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The perspective of a beautiful friend.

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The Broken Policeman

Here is an honest piece from my beautiful friend Emmy, that she wrote in 2019. I found it the other day whilst going through my notes and think it’s well worth a read.
Emmy has seen me at my best and worst. At the moment I’m somewhere in between and I’m still working on repairing myself. I am extremely lucky to have some wonderful people in my corner. Surround yourself with good people who will lift you up and avoid drama. 

I’m open to different treatments and my latest has taken me to see a kinesiologist who helps me tackle things from another angle. I have found it helpful and I don’t really care whether or not it’s everyone’s cup of tea. If it gives me any relief from the daily struggles then I’ll take it as a win. My personal experience with it has helped change my mindset and attitude to certain thoughts and beliefs that were not helpful in my life. It’s reinforced that hate and anger are not that helpful when I’m trying to recover. Instead of hate, I prefer to acknowledge the feeling and then convert it to love.
If you hate someone, you might as well drink a cup of poison and hope that they get sick. It’s not helpful and it is my opinion that there are better ways to deal with things.  

I guess my point is, don’t be afraid to try different things, whether it be TMS, EMDR, Reiki, Kinesiology or some natural remedy, different things work for different people. Please don’t give up. The answer might be just over the next climb. 

My Broken Policeman

He loved the job, it was his dream,
But nothing could prepare him for what he was about to see,
And ultimately feel.

He smiles at me with those haunted eyes,
And crack jokes to hide the pain,
But I see the fear every day. 

He dreads the nights, the dreams don’t stop,
There’s just no knockoff time for him,
On and on every, single, night.

He’s like a dog in a dream, running,
But running for his bloody life.
He whimpers then growls and screams, “Police, don’t move!”

He calms down at my touch,
Adjusts the strap of the machine that helps him breathe,
Just another side effect of the shit he has to go through.

He’s exhausted when he wakes,
Disappears into his phone or puts on music to stop his head
He’s absolutely stuffed, needs more rest.

He loves a beer, has done so all his adult life,
He jokes he’d be a gold medalist if it was a sport,
But it’s to the extreme level these days, just to calm the fuck down.

He’ll disappear out the back, stubbie in hand,
Calling all his friends, chatting away till his phone is nearly flat,
It’s a respite from all he’s going through and it’s going to be a long night.

At last, at bloody last, he falls in bed into a dreamless sleep,
There are no nightmares, he’s so deeply gone,
And he wakes in the morning happy no sign of a hangover.

How could this be? After drinking an entire box of beer? 
But happiness is short-lived, 
The dry retching begins and the sweats can last for days,

This becomes a cycle, but he won’t be beaten, he won’t give up,
He stops drinking altogether, not a sip for months, give this a go, maybe we can fix it?
But the fucking dreams are back, it’s not alcohol that’s the problem, it’s his brain.

He fights through it, we go out in public,
He smiles and laughs with everyone we see,
But he can’t hide it from me, I feel his sweaty hands, his aura is vibrating.

I instinctively know where he wants to sit in a public place,
He needs to be ready to fight or fly,
Exits are monitored, threats are scanned.

But there’s nothing, no threat,
The exhaustion envelopes him,
We need to move, get out of there.

I can’t help it, but I feel his pain,
I try and step back on my side of the line,
But it pulls me deep back in there with him.

He’s in the hospital again, maybe they can fix it?
He’s got the whole ward laughing their guts out,
He doesn’t seem sick at all to others, but as usual, he can’t hide from me.

All we can do now is hope. Hope for some kind of healing,
I gave back his badge the other day, he couldn’t face it,
I understand now, it felt like a death. 

But we will turn the page, turn the page to a new story.
Hope for a renewed life, keep positive 
And put on a brave face and find something good again. 

He’s on the cusp of a deep precipice, about to fly, I know it,
He’s got so much more to give, I am slightly buoyed by the feeling.
With almighty strength, I’ll give him a nudge in the right direction. 

My broken policeman is now being stuck together
Not something you discard, cause there’s a couple of damaged bits,
But something you treasure with love and happiness as the glue.

31 July 2019
By Emmy van Nimwegen


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