Karen LaRue
Bio
I am Karen LaRue (She/Her) a North Carolina writer of poetry and witchy things of most sorts. I belive life is full of wonder and we don't always stop to see it. Taking the time to look and listen makes life worth living!
Stories (82/0)
Panic Attack Aftercare
Let’s talk about trauma aftercare. I have CPTSD. Today I woke up from a bad nightmare in an active panic attack. Nightmares are traumatic. They feel just like the real trauma that happened. This means that after I come out of the panic attack (treated with medication, self-talk, affirmations, grounding techniques, and active comfort), I need to take care of myself in ways I wouldn’t otherwise. I will need to actively reassure myself that I no longer have that trauma in my life. I will need extra reassurance from partners, and I might have to cancel activities to rest. I had to learn how to do these things. Our society teaches us that we should “suck it up” and move on, but that’s not actually how brains work. We have to reteach our brains that we are no longer in physical, emotional, sexual, mental, or psychological danger. That’s hard. That’s complicated. That’s not being a good capitalist. So we stockpile trauma, which isn’t good for anyone. So today I heal, at least the trauma from my nightmare. It’s probably going to involve a whopper (with cheese, no pickles, onion or ketchup), and a lot of reassuring myself that I have every right to nurture myself through food. It will require rest, and puppy snuggles, but in the end I will be more whole, I won’t have that trauma to pass on to others, and healing myself also heals the collective. Healing myself helps heal you, and vice versa. So we will heal together, we will commune together, and we will find joy together. Together we are stronger than trauma. Together, nothing can stop us.
By Karen LaRueabout a year ago in Psyche
The Sweet Release of Slutdom
She was brand new to this sort of thing, at least in person. She had watched them on her phone, in the dark, when she was alone. She had read about them, a lot. She had thought about them much more than a lot. In fact, it had become a bit of an obsession of late. It was interfering with her work and her graduate classes. She couldn't afford to lose her job or her grades, so she decided to work on her obsession. After about a month of trying to ignore it she was on probation at work and her grades were tanking. That wasn't going to work. She got really upset about it one night at the pub. After having way too many margaritas she started talking to this really nice guy at the bar, and it just slipped out. Everything. Every last detail. She hadn't planned to tell anyone, but it happened, and she was very glad she didn't really remember his response, and even more glad that she hadn't written down her number for him. She was certain of that. No pen was held.
By Karen LaRueabout a year ago in Filthy