Whispers


It isn’t easy to hear things, when your heart is beating so loudly inside your head.
It isn’t easy to listen, when you are gagged, and your screams of torment echo inside your skull.
But the whispers, they get through.
Even after all these many years.
In the middle of a conversation, or during a show on TV. Most often, while not doing anything, really. In the quiet hours of the early morn., when it is just you, and all your thoughts. Lying there, in bed, trying to sleep. Heart pounding like you’re running a marathon, beating a panicked staccato, the cadence wearing away at your resolve and will.
You turn around, thinking you’ll see who’s whispering, only to realize there’s nothing there. It’s all inside you, after all.
You mentally shout at them to just ‘Stop it! Can’t you just STOP IT!?’
But they don’t. They serve their own purpose, after all.
The inner pain, so intense, so grueling, with nothing to show on the outside except the horrible expressions on your face, as you endure yet another episode. The rest of the world, cruising by without a moment’s pause, not caring one way or the other about an individual’s grief. The frustration, of not being able to control the thoughts, of being victimized over and over again.
The blade, so clean and shiny. Glinting coldness and the promise of relief, even if only for a short while. The pain of the cut, sharp, intense, but something you can actually SEE, and FEEL, and is visible to the outside world. Something that can ‘justify’ the expressions, and say to anyone who cares to listen, ‘See! See the pain, finally!?’ You continue cutting, relishing each new sensation, a mirror of the last, but another mark of relevance, if only to yourself.

It isn’t easy to hear things, when your heart is beating so loudly inside your head.
Even if it is your screams that are calling out to you.
But the whispers carry on.

take it easy - this happened all last to me -
i was fighting and yelling all through my sleep-
cursing and crying at the torment -

get the agression out -
it will pass for after a while -

but then if you can take a nap - have something to eat - be careful with yourself too --

we are here --

i want to help -- how can i be there for you??

my past was so nonexistant - but if i can be there for someone - and be real to them -
as they are to me - regardless of anything - in the right here and now - let me know

Duncan,

Thank you for the kind words.
There isn't really anything anyone else can do for me, at this point.
I guess, just lending me an ear/shoulder to talk to/lean upon, from time to time, is about the most we can do for one another.
Your reply shows me that I'm not all alone in these feelings, as much as I wish no one else ever had to have them too.

Be Well, and I will try and do the same.

Whicker

whicker,
if you listen closely enough, my friend, the more persistant whispers you hear will be the ones that call you back to life.

i hear the ghosts as well. it is so difficult at times to reach out beyond the hauntings. i hear them most clearly when for what ever reason the pain drowns out the pleas to live from those that love me. in the end, the faintest, but most powerful whisper of all is little theo. it is not only his cries of anguish i hear, but also, more importantly, his desperate cling to hope...it is then that i once more struggle to turn my weary head to the horizon. it was little theo that remembered the promise made that somehow, somewhere, things will get better. that promise was made to little theo the night so long ago when he just could not go on any more because of all the pain the big people were doing to him. he recalled that promise to me the night three years ago when i could not take it anymore. i remembered...and i am here today because of little theo, the faintest, but most powerful whisper of all.

Theo,

Powerful words.

Thank You, for sharing them with me/everyone.

Whicker

God, Whicker, these images. They're mine too.

I hear the f****r in his little quiet "Mr. Rogers" therapist voice when he's raping me and I can't scream because he's got his goddamn hand over my mouth.

No. I'm not going there again. My mind's racing around it, but there is hope. I've felt it. I know it. My screams were finally heard. And I'm trying to replace the vile things he said with ones of my own. The ones that say "you survived and you've done well."

I hope, Whicker, that the whispers can be replaced. They should tell you that the quiet voice you hear is your own. And that you survived.

Whicker, this was powerful. I hope you can see the positive through the negatives. I also hope that this makes sense somehow.

Peace and love,

Scot

Scot,

Thank You for the reply.
The whispers are like a forewarning, of the PTSD episode coming. Like that breeze just before a major storm, raising the hairs on your arms and the back of your neck with trepidation.
I still can't handle the body memories, the PTSD replays. All I want to do is curl up into a very tight ball and die. Anything, to end it.
I just lost my Therapist (he retired, and the County doesn't have it in their budget to replace him), so am feeling even more desolate.
Reopened my Healing Journal, and started letting my fingers tap across the keyboard, in an effort to let some of these feeling OUT...

Thanks again for your reply.

Whicker

Whicker
Keep tapping away at that keyboard

Dave