Question:
ok you’re all right….I feel much better now. of course I’ve drawn a blank as to what I want to say…..maybe I’ll sit back and enjoy the peace of knowing that there are other people out there who are going through the same kind of things. i appreciate the fact that no one (at this time) commented on my first letter…for the sake of anonymity (i presume). this does help knowing that a note cannot be traced back to me. talk to you all later. thanks for being here. Minerva W.
Response:
Hi ya Wallpaper: Can you explain in detail about this "x-no-archive: yes"? You mean if I type that where I typed Hi ya Wallpaper, people in deja.news can’t read my messages? This is important to me. I’m in some great NG’s, and if they do want to get to know my personality, what I went through with my family isn’t something I feel like sharing with just anyone, or well everyone. Sometimes trauma related issues scares people that haven’t had to deal with death, murder, suicide, etc. Hope you can help, and thanks! Bugsbunny
Response:
That was a great work, Cinders, but also a very sad piece. Yes, I know those depths, I know them too well. The druidic lore says you have to master and solve all your problems before you can commit suicide, and I try to hold myself to those wise words. But I just do not get out of the big dark hole whose ground is suicide, and there are times when I switch off all wisdom and knowledge and just decide to die … finally. Closing my eyes and sleeping … forever. But no, I am not given such comfort. No-one is. We have to go through the hell called life and search for the light. I remember the light from past days, and I am trying to see it again, but I cannot find it. Maybe I have been surrounded by darkness so long that I have become blind ?! – Hide quoted text — Show quoted text -Cinders wrote: > This is something I wrote this past spring, updated for this >current post. I want the reader to know that this piece marked the >turning point away from suicidal ideation. As it was with my >therapeutic modalities, it became very important to express in words >what I had buried through dissociation. I don’t ideate suicide >anymore. I’m getting better and better. There are so many upturns in >my life over the last month. But I also want the reader to know that >this piece has *nothing* to do with my feeling like my pain is worse >than others. It is, bhowever about being low. Very, very low. >So before anyone gets the idea that I’m minimizing the pain of others >who have not felt this way, let me say pre-emptively that the point of >the piece may be escaping you. I’m sorry I could not explain it all in >the piece, but the piece stands for itself- it is about a mindset, and >so it is polarizing. >NOW: >WARNING!!!!! WARNING!!!! WARNING!!! WARNING!!! WARNING!!!!! >THIS PIECE IS JUST FULL OF TRIGGERS. IT’S BASED ON SUICIDAL IDEATION >IF YOU ARE FEELING UNSTABLE, YOU MAY NOT WANT TO READ IT. >BUT IT IS A SUPPORTIVE PIECE. YOU MAY RECOGNIZE YOURSELF IN THE WORDS >PLEASE TAKE CARE. >It starts down this way: >x >o >x >o >x >o >x >o >x >o >x >o >x >o >x >o >x >o >x >o >x >o >x >o >x >o >x >o >x >o >x >o >okay: > Passion Becomes A Cannibal > This is written to those who know how down down > can be , those who are willing to admit to the view, > those whose pain cannot be measured against a > cloying valuation of life. Not to those whose > contemplations are circumscribed by the fear of > non-existence. There are depths where this kind of > fear recedes, where non-existence is a welcomed > relief. Sometimes the plunge is temporary, but > sometimes death is a seductive hunter and we > become its lusting prey. The pursuit takes on a > rhythm and the dance begins. It’s a rhythm I hope > you never feel. But understand that it invokes a > dance with no invitation, instead the rhythm swells > and surrounds. Some of us know this taboo > rhythm. Some of us cannot escape the kiss. Those > who know my words know the kiss. Those of us > who submit to the climax are no more. > When Passion becomes a cannibal hunting the > inner landscape, eroding paths so deep that the > surface is too far up to see, losing a road that can > rise, then Pain becomes an accuser, stealing the > simplest effort to notice a light. There, Darkness > has no limit, and there is no beginning. Just the > constancy of years called Suffering, and Pain’s > derisive laughter. You describe this to others and > then comes the mockery of banal wisdom from > Self-aggrandizers who would like you to believe > that everyone knows the depths you inhabit, that > everyone has to overcome the horrors you call your > life, horrors like bricks building one at a time, into > a wall till the wall looses context and becomes the > inner landscape. Day after day, year after year you > hold out for that promise that’s always offered by > those who have no sense of how viciously miserable > life can be. They offer their wasted souvenirs from > lives less affected, less tortured, less imprisoned, > less neglected. The party line slams into your head, > causing you to nod as an empty gesture, a tepid > reaction to mindless re-assurances. > You convince yourself into descriptions of a future, > a better day. But the days go by and the years roll > through and slowly you realize there is no future. > There never comes a better day. Just the sound of > vicious wheels charging in from the distance along > the rut of the cannibal, and Pain’s derisive laughter > as your fingers dig into the wall, scraped and > bloodied as you bow to the empty wisdom and try > to lift yourself up again, only to find yourself lower > than you were before. > So many people claim to know when they