Sum of Parts

Kimberley Z. Tent

Description

Post Traumatic Stress Injuries are difficult, even deadly. Retired Constable Kimberley Tent discovered that healing requires truth, a desire to live, and forgiveness of self.

One time, one place,
I remember the
look in your
eyes.
I felt it in my soul.
I tasted its beauty and
bathed in its gold.
Then let it
go
before you could
take it all
away.

For years, Kimberley Tent courageously battled through a post-traumatic stress injury that instigated suicidal thoughts, depression, and bulimia. But it was not until she met her demons head-on with truth and forgiveness that the road to healing became clear and the war within was finally won.

In the final installment of The Parts series, Tent shares insightful poems that lend hope and promise to those who suffer from PTSD. Divided into six parts, Tent’s verse poignantly explores goodbyes, atonement, enlightenment, self-reflection, freedom, and the sum of parts as she discovers that healing requires honesty, a desire to live, and the knowledge that beauty and acceptance comes from within. Included is a list of her ten essential daily practices and other inspirations to ponder.

Sum of Parts is a collection of poems that speak of one woman’s experiences with PTSD with the hope of helping those suffering to courageously delve into their own trauma and ultimately heal, love, and forgive.

Sujets

• Law Enforcement
• PTSD
• Eating Disorders
• Posttraumatic stress disorder
• Eating disorder
• Poetry
• Trouble de stress post-traumatique

Informations

• Publié par: Archway Publishing
• Date de parution: 28 décembre 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781665731508
• Langue: English

Extrait

Sum OF PARTS
 
BOOK THREE OF THE “PARTS” SERIES
 
 
 
 
KIMBERLEY Z. TENT
 
 
 

 
Copyright © 2022 Kimberley Z. Tent.
 
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
 
This book is a work of non-fiction. Unless otherwise noted, the author and the publisher make no explicit guarantees as to the accuracy of the information contained in this book and in some cases, names of people and places have been altered to protect their privacy.
 
Archway Publishing
1663 Liberty Drive
Bloomington, IN 47403
www.archwaypublishing.com
844-669-3957
 
Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
 
Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.
 
ISBN: 978-1-6657-3149-2 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-6657-3148-5 (hc)
ISBN: 978-1-6657-3150-8 (e)
 
Library of Congress Control Number: 2022918645
 
Archway Publishing rev. date: 12/27/2022
Contents
Dedication
Goodbyes
Brother in Blue
Backwards
Soggy Old Box
Pretty Faces
D.P.
Goodbyes
Little Square Box
Spaces
Fate
Gallows
I Still Cry
Moving On
Would You Stay
A Good Man
Bonds
Fly Away
Memories
Forgiveness
Closets
Shadows
Atonement
Bends in the Road
Alone
Curveballs
Drive
Farewell
Dig
Dark Things
Just Words
Last Rodeo
Live
Love Ratios
Mentoring
Pray, Child
Reassurance
Trickery
Pride
Stay the Path
Unabated
Welcome Home
Perfectionism
Enlightened
Anxiety
Bestseller
Choices
Clearly
Comfort Zones
Differences
Gametime
Goals
Just Love
Tomorrow
Judgement
Expectations
Little Spaces
Missed
Rebound
Strengths
Tomorrows
Tracks
The Path
Waiting
A New Path
Self -Reflection
A World of Change
Abundance
Battles
Brooms and Broomsticks
Crazy
Dreams
Easy
Flaws
Life Lessons
Grace
Listen
Some Days
Taking time
Falling
Yesterday
Truth
Luggage
Rain
Tome of Secrets
Lead the War
Freedom
Live
All My Parts
Awake
Opportunity
Clouds
Be you
Defined
Emotions
Get
Rainbows
Move
Firepower
Freedom
Hope
Paper
Signs
Solutions
Tears and Lakes
This is Me
Break Free
Who Are You?
Sum of Parts
Beauty
Blessings
Challenges
Disguise
Fairy Tales
Give Me a Year
Gentle Spirit
Heroes
Minutes
Probabilities
Random Heroes
Daisies
Seasons
Pieces
Success
Sum of Parts
Worth
Sorry
Watering
The Twist
Mud
Author’s Note
My Essential Daily “10”
Things to Ponder
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Dedication
To me - at 11 years old. You always WERE good enough. Thanks for showing up to the party. It has been quite the journey getting to know you. I’ ve got this now—you can rest.
 
To me - today . You got out what you put in, girl! Everything you have learned along the road, you have consistently applied to each day, to every struggle. Congratulations on choosing to LOVE yourself, and to live in the moment—even when your world was chaotic. Breathe, and be still … al ways.
 
