arms of a human.
 

[Ad Meliora]

Thanks for sharing Poppy.  I think a lot of what you went through, and we have gone through individually, is beyond words.  Poetry can help with that.  Create an individual signature to your pain and feelings.  All we have here on the forum is words, and we're all trying our best to get what happened to us across from the abstract thoughts in our minds to concrete terms and concepts others can relate to.  Thanks for your bravery to express these intimate feelings with us.

[Ad Meliora]

Thoreau (one of my favorites) is credited with saying, "The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation, and go to the grave with the song still in them."

Thanks for sharing some notes of your song.  We were all shot up with poison darts, I think getting some of that out is a good idea.  Here's some "red meat" for your thread with a short poem inspired by your expression.

I played with the young hyenas,
and kept the pack close.
She circled, a playful cougar, I thought.
I was led away to her lair, there
I soon saw the hungry lioness
inside

She wanted a fight, her jackal
prey to snarl and show his teeth.
To get the heart pumping
so all the lifeblood could be
hers to feast on.

A torn ear, a scratched eye,
a missing tooth: I didn’t want
a fight.  I submitted before
the lioness.

Her eyes gleamed at the pose,
for a moment, then she grew bored.
This is not the plaything she
intended.

As she walked away I
eagerly showed her where to strike,
to hurt me the most.  She obliged,
opening wounds once sealed. 
Blood flowed: dumb chum now numb

Soon too, she was bored again.
She wandered off the plain, slain
I lay bleeding.

[poppy2]

hey Ad Meliora,

Thanks a lot for replying and for your kind words. The wound is sort of unutterable, as you say, and that is where poetry helps.
I can relate to your poem about the lioness and I think this is a very powerful image to take (the predator and their prey). They soon 'grow bored' indeed...

[Ad Meliora]

Poppy2,  I've read your poem several times.  I think you should keep writing, keep sharing.  I don't know if you had hoped others would express their feelings/pain/trauma this way or not, but I think it can be cathartic.

I found your poem to have an undulating quality, a push-pull, maybe not unlike the relationships we experienced with our BPDexs.    The subject quests for the infinite in the "wellspring without sky" that maybe there is a solace with time and a reckoning of the Lizard and Mammal brains at some point.  There is a feeling of optimism at points, but it is tempered with the dark cloud of trauma, one event in particular, but it is more than that, it's overcoming betrayal.  The telling of the story is trapped in the glove but maybe this is just another form of the masks mentioned in the poem, as gloves cover hands up.  Self-censorship and brave faces forward.  The reader is left hopeful that there will be more human-ness in the world, again, love may return as well as a restored sense of self.  And perhaps those who do such deeds will get what's coming to them.

I'd like to see more, so share if you're comfortable Poppy.

[poppy2]

Hi Ad Meliora,

I just wanted to apologize for not replying to this earlier... often for me, already posting about a topic is big, and then life takes over or there is a new challenge or issue and I forget about it. That was the reason I gave you an A* in our graduating class ;) you really are very conscientious in your forum participation, I've noticed. I am less conscientious but it's not because I don't care, rather because I'm swimming against the tide all the time.

I appreciate very much that you read the poem and your comments about it. I find your observations interesting, like the push-pull, and it's true the poem is 'haunted' by a dialogue with BPD (my ex is the sky without remorse). It's also a dialogue between my own mind and body, across a gulf of trauma.

Now that I have more mental space, I can also comment on your poem more directly. I think it captures the dynamic of the predator and prey very well, and I especially liked the moment when 'non-sense' entered the narrative with 'dumb chum now numb'. I wondered who was speaking here - you to yourself? if it's not too personal to ask, do you feel like the 'dumb chum' of yourself? if so, I can understand. We are forced to relate to the weakest or 'dumbest' parts of ourselves in these relarionships, since our partners are so triggering or so incapable of support.

Your poem also captures the power dynamic of control in these relarionships very well. That's something which I think, in a way, is 'on us'... What I mean is, none of us deserved what happened to us. At the same time, one thing I've learnt from these boards is that we can't let others do these sorts of things, we need to somehow become stronger or 'beyond' their manipulation. I wondered if there's another poem in you, a poem of where you are now in regards to all of that?

Or, to put it another way - how could we insert our own gatekeeper, our own strongest protector, into such narratives to avoid being the 'prey' again in the future? What images could we find to replace and amend the psychic boundaries that were crossed?

