Vincent Poe — PTSD is talking here

an incomplete complexity of endless ruin, waiting for calm, yearning for a center of peace, hoping to one day be the sun that shines. But for now, I wait for these storms to pass, and carry on, steady on this path to healing. 396 Yet the audience they gathered— were they feathered or what? The nest got bigger, migrating more and more. Hatred, conniving, and shift becoming the wrecking of missed mistakes. …Who's really the problem, anyways? Ugh. Another friend slipped away. The devotion of love came to her presence, defining my future with a good friend, while trying to maintain the relationship we already have. This right is bitter, righteous, and just downright wrong. 397 A purchased party— disputable, thrown out the window, forever a lifesaver. A purchased party, transactional to its finest. Just hope they don't come back in check. Some might bounce while you give them leeway to cover the balance. Ya know—get even? be even? The transactional dispute then gets filed, like I was just cents on the floor. Okay. Okay. Depression. The only presence of some sort of emotion. It's becoming my favorite song to sing, my favorite phone call to hear, and my favorite color to showcase. The needle in the haystack scenes the happiness of hell that I'm 398 about to get through. The unspoken backdrop. 399 The Momentum The mountains I climbed to reach my destination left me on my knees, praying to the heavens for strength to complete this worn-out path— a journey through repeating routes, endless cycles, and roadblocks I once thought were impassable. When I give myself a daunting task, I falter, spiral downward, beating around the bush while letting time slip into obscurity. I wrestle with the worst remedies for pain, bearing the weight of broken steps. Yet I seek the silver linings on the skyline, protecting and fostering ingenuity for all, but not myself. Self-focus, they say, leads to madness— 400 but perhaps it's the madness within integrity's system that unravels the mysteries we fear to face. To prosper, to heal, to rejoice in life— each step brings me closer to the beginning of something new. • • • "Beautiful things come in time; calm the tame. I promise, the camel will be watered." 401 And calling me a poet— well, that doesn't mean love will find me. When you hear opinions, assumptions, mediocrity, you learn to brush off their tracks— yes, tracks. Because sometimes, you have to go back just to move forward. Loneliness isn't the right word for my distance. 402 The nicest of men wore a new kind of face. No rage, no roar, just a calm, chilling nod, as he painted the walls in a silence like God. They found him still smiling, eyes empty with peace. 403 "You know," a voice broke through my thoughts, sharp like glass, "you could always just jump." I didn't flinch. I didn't even look up. The voice was familiar, too familiar. Like a ghost that had never truly left. It was the kind of voice that knew exactly what to say to cut deep, to twist the knife where it hurt the most. "Is that what you want?" I asked, my voice hollow. "To see me fall apart?" "I've seen it a thousand times already," he said, stepping forward from the shadows. His figure 404 slowly materialized from the darkness, like a predator watching its prey. His presence, once a source of comfort, was now just another reminder of everything I couldn't escape. "You think you're the only one carrying scars? You think you're the only one who's jaded?" 405 I finally turned, locking eyes with him. His face was a mask of all the things I had once feared becoming. But I could see it—the same cracks that ran through me were etched into his expression. We had both been through the same hell, and we had both tried to run from it in different ways. But we were still here. Still broken. "I didn't come here for your judgment," I said, trying to hold on to the last shreds of my composure. "I came here to end this. To stop it." He laughed bitterly, a hollow, echoing sound that made my skin crawl. "End it? You can't end 406 this. This thing inside of you—it doesn't stop. Not until you decide to stop fighting it. But you're not ready for that." I clenched my fists at my sides, feeling the anger bubbling up inside me. It was easier to fight him, to be angry, than to confront the real problem. The thing that I couldn't change. The thing I couldn't outrun. 407 You can't outrun something that's already inside you." I turned to face him fully, my heart racing. "So what? You're telling me there's no escape? That this is my life now? Forever?" "No," he said, his voice steady, but heavy with the weight of his own battles. "I'm telling you that you have to stop running from yourself. Because as long as you keep fighting your own reflection, you'll never heal." The words hit me harder than I expected. Because deep down, I knew he was right. The war had never been out there—it was always 408 inside me. And I had been too afraid to face it. I looked at him one last time. He was right about one thing—I had spent my life running, trying to outrun the storm in my mind. But maybe… just maybe, it was time to stop. 409 "I don't know if I can do this," I said quietly, the admission feeling like a weight lifted from my chest. He gave me a half-smile, one full of pain and understanding. "You don't have to do it alone. You never were. But you have to face it. You can't keep running." I stood there for a moment longer, the wind biting at my skin, my thoughts swirling in a thousand directions. But one thing was clear. I had spent too long blaming myself for everything that had gone wrong. I had spent too long thinking there was no way 410 out. But there was. I had to face it. And maybe, just maybe, in doing so, I could finally begin to heal. As I turned to walk away from the edge, I felt something shift inside me—a crack in the wall I had built around my heart. It wasn't the end, but it was the beginning of something new. And for the first time in years, I wasn't so sure of the darkness anymore. Maybe there was a 411 sliver of light waiting to break through. But as I walked away, I heard one last voice call out from the shadows, "Remember, the hardest part is always the first step. But once you take it… you can never go back." I didn't look back. Because I knew he was right. The first step was the hardest. But it was also the one that would change everything. And for the first time in a long while, I had hope. 412 He knew it all along— but still stayed. For their selfish reasons. This is where it gets deeper. • • • Sitting there, drowning yourself in complete sorrow won't open the doors to new possibilities. • • • Don't underestimate your ability to focus on a new day. 413 Knew you had someone else standing there— and I still looked like a damn fool. Something's in the air. And I'm still breathing today. 414 Nighttime becomes his peace— while every soul sleeps calmly, he finally feels free. Then the sunrise comes, and his body grows weaker. Heavy lids. 415 Facing the mirrors that you once saw complete success story a destroyed soul. That wants to cancel his whole opportunity of becoming a new person with the thoughts of relapsing Why? egos, it's got to him. The person he once created. Is trying to overpower the ability over his past by turning it into present day trauma reliving the past scars 416 When all you wanted to do Is to enjoy a new memory maker, that bring to surface a new feature that you never thought you could feel The Days within always must carry some type of emotional baggage, by his people, places and things. He responds to range, in a hostile tone towards him, and them. All is he trying to do is enjoy a new memory with his memory maker. Then again, them, are just trying to ruin the small percentage of happiness, that him and others beg to see. 417 Your evil spell is shielded by my intelligence See with me, Rare is my new favorite character, To be different, 418 Remember you, when you ask yourself why you want to end you. Friday, August 18, 2023 They provided legal documentation to move forward, He sorrowed to them with low esteem, ending "it takes two tang" distraught thoughts They became more grouped. They found the power to end him, Well they thought? The people, places and things. Watch for tone, action and how they view "the boy who cried wolf..." they provided legal documentation to move forward, The case got thrown out. 419 Closing If this book felt familiar, you're not alone. PTSD doesn't require war to be real. Sometimes it comes from homes, names, rooms, and people. Sometimes it comes from being young and unprotected in places that were supposed to be safe. This is what it looks like when a person survives long enough to develop a voice. Not a perfect voice. A real one. If you made it to the end, thank you for staying with it. Thank you for reading what most people only carry in silence. And if you're still in it—still cycling, still scanning, still trying to make sense of what your body 420 remembers— I hope you recognize something important: You're not broken. You're responding. 421

I let the storms rage on—

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