Therapy Bits

In the quiet of the night,

where shadows stretch and sigh,

trauma lingers like perfume,

an uninvited guest,

whispering tales of yesterday

in the flickering light.

I moved through rooms filled with echoes,

each corner a trigger,

every creak in the floorboards a flashback,

reminders of battles fought

long after the fight had ended.

Nights unravel,

and I am caught

in the merciless grip of PTSD,

a kaleidoscope of memories,

disarrayed yet vivid,

a gallery of scars,

beautiful in their honesty.

Yet amidst the chaos,

healing takes root,

a tender sprout in the cracks of my heart,

where sunlight can seep through,

warmth and whispers of hope

tell me: my story is still being written.

I gather threads of resilience,

weaving them into the fabric of my days,

each stitch a testament to survival,

a mantra echoing softly,

reminding me that recovery is not linear,

but a dance,

a spiral staircase,

ascending towards the light.

So I stand here, raw yet radiant,

embracing the journey,

the joy intertwined with pain,

as I reclaim the chapters,

each word a step towards a new dawn,

my story unfolding,

fragile, fierce,

a tapestry of healing.

https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2024/08/03/moved/