It's a question to myself as well, I hope it speaks to you.
best wishes

Poppy

[lichtermeer]

Hi,

I don't really know if this is the right place for a poem, but it's the only way that I've been able to put into words what my ex did to me the day that she "left". It feels important to me to share it here. There is a content warning: sexual trauma. Also, I would ask people to be respectful about the content and not make any funny/queer comments (which I will report to the moderators). Otherwise, I hope that somebody here finds it meaningful.

Wellspring without sky
sky without remorse

A bird flutters onto iron
speech rests inside a glove

flickering, flickering,
the tongue of the lizard brain

the wayward, weary mind
collapses. Is it this room?

Is it this hour? either the body
cannot catch up, or the mind

cannot fathom. Once I had a day
so like this, and it took three years

before I could to speak again, before
whatever muscles are responsible

for trauma would cooperate.
Four months, now, in the day

I have not left behind. What have
I forgotten, what have I learnt?

that silence is an injury most bitter,
and that speech in the hands of a

criminal leaves absolutely no trace
of reward. So what if I said: assault,

rape, skin, morass, sorry, mine, teeth?
play, tale, evil, stump, rain, tar and echo?

The words merely sound out
inside an empty, borrowed theatre.

Rape, snail, tune, walk, her & bed,
Off, learn, prep, last, jump and scar,
yours, fate, press, pump, ill & grow.

It really doesn't matter. There are
no words. There is

no body to hold them in. What happened
to you, my body, on the day you've never left?

Burning. Somebody we thought was our
sister threw us in the furnace, and then
walked away, clapping.

Where did it burn, oh my body, my dear?
everywhere apart from the trench you

had retreated into. You need my love,
but I do not need your understanding.

Sink inside the hole in my chest and say it:

I was abandoned. I am alone.
I was raped by the person I loved,

with a word, she raped me with a word,
wall, rain, gut, swan, rough, pine & sky,

tell, wrath, ink, shape, joy, mask & over. 

the world spins, and I unravel.

Oh my body, my heart is breaking for
the emptiness of those who betrayed you,

so I will lift you up, tenderly, and cover you
with ointments. I will carry you to a grave of

remembrance, and sing an evening song to
mark your passage onwards:

let the powerful eat the dust of their reward
let the powerful eat the dust of their reward

nothing is stronger than the hope of your return. 

Oh my body, oh my dear, when will you
leave that day you've never left,

Speak those words you've never spoken,
feel those aches you've never felt?

there is a future day, awaiting you.

softly, softly, the waves of the mammal brain,
the embrace of the spirit, the arms of a human.
 

Poppy,

this is so touching and you are so brave sharing this intimate poem with us.
I was right about my instinct and your talent though, you should keep writing. You have true talent for capturing your emotions in beautiful metaphors.

You are going to heal, when you find strength in your scars- you'll maybe find a way to love them. That day may have been the most traumatizing for you, but that day also freed you from this toxic relationship. Don't give up, you are beautiful and deserve to be treated with respect. Give yourself time to heal, set new and healthy boundaries and become stronger than before. You can do it.

[Newdawnnewday]

Thank you so much for sharing this beautiful poem with us, Poppy. Your writing is deeply evocative of various types of very intimate, "primitive" literature, it is harrowing and intimate at the same time.

These verses reminded me of the worst nightmares of our childhoods - when the witches that were supposed to take care of us ended up eating us alive (Hansel and Gretel). These types of tales remind us to BEWARE of what is unknown and not trust the untrustworthy, they also warned us about the existence of evil.

Burning. Somebody we thought was our
sister threw us in the furnace, and then
walked away, clapping.

Regarding sexual trauma, I believe that those of us who were abused sexually in any way (that can also extend to verbally abusive words) make perfect preys, sadly, for those abusers who want to take advantage of the extent to which an intimate relationship makes us open up sexually, and thus, causes us to be vulnerable in the tenderest parts of ourselves.

These parts that have been wounded, sometimes repeatedly, and that we have such a hard time healing.

These that can cause us the deepest shame.

Time to heal the shame and throw it back to our abusers !

Or, to simply be a wonderfully kind, warm, embracing, accepting presence for our shame, until it dissolves away in a whisper : "we are all, only human after all".

