The ghost that's drowning me

I started to write about how lonely complex PTSD feels at times. It came out more poetic than narrative. The ghost is my traumatized inner child.

-

This weight I carry that no one sees
feels like it's drowning me
right in front of you.

You tell a story,
share a laugh
but I can only sputter distractedly
while focusing on breathing.

You're disappointed,
I can tell. 
Because I'm distracted
by the weight that's drowning me.

I describe it with words.
you nod your head.
but I see the confusion behind your eyes
and the questions you can't ask
because you haven't imagined enough
to know what to say that wouldn't make me feel
more alone.

Words don't seem to be able to convey my reality.
If they could,
we'd both be on the floor
weeping.

You'd hold me, 
and the ghost of a child that haunts me,
pleading to be safe and loved.

She'd be calm in that moment.
I'd be able to catch my breath
no longer drowning.

But your tears would stop
and your embrace would end
and the ghost child would sink me again.

I need to teach her to swim.
But I can't when I'm drowning.

I need your love to stand on.
But you can't see the ghost child that's drowning me.

It takes years of research
or your own ghost
to see what's drowning me. 

Most have no idea
I'm not swimming along merrily.
it's exhausting to look merry while drowning.
but easier than proving there's a ghost sinking me.