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Two Sides of a Screaming Coin

Two Sides of a Screaming Coin

The girl had always felt alone. Her mind was a dangerous animal, now uncaged and wrecking everything in the world. She would turn to her mother but when she would scream her mother would scream too. She began to see her reflection in her mother’s eyes, the happy times were twisted by mania and the bad times were growing in number. 

So many screams. 

The girl had always felt alone. She turned to her father for solace and he revealed exactly what type of creature he was. The drink was not his poison, but his remedy to a mind that screeched and fought him. Without it, he promised, he would start to scream too. There were two he’s – the one that could spin lies and the one that could only scream. Was she to prefer the lies? 

So many screams. 

The girl had always felt alone. But she was not. She had two parents who knew what it felt to let out their voice, to dry their throats as they prayed to a God that may or may not be. She wondered, why had they kept their lips sealed for so long when she was the only one twisting, turning, screaming? Why only now was the echo clear in her head that it was not her that was the black sheep, but instead just the middle of a screaming coin? 

So many screams.

The Countdown

Five. 

The meeting of a new friend, a shelter in the storm that tore at the girl every moment of her horror story of a life. A smile, a hug, a bracelet. It means so much for this time, churns up the girl’s hope that perhaps once again she can be part of society. A part of happiness. A part of a world she has never truly known. But this is stage five, and we have more to go. 

Four. 

The friendship hits a few bumps and bruises but the girl ignores them. She smiles happily whenever her friend enters the door, hops to her, hugs her, loves her. She offers her gifts when she is given gifts, and the two bond for quite a while. There’s something suspicious about this friendship but perhaps it is all in her crazy little head. 

Three. 

The friendship stagnates. It is no longer as enjoyable as it once was, and the friend begins to pull away. She sees her less and less and then soon she actually turns away from her. She fights hard to keep this friend and churns her body inside and out to try to fight what she know is coming which is 

Two. 

The friend tells her she no longer has interest in being her friend. It shatters the girl who wanted the friendship, but the other cares not. Why care for a friend you only wanted temporarily? 

One. 

Alone. In a sea of despair and loneliness she watches her old friend from afar. That friend has a new friend now. I wonder if she’ll do the same to her. 

Zero. 

Start again.  

Armor

Armor 

When terrible tragedies befall little girls like her, they search out a new form of armor they can wear. Search they may, in a variety of places, search as she did, until what she found was darkness. The abyss called to her, and told her that the darker she was, the more powerful. The more horrors she could withstand, the more bold she would become. She drank it’s twisted tangle of truth and lies and swallowed them together, as intended, full potency. 

She would forever push herself to be meaner, darker, with more rage and more savagery than anyone else. That way, the next demon that came along – and she always believed in the inevitability of more demons – wouldn’t stand a chance against her. 

Rejection

Rejection 

The world around the girl began to change at the feel of uncertainty in her limbs. When the world knew her pain there was nowhere to hide, so she created a shell around herself that prepared herself for all but one thing: rejection. 

As her poisoned mind began to seep out and leave stains wherever she went, people turned her away, sickened by her disease. She began to feel their wrath, the wrath of friends and lovers, who turned her into a leper when they could no longer stand her illness. She didn’t understand them, same as she had the same understanding of herself; which was, none at all. 

One thing she was familiar to was pain. Their false love stung hard but she swallowed it every time, surprised despite herself at each and every event. Still, she began to stop reaching out her hand towards the burner, for oh how she understood that burn. Her hands became healed, but she was isolated like a ship at sea in the middle of a coming storm. 

The worst was yet to come, poor girl. 

Punishment

Punishment

The day was sweet, like sugar, like nectar, like something that could have filled her days forever had it not been for the bomb inside her mind. It ticked so softly and shifted not, so that she hadn’t the idea that it was there, collecting the ammo of knives and needles. 

All it needed was a trigger man. 

It was not the fault of the one who pulled the trigger the night she first tasted red. She was a live wire, due to something in her mind that just wasn’t quite right. It had morphed her self-hatred and her vulnerabilities into weapons, weapons she could use on herself. It mattered not that the walls were white instead of brown, it mattered not that they bound her wrists and mouth and locked her way, it mattered not that those who loved her would never be able to reach into this scarlet world. She had weapons now. And, even if they only worked on herself and those she cared about, she could not resist the itch to use them after being weak for so long. 

Time passed backwards here, never day, never night, only white. She reached out to others, others with weapons. They shared ideas, sparked each other’s madness. It was here she met the disturbed. It was here she found out where she belonged. 

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To you, my Inner Demon

This horrible feeling inside of me eats at my very soul. I’m not sure that if I let it continue its heartless rampage that I’ll have a soul left at all before long. I’ll just be an angry husk, hurting those around me as the demon takes control. 

It is true you, my dearest demon, have taken many forms over the years. I have seen your face, I have felt your touch, I have heard your voice. I understand you more than you think that I do. But you do not die, you merely morph when I find a way to kill what is the current you. I am not convinced you can die. I think you are a poison that was set into me in my youth and now it has grown into something quite sinister and out of my control. 

But misunderstand me not. I will continue to fight you, with every weapon that I can muster every piece of equipment at my disposal and one day I hope to be truly rid of you. Perhaps you will still lay sleeping in my heart, never truly dead, but waiting for your next chance to strike. I aim to never give you that chance. 

You are mine and I am yours no longer. 