Thanks for this beautiful present Poppy, you're using your vulnerability to allow us to tap into our deepest wounds, and the deepest recesses of our souls.

Take care.

[poppy2]

Poppy,

this is so touching and you are so brave sharing this intimate poem with us.
I was right about my instinct and your talent though, you should keep writing. You have true talent for capturing your emotions in beautiful metaphors.

You are going to heal, when you find strength in your scars- you'll maybe find a way to love them. That day may have been the most traumatizing for you, but that day also freed you from this toxic relationship. Don't give up, you are beautiful and deserve to be treated with respect. Give yourself time to heal, set new and healthy boundaries and become stronger than before. You can do it.

You are so sweet lichtermeer. Thank you for your kind words. I will treasure them. These ones especially, "but that day also freed you from this toxic relationship. Don't give up, you are beautiful and deserve to be treated with respect. Give yourself time to heal, set new and healthy boundaries and become stronger than before. You can do it".

Before I thought about what I lost, rather than what I would find (although that, too, is in the poem's ending).

[poppy2]

These verses reminded me of the worst nightmares of our childhoods - when the witches that were supposed to take care of us ended up eating us alive (Hansel and Gretel). These types of tales remind us to BEWARE of what is unknown and not trust the untrustworthy, they also warned us about the existence of evil.

I had never thought of it like that! That's a really amazing point. I feel like I could spend a lot of time absorbing that idea: BEWARE of the unknown, and BE COGNIZANT of the existence of evil.

Burning. Somebody we thought was our
sister threw us in the furnace, and then
walked away, clapping.

Regarding sexual trauma, I believe that those of us who were abused sexually in any way (that can also extend to verbally abusive words) make perfect preys, sadly, for those abusers who want to take advantage of the extent to which an intimate relationship makes us open up sexually, and thus, causes us to be vulnerable in the tenderest parts of ourselves.

I agree with you, and I know exactly what you mean. But you know what is so strange? the person who did this to me was not the person who r**** me. And in fact, when I trusted her with that information, she told me it had happened to her too. That is why I thought she was my "sister". To this day I don't know if that was a kind of mirroring or not. What I learnt from it was - even people who have been themselves traumatized, can give that trauma on in horrible ways, rather than "own up" to it or protect others from it. So evil can wear the face of a friend, too. My therapist called this "overcompensation" i.e. the person acts in the role of their own traumatizer in order to redress the imbalance of the past experience. It's harrowing stuff.

These that can cause us the deepest shame.

Time to heal the shame and throw it back to our abusers !

Or, to simply be a wonderfully kind, warm, embracing, accepting presence for our shame, until it dissolves away in a whisper : "we are all, only human after all".

These are beautiful words. I will carry them with me. Thank you.

[Ad Meliora]

I think it captures the dynamic of the predator and prey very well, and I especially liked the moment when 'non-sense' entered the narrative with 'dumb chum now numb'. I wondered who was speaking here - you to yourself? if it's not too personal to ask, do you feel like the 'dumb chum' of yourself? if so, I can understand. We are forced to relate to the weakest or 'dumbest' parts of ourselves in these relarionships, since our partners are so triggering or so incapable of support.

This thread must have a "slow burn" fuse set, whoa.  You see Poppy, others appreciate you work and want you to share more.  I am not alone in that thought.

As for your question, it was just alliteration for effect.  The helplessness of a fish in a shark's mouth.  Nothing can be done, there is no escape.  Chum has two meanings, of course.  The friend in myself was of no use to me, abandoned, my own ego--the manipulator--who got me into this jam now vanished.  Being of no help to myself, at that point, I am no help to others.  Shell-shocked and useless.

If I write, I write for myself.  The poem I shared on the other board was a pleading one with a point, and only ever to be read by her as I thought she'd get the context.

I've had a lot of time to think about what went wrong, what was right.  I used all the tools at my disposal, pulled out all the stops, to try and make the relationship work with my BPDex. I think you should know that.  I pushed all the chips in, and got "busted" emotionally.  I think many here have as well. There's been nothing there inside to feel enough to generate a poem of triumph or vindication.  I hope there will be.  I'll consider your words here, though.

If you have it in you, you should write, and share here.  You have two other thoughtful people who took the time to post and agree, that have also been in the same place we have.

[poppy2]

This thread must have a "slow burn" fuse set, whoa.  You see Poppy, others appreciate you work and want you to share more.  I am not alone in that thought.

