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The Door

An Ode To PTSD (A re-write)

Without any warning
A door in my head, opened
A solid wooden green door
Brass coffin like handles
Shiny brass knockers
It opened ever so slowly
There was an audible creak
Followed by the silence
Of deafening white noise.
I am not sure whether the noise
Disappeared or maybe I just
Stopped hearing it

The silence was broken
A child sobbing, crying
Then a child screaming
For dear life and rescue
I could hear the build up
Of strong winds and thunder
Then a cavalcade of dark figures
falling over each other entered
at speed, through the black
Darkness, of the open door

Way too many to count
Too fast to easily identify
But somehow I knew
They were to be feared.
The men in dark suits
Men with white collars
A screeching banshee
A man with a strap
stinking of whiskey breath
Mingled uneasily and painfully
With punches, kicks and slaps

Everything suddenly stopped
They all stared gaping mouthed
Then they all grinned ear to ear
Inside me I felt their evil intent
But I am powerless to fight back
My mouth wide open it
Was uncontrollably forced
To clearly and fearfully utter
“NO!” – In slow motion
Open mouthed I sucked them all
Inside, choking them down.
My belly now, the belly of the beasts

I firmlyclosed my eyes
And tried to close my mind
I gritted and grinded my teeth
Trying to push everything out
Then everything fell silent
I fell down, already exhausted
An uneasy calmness ensued
The door chooses to close
Again slowly and quietly
I breathe an audible sigh of relief
I assume "it," Whatever "it" was
Was in fact over my trembling
Subsides, I am returning to normal
Without fully realising I would
Never be normal again

The door opens at will
Not my will of course
I have demons inside
The keeper of the door
The keeper of thoughts
My rapist of the mind
Who forces me to confront
The tortures of childhood
The men in black suits
The men of the clergy
The big man and the banshee;
The door demon will
Take you back in your head
Making you re-live
Every dirty deed
Every piece of torture
All madness and rage
I can experience and feel
It all – as if I was there
Sounds, pain, smells and tastes
All this from intermitent flashbacks
And nightly night terrors
The invasion is complete
My fear is tortures me
My rage is unbound
It becomes impossible
For me to be me
Anymore.

Pain is the catalyst
The more physical pain I have
The more terror I must face
The arrival of the demons
Is completely and utterly random
They happily arrive without
Warning or identifiable trigger
The drugs don’t work
The therapy doesn’t work
Alcohol doesn’t work
It appears to me
That the only thing to do
Is to accept it
Live with it
I will always fear it
But I will not allow it to
Grind me into the dirt
To cope with the filth
To cope with the guilt
Saving me from thoughts
Morbid and suicidal

My strong arms lead
To big hands and
my fingers clench
turning into fists
fists of real fury
I have evil intent
on the evil intent
from demon or human
This is not a tribute
To my P.T.S.D
This is my fight song
David_Macleod
Written by David_Macleod (David Macleod)
Published
Author's Note
Copyright © 2018 David Macleod All Rights Reserved. No part of this Poem may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other...
Copyright © 2018 David Macleod All Rights Reserved. No part of this Poem may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of David Macleod. dtmacleod@easy.com
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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