ADD + Abuse x PTSD = Devastation

Temper ridicule with rejection and beat
ferociously until pure isolation results.
Tease often for failure at making
friends or ever having any
intimate, meaningful
relationships.
Resulting
preoccupation with
death and dying produces restricted
and permanent range of affect lacking emotion.
Slowly drizzle smidgens of invalidation over denial,
bring to a boil as aromas hint at avoidance in the background.
Promptly dish in severe anxieties, hypervigilance and panic attacks
until sleep devoid of dreams triggers haunting and repeated nightmares.

Beat frivolously
using terror to strengthen,
add a measured dash or two of
neighborhood bully for texture in
body without end so major depressive
disorder will mold the spirit melancholic.
When just
about ready,
the inability to
perceive humor
or verbally communicate
melds into uncontrollable episodes
of dissociation that essentially disconnect
awareness of time, current thought or location.

Pouring blushes of shame over repeat invalidations
while vigorously whipping intense feelings of distress
achieves fine loneliness, love skimmed from the top,
resulting in torrents of endless and deep despair.
Finally, after ceaseless, intrusive ruminations,
fuelled by apathy under substance abuse,
plus more than 6o jobs throughout
thirty five years of lifing, you
end up with the recipe
for both PTSD and
someone like
me.

If we
can recover
what was taken
away long ago when
life passed us by, the weight
of the world might be lessened to
reveal blessings of our surviving this far.
Introspection fine tunes thoughts used to
amend, refashion and sustain precious
gifts of self, spirit, and love; taken
under reason of inconsequence
and pure meanness long ago.
The calamity others call
living is familiar to us
as heartlessly cruel,
mournfully grave,
overly serious,
and terribly
senseless
as it
continues
seemingly endless.
We endured deplorable
influences radiating magnetism
negative enough to flip the earth
over its polar axis again and again.

The rolling fields of our lives,
meant for planting gardens,
overgrew with weeds of
distress and adversity.
Personal misfortunes
triggered droughts
of devastation
and harm to
leave us
deeply

overwhelmed
and in psychic pain.
Crescent Moon Howling
At The Fool {Reversed} is
not about those who buried us
under ceaseless torment and pain.
Their diseased actions and malingnant
deeds have become common knowledge.
Crippled life
can be reconstructed
soundly and with peace of mind.
Sam’s artfully painted experiences span
dozens of years privy to him alone,
having never been told.

Intricate tapestries are
brushed with mirth
into carpets that
soar toward
discovery of
meaning in life.
Sam's tales ring true
with hope that life may
still be had as our own could
we merely gather its stolen essence
scattered throughout the past.
His stories map routes
around hurdles we
tripped over,
and pitfalls

lost within from
whence, time after
time, we climbed out
to be ensnared yet again.
Remember that life constantly
evolves, ever-changing dynamics
in tune with the season's and tides
animated by faithful risings of
the sun and the moon.


Long ago,
Far away,
Life was clear,
Close your eyes...
Remember... is a place from long ago.
Remember... filled with everything you know.
Remember... when you're sad and feeling down.
Remember... turn around...
Remember... life is just a memory.
Remember... close your eyes and you can see.
Remember... think of all that life can be, remember...
Dream... Love is only in a dream, remember?
Remember... life is never as it seems...
Dream...

Remember {Christmas}

By Harry Nilsson

{Thank you Harry. Good-bye, goodnight and God bless!}