Thankyou indeed. It meant a lot to me that you responded to this in the first place.

As for your question, it was just alliteration for effect.  The helplessness of a fish in a shark's mouth.  Nothing can be done, there is no escape.  Chum has two meanings, of course. 

If I didn't know that you were American from the Thoreau, now I know because I actually didn't know that chum also meant 'refuse from fish or something thrown overboard' until you made this comment and I looked it up. Now I understand your point a lot better, but in a way (and this often happens with poetry) I think the misunderstanding was a productive one.

I totally believe you when you say you pulled out all the stops. I'm sure you worked very hard with all of your considerable resources and that this made you vulnerable, and therefore made it hurt all the more. Vulnerability is so crucial for intimacy and, oh cruel irony, it is that intimacy that is especially threatening to pwBPD (and maybe our quiet types specifically).

Being of no help to myself, at that point, I am no help to others.  Shell-shocked and useless.

I can totally relate to and recognize this.

There's been nothing there inside to feel enough to generate a poem of triumph or vindication.  I hope there will be.  I'll consider your words here, though.

Triumph or vindication may be one way or looking at it. I wonder, if when we transform pain into writing (or into anything) what we might feel. With my idea of the gatekeeper I suppose I meant a retrospective remodeling of the layout of memory, an insertion of what Ad Meliora deserved rather than what he got. But this may be different in our cases, because if I remember correctly you left your pwBPD - therefore, your gatekeeper functioned well enough to know when to say 'enough is enough'.

[Ad Meliora]

I whipped you up a batch of pancakes here with what you said earlier.  You may have to add your triple berry syrups to sweeten it.    I don't know how to do the flag symbols on the bottom of my posts like the more experienced members, but,  yes, I'm a corn fed (yet not in-bred) American that lives in the upper midwest.  I'll call this: To Poppy with Gratitude.


The butterfly effect I send over the sea
With tidal waves of hope returns to me

Whose slight wings ripple the pond
A hurricane blows; a magic wand

Every word spoken, every action taken
should be true and not mistaken

A kind old man then plants a tree
It’s triumphant glory he may never see

But from an acorn great oaks grow
Healing is in knowing what I don’t know

[Newdawnnewday]

Wow AdMeliora,

Thank you so much for these beautiful verses !

English is not my first language so I hope my words won't betray me as I try to convey my first impression. This is a poem so welcoming, open, hopeful, and full of fertile imagery : this really softened the barren landscape of my morning ! Subtle, but rich, with lovely rhythm, it is quite enchanting !

But from an acorn great oaks grow
Healing is in knowing what I don’t know

This is so deep, so sweet and so touching.

Not just that, it is also inspiring (it made something grow in me, that I didn't know needed to grow ! wonderful !).

I am certain you managed to answer Poppy's prayer, when she hoped that you may find it in yourself to find the words to compose a poem of "victory".

It does absolutely not need to be a poem of triumph or vindication, quite the opposite.

If one lesson must be learnt from our trial with our ex-PwBPD partners, it is one that should deepen us, strengthen us, certainly, but make us wider, grander, wiser, smarter, funnier (if possible !) more resilient, and you certainly managed a lot of that.

Your poem is a testament to that, but also : what you manage to share with us on a daily basis.

It is a pleasure to see you on this forum everyday, even when I don't manage to post, I love reading your words, they are those of a highly educated gentleman, and I am quite humbled and grateful to have the opportunity to be in such great company on these boards !

More generally, I really believe that the members of these boards are really sweet, deep, thoughtful individuals, no wonder our tender hearts, probably among the tenderest, got wounded - but our heart breaks and then grows back again, stronger, and even fonder of love, of art and the sweetness of life !

[Newdawnnewday]

So evil can wear the face of a friend, too. My therapist called this "overcompensation" i.e. the person acts in the role of their own traumatizer in order to redress the imbalance of the past experience. It's harrowing stuff.

Thank you for sharing this, Poppy.

An old friend of mine (now former friend - looking back, I suspect she suffered from BPD : she had so many of the symptoms ! but I knew nothing about the disorder back then. Hmmm : this indicates to me that I have been dealing with people w/BPD for a long time, albeit, unknowingly...)...