Punishment

The day was sweet, like sugar, like nectar, like something that could have filled her days forever had it not been for the bomb inside her mind. It ticked so softly and shifted not, so that she hadn’t the idea that it was there, collecting the ammo of knives and needles. 

All it needed was a trigger man. 

It was not the fault of the one who pulled the trigger the night she first tasted red. She was a live wire, due to something in her mind that just wasn’t quite right. It had morphed her self-hatred and her vulnerabilities into weapons, weapons she could use on herself. It mattered not that the walls were white instead of brown, it mattered not that they bound her wrists and mouth and locked her way, it mattered not that those who loved her would never be able to reach into this scarlet world. She had weapons now. And, even if they only worked on herself and those she cared about, she could not resist the itch to use them after being weak for so long. 

Time passed backwards here, never day, never night, only white. She reached out to others, others with weapons. They shared ideas, sparked each other’s madness. It was here she met the disturbed. It was here she found out where she belonged. 

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Sweetheart, I'm here for you

Sweetheart, I’m Here For You

Like all broken things this creature with wounds still locked in fresh bandages she needed a protector. Around her she saw no one, but she was a creative creature this one was. So she conjured up something from nothing, a person, someone that was hers and hers alone that would keep her company and, more than that, keep her from harm. 

In truth his power was limited, if not nonexistent, but in her mind he held every power she wished of him. 

There was a love there, for she cared for the thing that cared for her. He kept watch at night, picked her up off of floors when she fell into tears, and told the bad people where they could go. He was her plaything, her partner, her everything. If a God was, this was truly the kind of false idol he must have warned about, for he was nothing short of worshipped by her. 

She was instructed by him how to act, taught again how a normal human being should be. But she never quite grasped it, never quite clung to his lessons, and was always the peculiar child. Due that to the suffering she endured or to her chemical makeup, it didn’t matter in the end. What was best however was that it didn’t matter if she was peculiar, there was always one “person” that loved her. 

He could have been her first sign of schizophrenia, a spirit guide, a demon himself, or something even more sinister. People speculated about what they didn’t understand. But she never needed to define him, what he was was hers. 

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PTSD

Perfected by a God that may or may not be, there was a flawless creature once. Her footsteps shook worlds, her imagination surpassed all other qualities, other than perhaps beauty. But the devil hates beautiful things. He sent a demon to her, to take her closely into its arms and cover her mouth, but to do nothing about the tears. Somewhere someone collects the screams of young girls that never escape their lips. As this demon held her cracks appeared In her skin, fractures small at first and then larger and larger, until he dropped her into the dirt, something ugly and destroyed. 

She rotted there alone for a long time, until before her decaying flesh she saw a flower grow. It screamed of possibilities, and taught her something she’d treasure more than anything else for the remainder of her life: you can make something beautiful out of the ugliness in this world. 

She gripped this flower, then armed herself with it by sliding it into her hair. Broken and damaged she went after that demon, and when she found it, she didn’t just kill it. She caged it, like she’d been caged, and took away everything it had. It then left it there to learn what rot really was.

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Codependency

Hello everyone

Firstly, thank you everyone who has commented on my previous post — it is so helpful to communicate with people who identify and understand what I am going through. I have done the SLAA steps up to Step 9 but I decided to stop before proceeding with Step 9, because something did not feel right to me. I felt that I should make amends to my abuser which is quite probably insane. By that point, my Step 4 had revealed that I had an over-developed sense of responsibility and codependency.

So, I put the SLAA programme on hold and went back to Step 1 in CoDA. Despite a number of people in my SLAA fellowship telling me that this was a bad idea and that I should finish SLAA first, my instincts (once again, when I listen to them!) proved me right. I will not abandon everything I learned in SLAA but stepping away from the SLAA H.O.W. programme was definitively the right thing to do. It's too shaming and punitive and I have enough of that within myself anyway (for those who don't know, in the SLAA "H.O.W. method" the steps are no longer suggestions but requirements and there are "punishments" for breaking your bottom lines (that is not the language of the programme but that is essentially how I interpret them; i.e. there are consequences for breaking your bottom lines and sponsors will frequently dump sponsees if they break a bottom line more than twice and that type of thing)).

Anyway, I digress...I now know that migrating to CoDA was the right thing for me. Why? Because I had made the opinions of certain SLAA group members my Higher Power and I have been suffering from extreme anxiety and sleeplessness for well over a year now (I was averaging about 3 hours of sleep a night). Since doing Step One in CoDA, I have come to recognise that I am a people pleaser, that I am an approval seeker and that I have a lot of avoidance and control patterns, as outlined in the CoDA programme. I have come to recognise that my motivation to speak is often rooted in approval seeking but then I leave myself open to being hurt if I receive disapproval because I have made that person my Higher Power. I also recognise that I do not seem to have developed codependent relationships with everyone. Some of my friendships are heavily "polluted" by codependency and others are not. I was trying to figure out why but then I realised that it "takes two to tango". So, where my relationships are not laden with codependency, it is those particular people who are not severely codependent; the relationships whereby codependency is heavily playing out in the relationship, both myself and the other person are heavily codependent.

Does anyone else relate to this? I have found this so beneficial! I can breathe a lot easier and I am sleeping between 7 and 8 hours a night! It's like a miracle! :-)

Yours in truth and sending lots of love,

Will

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SIA uses a very broad definition of incest, and this meeting is open to everyone. Please read our info page to find out how this meeting works.

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