My Prison

Part 1

I wrote this years ago in what I can only describe as a frenzy.

At the time, I was living in a level of fear, instability, confusion, and isolation that is difficult to properly explain now. The isolation was deafening. Looking back, I honestly can’t say for sure whether these were even “my words” in the traditional sense, or what it sounds like when a nervous system finally stops being able to carry something quietly.

The first part of this piece reflects what it felt like to go to work every day while trying to hold myself together internally.

The second part is still the truest way I know how to describe what moral injury feels like. Not just trauma from an event — but what happens when your values, instincts, identity, safety, and understanding of right and wrong begin colliding with survival itself.

This is not a polished explanation. It is a snapshot from the height of a dangerous period in my life.

Reply to this post or DM me if you need support or want to continue the conversation.

Find more information at www.rif-lab.ca

I look forward to what comes next —Angie

#poetry #moralinjury #trauma #ptsd #mentalhealth #spokenword #survivor #healing #traumainformed #workplaceviolence #hypervigilance #emotionalhealth #recovery #systemicissues

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