So this friend had sadly gone through the most extreme form of sexual abuse I ever thought possible. For that reason, even when I got really mad at her and had to let her go, I could never find it in my heart to blame her for how painful, and manipulative the friendship had become. Even if it left a deep scar in me, that I am only beginning to heal.

One day, we were talking about the painful subject of sexual trauma ; and I tried to address an issue of mine ; and, just like you, I thought that her having gone through that would make her so much more receptive to what I had to share about that. Quite the opposite. Sadly, it TRIGGERED her badly and she SPLIT.

It was extremely painful as I had spent hours of my life (countless hours) helping her, listening to her, etc. (with joy ! I loved her very much and she totally deserved that help) ; and she did NOT have in it her to show me the same acceptance.

On the contrary.

She was triggered to the extent that I DID NOT recognize her voice. It was as though, at that precise moment, she was CHANNELING her abuser, the worst of the worst part of her came to light, at the exact moment where I needed HER and her presence and the friendship I thought we had cultivated.

The topic of sexual abuse was so unbearable to her, that my mentioning it and wanting to share with her (in a safe and timely manner) was just TOO MUCH for her and she had to split.

SHE could share her story, because HER memories of HER trauma were, like a "fossil", a part of her "identity". I must say, although the friendship really was traumatic for me in the end, that she is one of the most courageous people I have known : having gone through what she had and still, fighting to be alive.

But, welcoming ANYTHING emotional from anyone else was just too much for her, she had to bail.

Each and everytime I needed her, she had to bail.

The friendship could only be about her and on her terms.

So, even though I had vowed to never abandon her (which I will never do again, I'll never make a promise like that, ever again), as she had asked me to, I had to let her go.

Someone told me, as I was lamenting the loss, and fearing I had betrayed my word : "you didn't abandon her, she abandoned you and abandoned the friendship".

Thanks Poppy for allowing these deep, painful memories to resurface.

The fact that you allow yourself to share yourself so deeply, with your exquisite vulnerability, allows us to share parts of ourselves also, on the deepest level. This was a very painful, traumatic experience for me, sad, also, but I am glad I have found the place to share it.

[Newdawnnewday]

NB : Ad Meliora, your beautiful poem resonated very deeply inside of me. I really love the imagery ! This poem is going to help us grow so tall and strong !

The following words aren't as poetic, but they resonated very deeply with me too, and your verses reminded me of that beautiful mystery : the mystery of the journey we are embarked upon ; we embarked upon the minute we chose, for instance, to enter a relationship that was so bad for us ; it changed us for the better, even though at first, it had to rip us out off what we thought were our best clothes !

In truth, we probably had so much to change and to let go of... these relationships showed us precisely where... no one, as well as a person w/ BPD, can get to our deepest wounds and burn them so bad that they finally need tending to.

So, now that we are out and now that we can finally tend to our wounds, it hurts, but hopefully we'll manage to look back and see that it was perhaps, an excessive remedy, but one that proved necessary to help us become a truer version of ourselves. Seeing these relationships as a gift from God to set us on a even more meaningful, truthful, beautiful path.

As for the words your poem reminded me of, here they are :

"No one can tell what goes on in between the person you were and the person you become. No one can chart that blue and lonely section of hell.  There are no maps of the change. You either come out of the other side. Or you don't". Stephen King

Of course, the plan is to come out of the other side. So much will have changed ! And, what will have changed, we don't know. What will have changed, IS what we don't know.

Healing is in knowing what I don't know.

I'll keep this verse close to me today, this is really deep, I really needed that. I'll let it blossom and bloom in my heart.

Again, thank you for your lovely poem, Ad Meliora ! A rich and wholesome piece from the wholesome American gentleman you are !

Take care.

[Ad Meliora]

Wow.  Glad I could brighten your day Newdawn.  That is the goal, generally speaking.  Thank you for your articulate response and complimentary words, much appreciated.

I'm glad you jumped right in and started participating after your first post.  You have some thought out responses as well.  Everyone has their own voice in helping others and providing support, and sharing their story/pain as well.  I'd encourage you to keep it up!

Stephen King has some wise words there too.  That's basically the gist of it. I think one day we will know the answers for healing.  There's some general ones here we collectively can learn from but each of us has to go through our own blue and lonely section of hell to realize our individual healing.  There's no charts, there's no maps.  If it was as simple as a recipe for pancakes, I'd share it here! 

