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Letters from the Edge of Tolerance

This is where I document life lived with CPTSD, ADHD, DID, OCD, abandonment trauma, rage, and the long term psychological consequences of instability. Not for sympathy. Not for inspiration. For examination.

I write about trauma the way a mechanic tears down an engine. Piece by piece. What broke. Why it broke. What it still does under stress.

You will find poems that bleed without asking to be saved. Essays that dissect ethical BDSM, power exchange, dominance, consent, and responsibility without romantic illusion. Reflections on betrayal, identity, dissociation, religion, rage, control, and the uncomfortable mathematics of trust.

This is not a healing space. It is an honest one.

I do not frame survival as beautiful. I frame it as necessary.

If you are looking for optimism, look elsewhere.

If you want unfiltered analysis from someone who has lived at the upper edge of tolerance for decades and still functions, read on.

Existence is not always a gift.

Sometimes it is a condition.
3 years ago. Saturday, December 24, 2022 at 3:15 AM

How does one know you are alive? 

 

"I think therefore I AM"(cogito, ergo sum)

--René Descartes

 

To validate that one is alive, I mean you can go physiologically and that's a pulse and warm body, being capable of free thought.

But is that really life?

What then is a life worth? Does it have weight? Is it valuable? Can it be used? There is so many aspects and attributes you can tack on to that.... So are you ALIVE? Why?

 


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