Page 77 of Disturbed Lucidity

Unfolding the paper, I handed it to him.

Shaking his head, he simply said, “I want you to read it.”

Sighing, I sat back on the couch and read aloud, “Nothing silences the chaos in my head. There is no way out. Lost in a crowd, I have nowhere to turn. No matter how loud I cry, no one hears a sound. So much pain, I wish I could tune it all out. Exhausted from fighting the same old me. No matter what I do, the darkness finds me. Now I can’t sleep. God forgive me, I am so weak. Into the darkness I creep.”

Finished, I folded the paper back up and shoved it back into my back pocket. I could see worry written all over Logic’s face. I wanted so much to tell him everything would be okay, but I refused to lie to him.

Just when I thought I was getting a handle on everything, shit happened. Life grabbed me by the back of the neck and threw me back into the deep end. I couldn’t take much more. I needed to find a way to move past this. I refused to live the rest of my life afraid of my own shadow.

“Writing is very therapeutic, Ivy. It not only helps to get things out, but it also helps to express feelings that are hard to articulate. Do you write often?”

I shrugged. “Not as much as I used to.”

“Have you ever thought about keeping a journal?”

“No.”

“I think you should. Journaling is a wonderful form of expression. Sometimes, when a person suffers a trauma such as yourself, it’s hard to talk about what happened, so they write about it instead. The pen becomes their voice. Their form of communication if you will. Some people paint, others draw as their way of illustrating their pain, while some are drawn to music. Articulation comes in many forms, Ivy. It’s the manifestation of your soul, crying out to be heard.”

“The pen is mightier than the sword.”

Logic smiled. “In a way, yes.”

“So, you want me to write in a journal now?”

“Only if you want to.”

“I don’t know what I want.”

“And that’s okay, Ivy. Everything you are feeling is perfectly normal. Tell me, how are things with you and Luc since the detective’s visit?”

“Okay, I guess.”

“Just okay?” Logic asked. “What about sex?”

“He hasn’t touched me.”

“It’s only been a few days. Maybe he’s giving you time.”

“I guess,” I muttered, then asked, “Logic, do you think it’s strange that I’m drawn to the harder side of sex, considering my childhood?”

“No,” he replied bluntly. “I think it’s normal. Everyone reacts differently to trauma. I’ve seen people in car accidents refuse to drive again, while others will get in another car like nothing happened. People who’ve been shot shy away from firearms. While some will learn everything they can, even going as far as owning one, and some even join the military or become a police officer. Trauma affects everyone differently, Ivy. There is no right or wrong here.”

“So, I’m normal.”

“About as normal as me or anyone else here. You’ve found yourself in a unique position here with us, Ivy. Everyone here has seen their share of trauma. Some more than others, but still the same. How we all deal with that trauma is what matters. The trauma will never go away. It’s what makes us unique. Different from everyone else. How you chose to express your trauma is all about you. You choose to embrace the BDSM lifestyle.”

“What if it’s not what I want anymore?”

“Then that is your choice. Nobody can make you do anything you don’t want to do, Ivy. It’s called freewill. Have you ever tried having normal sex without the BDSM element?”

“No. I wouldn’t know how to. I can’t orgasm without the pain.”

“How do you know if you’ve never tried?”

“I don’t think Luc would like that.”

“This isn’t about Luc. It’s about you and your needs.”

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