Thoughts of the night.

The thing I really like about WP is that I can ramble on about things I love, things that bug me or anything at all, and only a few will read it. Words can pour forth like water, filling voids and finding levels of truth. I can reflect on this and that, reflect on my darkerst moments, post personal thoughts, notes and journal entries. I can even wonder what life is about and what is reality. The Velveteen Rabbit, reminds us that “real isn’t how you are made [but] a thing that happens to you.” Every moment something is happening and we continue to grow into who we re, despite our pasts.

Our lives, are made up of such small moments, some good, some bad, some mundane; moments strung together with the shimmering gossamer of the everyday.

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The wind is howling, rippling between moments. Time is not only moments, it is a fluid vastness  of eternity, which contains moments, moments without beginnings or endings. Moments morph one to another, as eons pass in moments spent. Between moments we search, but for what? For meaning? Whether or not we have a purpose is debatable, the illusion of life as something that can have meaning gives us some form of security. It pleases us to believe there is a higher purpose. But the truly meaningful comes with a heart too full for words in the stillness between breaths.

Julz

Mothers


Normally when we think about “PTSD,” our minds jump to those who’ve been in combat. While it is certainly an issue for those who’ve been in real-life war zones, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) and Complex PTSD isn’t just exclusive to war veterans. In fact, many survivors of childhood emotional neglect, physical or emotional abuse, domestic violence, sexual assault and rape can suffer from the symptoms of PTSD or Complex PTSD if they endured long-standing, ongoing and inescapable trauma.
Despite my mother, this is what I hope to have become

Another Day

I’ve lived with bouts of depression my whole life. I’m not afraid or ashamed to say it. It’s just the way it is and part of what makes me, me.

I don’t think about it much anymore and I rarely talk about it. As I’ve gotten older my time in the dark has gotten less and less frequent and intense.

Life is change. The river is always flowing and moving and we are always changing with it. We are not the same people we were yesterday or the day before that or the year before.

Happiness, sadness and depression come and go in cycles.