Authentic and True

In moments of passion and deep thought

Through hours of writing, not a moment was caught

Not a second wasted, not a breath in vain

Yet misunderstood, labeled with disdain

When the world saw ‘manic,’ you felt just fine

In your own rhythm, in your own design

Emotions ran deep, your spirit soared high

Yet judged by standards that couldn’t apply

In sadness, in disagreement, you stood your ground

Mis constructed by those who couldn’t astound

You were imply you, a complex symphony

Unfathomed by those who failed to truly see

She struggled to grasp the essence within

You, a universe of thoughts and emotions akin

Misunderstood, but nor denied by her view

For you were always you, authentic and true

I’ve talked before about how my mother used to tell me I was manic or depressive simply for being me. I struggled with insomnia for most my life. I haven’t had a problem with sleep over the past 5 years. I get tired easily, and wake up an actual morning person. My insomnia was due to her, and my traumatic life. However, I was manic, to her, and she would tell my doctors that. If I was up writing all night, I was always manic. Leaving out the fact that maybe my creativity just hits at that time, but whatever. If I shed a tear, I was depressed. Do you get the picture? My mother couldn’t handle my emotions, because she couldn’t handle her own. My emotions were severe, because she designed them that way. She never healed from her own personal trauma, and the fact that her own mother didn’t have the emotional capacity for her, either. I still struggle to this day, to not feel crazy, manic, and out of control when I achieve something, or when I feel content even. Always waiting for the shoe to drop, to be forced into psychiatry, to be put on meds I don’t need, despite the ever-changing positivity in my life.

#CPTSD

#Manipulation #Insomia