Pushing outside my comfort zone

[missroserose]

The pharmacist said klonopin, lamictil, lithium, Xanax
The doctor said an antipsychotic might help me forget what the trauma said
The trauma said don’t write this poem
Nobody wants to hear you cry about the grief inside your bones

My bones said “Tyler Clementi dove into the Hudson River convinced he was entirely alone.”
My bones said “write the poem.”


Thank you, Andrea Gibson, for loaning me your poem tonight.

Comments

[cyrano]

I know this poem.

I don't know what my trauma is.

[peacefulleigh]

I don't know what my trauma is either, Cyrano.

Sometimes I think it's just being born with a sensitive soul in a world that increasingly requires hardness. Some days I feel like a soft-shelled crab, wondering why I didn't get an exoskeleton.

L.

[missroserose]

I think we're all sensitive, to one degree or another. Some of us are just better at hiding our reactions and carrying on despite than others.

[missroserose]

I imagine trauma, at least in this context, is whatever separates you from others. Whatever makes you feel as if you have to hide it, that it can't be shared, that no one else would want to hear it and anyway they can't possibly understand.

Despite the fact that, ultimately, we all have it, and we're not alone.

[cyrano]

We are not alone. Even given our best efforts.