Cheers to brightening each other's days Newdawn!

[Ad Meliora]

I'm sure you worked very hard with all of your considerable resources and that this made you vulnerable, and therefore made it hurt all the more.

Bullseye.

[Newdawnnewday]

Thanks Ad Meliora !

And cheers to making our blue and lonely section of hell a little less lonely. 

(Oh how lonely it gets at times !).

[poppy2]

One day, we were talking about the painful subject of sexual trauma ; and I tried to address an issue of mine ; and, just like you, I thought that her having gone through that would make her so much more receptive to what I had to share about that. Quite the opposite. Sadly, it TRIGGERED her badly and she SPLIT.

It was extremely painful as I had spent hours of my life (countless hours) helping her, listening to her, etc. (with joy ! I loved her very much and she totally deserved that help) ; and she did NOT have in it her to show me the same acceptance.

On the contrary.

She was triggered to the extent that I DID NOT recognize her voice. It was as though, at that precise moment, she was CHANNELING her abuser, the worst of the worst part of her came to light, at the exact moment where I needed HER and her presence and the friendship I thought we had cultivated.

I'm really glad that you decided to share this with me. I could never tell if what my ex did to me was psychopathic or not, if my own sacred wound was like an emotional game to her. I didn't want to believe this but also couldn't seem to believe the other thing, that somebody with such a trauma would end up so badly re-traumstizing somebody else. What I'm trying to say is - I'm deeply sorry you had to go through this, but I'm glad that we can at least recognize a very similar experience about a very specific issue.

It helps a lot, I think, to try and restore some trust to be able to know somebody else went through the same thing, so that the experience isn't isolated. I find what you say about my vulnerability very touching and it's true, I think sharing it can lead to healing just as much as it can lead to damage. There's also some hope in what you say, for all of us, that maybe one day we will find the stories from others that help us to connect to things we thought were buried forever. That's hard to see when the trauma is so close.

you didn't abandon her, she abandoned you and abandoned the friendship

I agree with your friend. I'm impressed with your ability to do what you needed to do at the time, that's honestly something I'm only learning the hard way, so it's a real strength! and a necessary one, even if it leads to difficult feelings.

Since you mention abandonment, I'd like to share a little more of my story, I hope that's okay with you. What I found so difficult about all of this - I really struggled with it for months, before finding Bpdfamily - was precisely this feeling that it was only on her terms... She could tell me horrible things, and I would absorb them, but there was somehow no consideration of the effect all of this had on me. Also, if I tried to talk about it - I mean, find some peace or resolution - she would only escalate further, due to her own stress and survival instincts no doubt. It was a very stressful thing. I felt such compassion for her, even at the same time as I felt all this growing anger at how she was neglecting all of my feelings, even my existence perhaps.

I'm telling you these things because I'm hoping they will resonate across time. I wrote her such a beautiful letter, you wouldn't believe how much I managed to express in this letter about the sacred wound of sexual trauma - but, since she had split on me and disappeared, I never sent it. I also planned (and maybe will still make) an artwork to heal the wound of this break, this rupture, this brutal chasm between two people who really should have so much in common. I don't want to share the exact details but I wanted to create an experience of pure healing that was so close and so casual that all we would have to do is stroll together beneath it - no pressure, no barriers, no fears. That was my dream.

Oh, newdawnnewday, I feel very close to many of the things you said in my other post as well... I think you have a lot of wisdom stored in your body (I mean, about landing, safety, not moving, and other things). Your words helped me a lot.

[poppy2]

yes, I'm a corn fed (yet not in-bred) American that lives in the upper midwest.

 , like I said I like your sense of humor also the 'etch a sketch memory' line in a poem in another thread was very apt!

  I'll call this: To Poppy with Gratitude.

The butterfly effect I send over the sea
With tidal waves of hope returns to me

Whose slight wings ripple the pond
A hurricane blows; a magic wand

Every word spoken, every action taken
should be true and not mistaken

A kind old man then plants a tree
It’s triumphant glory he may never see

But from an acorn great oaks grow
Healing is in knowing what I don’t know

This is such a terrific poem. Your last line is great... you manage to shift the attention of the unknown away from fear and towards understanding... it's a very powerful reminder of bringing into relation that which was not without further determining it. Thankyou! I feel like we could simply remind ourselves of that every day, and be happy: healing is in knowing what I don't know.