You can’t just look at me
And say to yourself
My disability is invisible,
But it is always here,
Even if I try to hide it,
It has a label of
Post Traumatic Stress Disorder
And it doesn’t always appear
Even to me.
But there are times late at night
When I have wondered
“Did I lock the front door?”
“What was that sound?”
And I tremble in fear
Not acting to check anything out.
Then there are times
I am just paranoid
For no good reason at all,
And I try to talk myself out of it
But it doesn’t work,
Most of the time
Until it just somehow passes.
And the next day
I wonder what that was all about
As I calmly face my day.
There are times
When I could be like the most efficient person of all
Getting many things done in just one day,
But then there are those other times
When I am lucky to just take care of my basic needs
Not going anywhere or doing much of anything.
I have been lucky enough
To have had therapy for years
And still am in therapy
As they really have no cure
For this invisible thing
And sometimes I wonder
If the haunting memories
Were to be played out to the public
If there would be more awareness
Of what it is really like to have this
Happen in your mind
Over and over again.
Maybe while doing your dishes
Or while taking a walk
Or while even looking at the ocean
Of times you never want to remember
Haunting scenes of abuse and violence
Other scenes of places you could not escape
And had to suffer the pain
Times guns were pulled on you
Times knives were held to your neck
Come back vividly and in living color
Relived over and over again
Traumatizing you over and over again.
I have tried various methods to lesson the pains
I do know I have improved somewhat
I have a disability
That you can not see
But I hope somehow
I have shown you
A little of it.