don’t. > Claim to understand when they aren’t able to. They > turn away when you dare to show them how wrong > they are. It is in that moment they know they are > wrong, suspect that their struggles are seemingly > less. It is a jealousy of fear that turns them away. > You struggle, alone, anchored to the effect you > would have if you turned around and stopped the > struggle. This they call bravery. And the laughter > rings through the word. You pretend that > everything’s just okay. > Suicide makes no threat, offers no coming > attraction. It happens when anger becomes your > lover and then rapes you as a gift. > Then the fallout from the climax. > There is never an end, but a mark that tells the > dawn of the horror. A peace for no one, especially > not for one’s Self; because peace describes a time > and in death the Self turns out of Time. Instead, > one remains as a Lie that burns the souls of others. > The brutality is far greater than the action. Time > has no conscience – we do. > Suicide is a taboo, and as such is left uncharted in > our social milieu, a lie masked by secrets. > Suicide is ugliness and as such > invites ugly responses, fears pompously jeweled in > anger. Those who know my words can only take the > next step and realize that while they suffer alone, as > we all do, others actually *do* know their suffering > and their horror- that they are alone yet together > with others. > I have a history of attempts dating back to when I > was twelve. The last major attempt was two years ago. > . I pulled away from the edge, actually > in the middle of dying only because I realized that > what I was doing would spread my Hell into other > people’s lives. Even those who don’t know me- > those who would have to claim my body, but first > those who would discover it and then collect it. I > was fortunate enough to have a psychologist who > knew how to use my conscience to chain me down > to life. It was as if she had planted a trip wire that > snapped when this profound stress finally > overwhelmed me. > Sometimes the fall can’t be stopped, but it can be > controlled and directed to a safe spot. Those of us > who’ve been hunted, who’ve been kissed, seduced > by the dance, are somehow pulled away most of the > time. And often not in the same way. Sometimes > the annihilation of conscience is the very reason for > which suicide is accomplished – vengeance. > There are many reasons for suicide, many ways of > getting there. But it’s said that two out of > three attempts fail, and a different sort of fallout, a > different sort of aftermath of horror can play itself > out. The suicidal person is in a severely debilitated > state, physically unable to succeed at getting it > "right" a second time. There are long-term care > facilities brimming with those who have failed, and > who are now truly trapped. For these people, the > rhythm goes on without end, and no kiss can ever > be stolen, no climax achieved. These are the fates > worse than death, and lives truly worse than living. > Wishing you Serenity and Light, > Cindy
Response:
Hi. I’ve been cruising the various groups and ran across yours…I have been diagnosed with PTSD and its accompanying depression. My perpetrator just died about 3-4 weeks ago. I handled the funeral and family very well but since I’ve been home I have found myself very depressed (TRIGGER TO FOLLOW) t t t t t t t t t t t t t t t and wanting to cut myself with his knives. I’ve been keeping myself safe by keeping in touch with my therapist and a friend and doing social things in the evening to avoid going home. Now that I’ve found this group (if it’s okay) maybe I can have something constructive to do without having to spend money avoiding being alone at this time. If there is anyone who is familar with this type of coping I’d appreciate the support. At this time I’m trying to be very cautious about how much I share. I get very paranoid wondering if anyone in my family has access to the internet and could possibly read this. Of course if they ran across this group they probably were looking for PTSD site and need it too…….Look at me — I’m so-o-o-o-o-o-o understanding. Later, Kathy
Response:
On Tue, 02 Feb 1999 18:10:54 -0500, wallpa…@pop.service.ohio.state.edu wrote: >Posted and e-mailed. >Cinders wrote: >>Galin Deiseal wrote: >>> That was a great work, Cinders, but also a very sad piece. >>> Yes, I know those depths, I know them too well. >I too, Galin, I occassionally come very close to every so often, but >early on in treatment it was a living hell and the accident I had only >made thing seem more endless. The one and only time I OD’d, I >dissociated and literally watched myself take more and more days worth >of my meds. I just wanted to stop the pain, inside and out. 
I’m so sorry for you. WP. >Thank YOU Cinders, for posting it originally, it always "does a body good" >to see in print (by someone else’s hand) what one feels deep inside, even >if it’s about feeling bad.
That’s exactly why I posted it, hon. It’s important that we give words to our feelings and experiences, even if we reflect on someone elses thoughts and expressions. Of all the horrible things I’v experienced, the worst was keeping silent about the horrors. Cindy
Response:
Awe-some. On Fri, 29 Jan 1999 14:55:23 -0500, Cinders <g…@petal.net> sat upright rubbed their eyes and declared: <snipped> $ Wishing you Serenity and Light, $ $ Cindy $ $ $ $ Bless, DayaLi day…@bigfoot.com An Open and Critical Mind – THE antidote to Dogma Poisoning =============================================================== Pursuant to US Code, Title 47, Chapter 5, Subchapter II,
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