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#PTSDChat

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Kate & Rebecca (of WhoaMedia) created #PTSDChat a few years ago to help those suffering in silence and isolation to find a place that was safe, supportive where they could share their problems, connect with others and feel like they were part of a large tribe of warriors.  As the chat grew to become what it is now, both took a step back to allow it to become more than the “Kate show”.  Kate continues to write and support the team with blogs on topics that come up, researching and interviewing those with experience or expertise in the areas.

Isolation Japan & Knowing when to shut it

Magna res est vocis et silentii temperamentum (The great thing is to know when to speak and when to shut it.) I love Latin.  Always have.  The ability to roast somebody whilst they smile and laugh at my ever so clever latinization of what I hope will land on their head any moment now, is one I wouldn’t give up for a pot of gold.  (Risu inept res inceptor null est – nothing dumber than a foolish laugh.   See?  It isn’t that hard, we all speak languages based on latin, it’s the nuts and bolts of all that we are.)  Kind of horrifying then to find myself stuck in a land where there is no handle to grab, illiterate and unable to speak even the basics is a shock at 30 years of age.  Add to which I was married to a bit of a wanker, knew nobody…

DEAR COP, PLEASE DIE IN A HAIL OF BULLETS. LOVE, YOUR CHIEF

The Anguish of Earth absolves our eyes Till Beauty shines in all that we can see. War is our scourge; yet war has made us wise, And, Fighting for our Freedom, we are free. She’s sitting by a beautiful river that sings a gentle joyous song of whispering promises in a part of Canada that most families go to for their summer holidays.  Tears trickle down her face, with frustration she wipes them away.  Angry with herself for feeling this familiar pain in her chest.  I tell her that the darkness is always there; it will always be there, her purpose is to fight today for just a tiny bit of light, a little justice.  It isn’t enough, it will never be enough.  She cannot breath life back into the dead, the helpless victims of man’s cruelty to man.  Man?  A child.  Not a man, but darkness shows no…

#PTSD: Why is Homelessness Sometimes our only option?

The icy wind whipping off the lake chills his bones.  The heavy winter coat, caked in frozen filth is so stiff he can barely shuffle to the makeshift shelter of cardboard and milk-bag mattresses that the nice church ladies had made him.  His hands are mottled with raw sores, torn skin and abrasions, the tips of his fingers have long since been numb.  If only his brain was.  If you stare into his eyes for long enough, big beautiful brown eyes with a soulful kind look that says “I see you and I know”, you would see the pain and horror behind them.  Every day he sits on the cold concrete surrounded by the ghosts of the ones he couldn’t save. Why is Homelessness sometimes our only option? It isn’t always obvious when you’re living it.  There’s the focus and superhuman abilities of the uniformed man/woman: at work with that…

Throat Punching a Bully

He’s shorter than me.  I am chin to nose with him and I want him to push me so badly.  I want to use the fist I have clenched and end this little tyrant.  He’s wearing a check collared shirt with fancy dangle patterning and a pointy pair of baby grey shoes and has a fat lip, I’m assuming now it was from another Mum at another party. I have been bullied once too often and all of that abuse has brought me to this place.  Facing down the nasty father of a nasty kid who just made my little girl cry and hide.  His boy hurt her, tormented her and was proud as punch of himself until he met her Mama who ripped him a new one (verbally).  Now his Dad is yelling at me.  I stepped straight into his space, chin to nose I stared down at this…