 
And
 
 
To those of you who are in a constant battle with your own minds— this book is for you. You are WARRIORS. Keep the Faith. There is hope with every sunrise— go afte r it!
 
 
round and round the trauma wheel goes, she jumped free
to heal her woes
 
 
 
 
 
 

 

 
 
 
… and the little Parts learned to fly
 
The truth is, I am no better or worse off than other police officers. Some have thirty years of experience and have never been in an altercation. Others have two years of service—policing a “rough” community—and still sport the scars from their last fight-for-life. Yet another, is now buried, having taken his own pain away, the burden of life too much. Although we, and our service, are all unique, we call ourselves Brothers and Sisters. We have our own stories of fight, flight, and faith, some light and some alarmingly dark, but most of which are eerily similar.
 
“Well, you aren’t in a hurry are you, Kim?”
I heard those words, one fall afternoon, an hour before my husband, John, arrived home to find me lying face down on the living room carpet. I had no fight left—no tears, and no hope. Total emptiness. In that gut-wrenching moment, I gave up. I felt the worst of betrayals, and I wanted to die.
My greatest fear had come true—they left me behind.
 
After more than a decade into my service for the RCMP, I knew all too well, the signs of PTSD. I looked on over the years, as members around me suffered from depression, anxiety, addictions, suicidal tendencies—the list is endless, and I am certain, you already know it well.
The thing is, somewhere in midst of being molded into a team-oriented cadet, quality new member, informed trainer, and then role-model supervisor, I became a highly skilled poker player. Those who play the game of poker well “hide” their true emotions and their next move, showing no facial expression, as opponents can and will use it to their advantage. The same can be said of policing. If we were to show fear, or our next “move” to an adversary, we could end up dead. And those of us who have fought for our lives on asphalt, know all too well the value of hiding true emotion.
Welcome to “ Poker Face.”
I thought I was in a good place—working fifty to seventy hours per week- putting bad guys behind bars. The “atta girls” started adding up, and I hungered for more. I had something to prove not only to the Force, but to myself—I was tough and “on the same playing field” as the guys. I stood ready to take my “knocks” out on the street, and I refused to be treated differently. As my performance goals increased, so did the overtime shifts. Sleep became minimal, and I was obsessed with work—it evolved into my “drug” of choice.
I knew when it started to happen. It was week two after a traffic stop had gone sideways. I ended up in surgery, both jaws broken, and my mouth wired shut for months. The truth is, I did not care. Immediately following surgery, I wanted to go back to work.
At first, I noticed tingling sensations on the base of my neck. I could not sleep. My mind refused to shut down. Then the flashbacks set in. I woke up screaming and drenched in sweat. And after three months on liquids, it felt like my stomach was eating itself. I meticulously placed wire cutters next to my head at night. Not one pair, but two—just in case one pair failed.
If I throw up, I am dead .
I started binge eating the day the wires were removed. When my stomach could not manage a child-sized cheeseburger without sending it back up, I knew I was in trouble. I was later diagnosed with “Refeeding Syndrome,” which may have been treatable, had I not hidden it. By my first shift back, I had “Poker Face” perfected. No one knew that on top of suffering from acute PTSD, I had also developed an out-of-control eating disorder.
The following year, I was involved in a major traffic collision, on my way to a work course at PRTC, our West Coast training center. Several surgeries later, with lasting injuries to my shoulder, back, and ankle, I fought hard to return to the job— and succeeded.
Within months, I withdrew from family and friends—even a change of community did not help. The social woman I once was disappeared. I never left the house and I refused to answer the phone, door, and messages from family, and coworkers. I trusted no one. I drank more, and there was tension in my marriage—I encouraged John to go out to events without me. I just wanted to be alone, in my “safe” place.
There came a point, that I could not hide my symptoms. A coworker asked if I was okay before nightshift—beads of sweat dripped down my face, as I fastened my gun belt. I jokingly brushed off her concern.
“It’s just this new medication for my old lady synd rome!”
Unfortunately, a decline followed. On shift, I put myself in dangerous situations, shook uncontrollably, and avoided the detachment. One evening, I called John from my Watch Commander’s vehicle—I could not remove the shotgun at the end of my shift. I literally shook, just thinking about touching it. Where was the woman who shot tin cans off fences, and hunted for years? I laid my head on the steering wheel and sobbed. When John arrived, he made the decision that I couldn’t bear to—it was no longer safe for me to be operational.
I started to see a psychologist that week, and before long, she realized that I was suicidal. She recommended a more “intense” therapy, then reached out to the RCMP “E” Division appointed psychologist. Over the next twelve weeks, in a worsening frame of mind, I repeatedly attempted to contac