Just Stay … please?

I don’t know who needs to hear this, but…

You are not alone.


You are seen.


You belong.


You are needed.


You are no accident.


You were made with intention, regardless of what’s happened since.


You have a purpose, despite all the pain.


So, stick around a little while longer to see what it will be.


Decide to stick around for one more day.

Just one – one day at a time.

Every day.

And I promise you will get there, love.

Because, for real, you really are loved.

If you need a virtual ear, hit me up @ creatorskind@gmail.com 💜

Time Travel: This is PTSD

It doesn’t matter what I’m doing or where I am. I could be reading quietly or sitting at a table eating amongst friends and, in an instant, I’m transported. The book, the table, the commotion around me withdraws and instead, I am inserted into a vivid, living moment from my past. And usually, it’s a painful one. This is PTSD.

Truly, in the span of a single breath, I have flown backwards through space and time to any one of many scenes that rotate on replay in the ether of my mind. When I arrive, it’s so real that I don’t know that I’ve been anywhere else – there’s no future to speak of, just this moment, right now, and my body makes the shift.

My heartbeat quickens, pounding in my ears. My muscles tighten and my eyes narrow as I am face to face with him, her, it, the experience, again. And I feel the emotion, the same emotion that I felt the very first time, when I lived it.

It flows freely – anger, embarrassment, confusion, hurt or shock. It’s a wave that carries me along through the scene. I speak words in my mind that never make it out of my mouth. I’m trapped.

The pain is my boat, and I can’t get out. I can’t get off. In this repeated scene, I do new things, sometimes no thing, or the same thing. The one thing I never do is leave.

I can’t break away because in this moment, I don’t remember that this isn’t real. In this moment, right now, what I see, what I feel, and this scene is all there is. And it hurts.

When this haunting memory is finished with me, it departs just as quickly as it came. My racing heart is the only trace of its having passed through. My mind clears. I’m back, but I remember where I just came from.

I take deep breaths, in and out, letting the fresh O2 soften the rigidity in my body and slow the pace of my heart. Sometimes, I cry. Maybe just a few tears, sometimes more.  It hurts to be dragged back through pain with no rhyme or reason. And it’s hard to explain.

How do you explain what feels like your own mind trying to take you out? How do you make that make sense? How do you make it plain without sounding too intense? This is what it is. And it’s just a regular day. If I told someone my daydreams hurt, they’d run away, afraid they’ll catch what has already caught me. So, I tell no-one. Instead, I pray.

My words speak of contradictions. Devotion and confusion. Praise and questioning. Struggle and surrender. “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” flows from my heart, though I promise it’s not what I believe. But it is how I feel. And it comes with hot tears and anguish.

To this Lord that I love and whom I believe loves me my thoughts shout, “I thought you would deliver me … at least by now!” But out of my mouth comes, “Lord God help me,” in a whisper.

I seek God, believing that God IS; believing that I will be rewarded for my pursuit.

I put it all down in my journal, covering the lines and the margins. My words are addressed to all of Heaven and the hand that made it all. I let it all out and allow my tears to stain the pages.

When I am done, I feel a little better; a little lighter. But, tired too. I have no answers, yet somehow, I know that I have been heard. With that knowing comes a little peace and it is enough for now.

©2022 Creatorskind

Why I believe

I thought that the next logical topic to post about would be why I believe in God.  But the more that I thought about it, the more the “how” seemed to be an equal part of the same conversation.  Really, it seemed like a chicken and the egg kind of thing, because I’m not sure which came first.  Why I believe in God – the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit – is a function of how I came to believe, and vice versa.  And while I may have confused myself on that one (lol), I think that they might actually be the same thing.  So, you may see a bit of both in this week’s post.

I went to catholic school for most of my pre-high school years.  That’s where I was introduced to God.  And in the way that little children often do, I accepted that what I was told was true.  I learned to sit still in church, despite the infinitely more interesting distractions provided by my classmates and my own mind.  I learned to pray the rosary, went to confession, and said Hail Mary’s as penance for my sins.  With my mother, I prayed before bed and believed that I had been heard.  But did I know God?  Did I have a relationship with God?  I don’t know.

In the years to come, now in public-school, my interaction with God had become limited to a daily chant.  “Please don’t let me miss the bus.  Please don’t let me miss the bus.” I would sing those words as I half- speed walked, half-ran to the bus stop.  Eventually, I began to wonder whether I was pressing my luck.  Would I run out of chances?  Would God be done with me?  God was a genie in a bottle with a low tolerance for my nonsense – or so I thought. 

When I ran into situations that a child’s mind isn’t equipped to handle or later, when my teenage brain entered a fog of sadness, distraction, and loneliness from which I could not emerge, I turned to my catholic school roots.  I sought God – the Father through the saints, like the virgin Mary, and my ancestors. I sought the long-gone forebearers that I had known personally, and one, who had been as close to a saint in my eyes as anyone could be. 

I called on them to put in a good word.  I called on them believing that now from their position in heaven that they saw me in a way that they couldn’t while on earth.  In my holy imagination, I believed that they now had a comprehensive view that was unlimited by time, and hopefully, weighted by compassion.  With that in mind, I sought them in the quiet of my bedroom and often with tears that I didn’t understand.  But I felt a little less alone.  I had believed in God.  But would I call this a relationship?  No.  I didn’t really know God. 

I remember the red-edged bible that I had gotten from who knows where collecting dust on my nightstand.  I would read it from time to time, but inevitably, King James’ thee’s and thou’s would command me right into a nap or onto something less boring.  It wasn’t until the middle of my college years, on my own in a new city, that my thoughts again climbed heavenward.  I was feeling both the familiar loneliness of my undiagnosed depression and the now tangible loneliness of day-to-day life without close friends.  It was hard.  I looked around and felt different from everyone else…and very much alone.  I had been released into a freedom that I had longed for while under my parent’s roof.  Yet, I didn’t know what to do with it and  felt like I was failing.  But I didn’t ask my family for advice.  I didn’t consult the saints.  This time, I sought God directly in everyday life, not with a chant, but a request. 

Walking home from the train at night, I started asking God to protect me.  And as I walked the blocks home that were sometimes dark and empty, sometimes marked with stares and catcalls that echoed behind me, or sometimes the footsteps of those that would try to follow me, I would hope that I had been heard.  My feet crossing the threshold would bring a thank you from my lips.  And somehow that simple experience began something inside of me that even today is hard to explain.  It was the same belief, yet somehow different.  After all this time, I’m not even sure that I understand it completely.  But what I do know, is that it was the start of a conversation.  The first tender shoots sprouting from a seed planted over a decade before.        

It would be some time before I would encounter the bible verse, “But without faith it is impossible to please God.  Anyone who comes to God, must believe that God exists and rewards those who sincerely seek him” (Hebrews 11:6).  But when I did, it rang completely true.  Because  not knowing much at all, I had reached out to a God that I hoped would be able or available and discovered a God that was both.  And it was because of that discovery that I wanted to know more.

What about you?  Do you know why or how you came to believe what you do about God, whether positive or negative?  Leave a comment and let me know.

©2021 Creatorskind