My Psychiatrist fired me today.
It started with a question, “What is your goal?”, to which I instantly replied “to redefine what triggers my mind.”
Six months ago years of counseling wasn’t enough and I needed a bigger gun to push the bluff. My PTSD symptoms were crowding my reality too often and in late November I nearly shattered. Before I picked up shard one I found a Psychiatrist to hold the gun, a medication mandate to sedate my symptoms if they choose to run. My choice, my decision to hold myself accountable within my affliction.
During the first assessment I stood in my shame, naked, crying for help in front of a 60 year old women pleading for her to keep the gun cocked and ready. Right between the eyes to keep those lies tranquilized; and so she handed me my pants and pulled the bolt back.
And thus within an Orange magazine the pages of my sanity rings with the shot of 25mg rounds to the thought. And rightfully so for the symptoms of my reality must not be allowed free to roam, a shotgun blast from the past is too much to patch and thus I thrust upon my psyche an ultimatum.
Stay between the lines or suffer a guaranteed mind.
I know it wasn’t fair to rush in naked, sobbing and thrust a rifle into her hands, demanding one shot, one kill with a trigger squeeze of reality.
And yet fearless she took up the gun, did a safety check and our watch began.
You hold the gun, I’ll hold the thought and reality will be defined as what “is” and what “is not”.
For the first few months the rifle was needed, that Orange clip set upon my desk, 25 rounds, fully heeded. A physical reminder of my oath to submit if my willpower takes too big of a hit. Ninety days away from D day (disassociation) and the rounds remain in the clip. The fences I put down, the guard in the tower, the alarms when they sound all have kept my symptoms somewhat bound.
Never allowed to seek the sun, I’ve kept the shadows in the shade but now it’s time to teach them
See, my shadows have become entirely too ridged and stiff, planted in their paradigms and pushing their boundaries so I decided to push back, down and twist. Stretch and breath, fart, and tweak my mind to teach these shadows how to move about and seek mobility. As we sat with each other we started talking and it seems my shadows have been kept in the dark for far too long. Without visions of the new world all they knew was the last vision they were allowed to see which was violent, scary and mean. My poor shadows, what have you seen and why were you punished by me?
Metal met the floor as gravity gave the rifle its purpose. My guard content with the threat, held its metal no more.
And now we sit, my shadows and I as I bring them up to speed on reality.
I cried after I disconnected the video call and watched my guard fade away. For a minute I struggled to define my tears, am I sad, scared or happy? Happy tears are so new to me as are helpful shadows and I’ll need to see them more as to recognize their power.
“What is your goal today”
Has it changed?
I’m doing yoga with shadows.