That Time of Year

PTSD is indiscriminate.

We cannot hide, and we cannot run.
What do we do?
We fight.
We fight it with every ounce of strength that we can muster.
We fight until we cannot fight a moment longer and fall into the oblivion of our own hell.

Every year, the end of September brings something extra for me.
Every year, the day after Christmas, I begin to feel relief.Every year, I think next year will be better, easier.
Every year, I forget what October will be like.Every year, I remember.

Every year, it gets harder.
Every year, I wake to a new level of torture.
Every year, I am reminded I am incompatible with the rest of my world.
Every year, new memories rock the foundation of my soul.
Every year, I cry out in agony, reliving every moment.
Every year, he comes into my room.
Every year, he touches me.Every year, I seek the meaning.
Every year, meaning does not reveal itself.
Every year, I loose my passion for living.Every year, I face the nightmares and cold sweats.Every year, I cannot be alone because I have to be babysat.Every year, I lose friends because they cannot understand my war.
Every year, I fail to make new friends because I cannot control my emotions.Every year, I remember.Every year, I fight.
Every year, I adjust to the new memories.
Every year, I breathe a sigh of relief when December has passed by.
Every year, I believe it will be better next year.Every year, I believe I have accomplished a victory because I am alive.
Every year, I am all too aware that people do not accept me for who I am. Every year, I think "if only I could make them see without judging me."Every year, I remember.Every year, people tell me "Get over it."
Every year, I feel like a burden to my family.
Every year, I become someone who I am not.
Every year, I lose stretches of time.
Every year, I get lost in the flash-backs.
Every year, my mind betrays me. Every year, I remember.Every year, Hope hides in the recesses of my mind.
Every year, I am plunged into the darkness of hell.
Every year, I have to crawl my way out.
Every year, I chip away at the muck and mire he left me covered in.Every year, I feel numb.
Every year, my body remembers even if my mind does not.Every year, I remember.Every year, I am suffocated again by his stench and musty smell.
Every year, I am a child locked away in her closet.Every year, I am the teenager pinned down with the knife to her throat.
Every year, I am the girl in the dumpster searching for food to eat.
Every year, I am the child sent to school without food.
Every year, I am the sister shivering on the steps with her siblings, praying we are not next.
Every year, I am the neighbor girl every one talks about, feels sorry for, but does nothing to help.
Every year, I remember.

Does Anybody Hear Her?




  Every year, I remember.