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Trauma Quotes

Browse 1903 quotes about Trauma.

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Trauma Quotes

“Oftentimes, the scapegoat feels worthless and powerless. After being beaten down, year after year, we have a strong sense of false guilt. Unconsciously, we take the narcissist’s guilt as if it were our own. As if it were our fault. As if we are deserving of mental torture and physical abuse.”

TraumaSelf WorthManipulationPowerlessnessNarcissistic AbuseGaslightingPsychological AbuseToxic ShameScapegoatsFalse Guilt
Book:Soul Rescue: How to Break Free From Narcissistic Abuse & Heal Trauma
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“If you are not in tune with your intuition, you can miss the divine signs. Also, you may miss divine detours that lead to a better way. If you don’t trust your gut, you may stay in unhealthy dynamics, including toxic workplaces, abusive relationships, and unsafe spaces.”

WisdomTraumaIntuitionBoundariesAbusive RelationshipsTrust Your GutInner KnowingDivine SignsDivine DetoursUnhealthy Dynamics
Book:Intuitive Guide: How to Trust Your Gut, Embrace Divine Signs, & Connect with Heavenly Messengers
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“The nutritionist said I should eat root vegetables. Said if I could get down thirteen turnips a day I would be grounded, rooted. Said my head would not keep flying away to where the darkness lives. The psychic told me my heart carries too much weight. Said for twenty dollars she’d tell me what to do. I handed her the twenty. She said, “Stop worrying, darling. You will find a good man soon.” The first psycho therapist told me to spend three hours each day sitting in a dark closet with my eyes closed and ears plugged. I tried it once but couldn’t stop thinking about how gay it was to be sitting in the closet. The yogi told me to stretch everything but the truth. Said to focus on the out breath. Said everyone finds happiness when they care more about what they give than what they get. The pharmacist said, “Lexapro, Lamicatl, Lithium, Xanax.” The doctor said an anti-psychotic might help me forget what the trauma said. The trauma said, “Don’t write these poems. Nobody wants to hear you cry about the grief inside your bones.” But my bones said, “Tyler Clementi jumped from the George Washington Bridge into the Hudson River convinced he was entirely alone.” My bones said, “Write the poems.”

WritingMadnessTrauma
Book:The Madness Vase
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“False guilt is feeling guilty when one is not actually guilty. Genuine guilt is a result of wrongdoing. It is appropriate to feel guilty if we had done something wrong. However, false guilt is rooted in deception, denial, and dysfunction. It is directly connected to our destructive and codependent relationship with a narcissist.”

TraumaCodependencyNarcissistic AbusePsychological AbuseVictim BlamingCptsdToxic ShameFalse Guilt
Book:Soul Rescue: How to Break Free From Narcissistic Abuse & Heal Trauma
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“As a survivor of sibling abuse, the toxic shame is not for the survivor to carry. You didn’t do anything wrong. You were not the one to commit atrocious acts of violence. You have been victimized and traumatized. Today, release the stronghold of toxic shame. The toxic shame belongs to each sibling who abused you.”

Mental HealthTraumaMemoirCrueltySexual AbuseDysfunctional FamilyToxic ShameTrue Crime StorySibling AbuseFamily Scapegoating
Book:Toxic Siblings: A Survival Guide to Rise Above Sibling Abuse & Heal Trauma
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“Trauma is a thief. It steals our childhoods, years of our adult lives, or even our entire lifetimes. It takes away our ability to feel connected to others, to feel like we belong in the world, and to receive and extend love. It prevents us from growing and thriving. It steals our relationships, work, physical health, families, communities, spirituality, hobbies, passions, and identity. And to add insult to injury, trauma then demands that we grieve these losses in order to heal from them, which can feel overwhelming.”

TraumaTraumatic ExperiencesTraumatizedTrauma SurvivorsPtsd QuotesTraumaticTraumatic StressCptsdTrauma QuotesPtsd Awareness
Book:You Don't Need to Forgive: Trauma Recovery on Your Own Terms
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“Isolation of catastrophic experiences. Dissociation may function to seal off overwhelming trauma into a compartmentalized area of conscious until the person is better able to integrate it into mainstream consciousness. The function of dissociation is particularly common in survivors of combat, political torture, or natural or transportation disasters.”

ConsciousnessPsychologyMemoryTraumaTortureSurvivorCombatCatastropheSoldiersDissociationAmnesiaDissociativeTrauma SurvivorsPolitical PrisonersComplex TraumaDissociatedConcentration CampsConcentration Camp Survivor
Author:Marlene Steinberg
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“Somatic Symptoms: People with Complex PTSD often have medical unexplained physical symptoms such as abdominal pains, headaches, joint and muscle pain, stomach problems, and elimination problems. These people are sometimes most unfortunately mislabeled as hypochondriacs or as exaggerating their physical problems. But these problems are real, even though they may not be related to a specific physical diagnosis. Some dissociative parts are stuck in the past experiences that involved pain may intrude such that a person experiences unexplained pain or other physical symptoms. And more generally, chronic stress affects the body in all kinds of ways, just as it does the mind. In fact, the mind and body cannot be separated. Unfortunately, the connection between current physical symptoms and past traumatizing events is not always so clear to either the individual or the physician, at least for a while. At the same time we know that people who have suffered from serious medical, problems. It is therefore very important that you have physical problems checked out, to make sure you do not have a problem from which you need medical help.”

TraumaMedicalPtsdDissociative Identity DisorderSurvivorsPhysicalComplex PtsdHypochondriacSomatic
Book:Coping with Trauma-Related Dissociation: Skills Training for Patients and Therapists
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“A dysregulated nervous system is the most confining prison that can trap you. But if you can understand the bodily cues of safety and danger, you can learn how to regulate your responses and harness the most effective key to free your mind.”

DepressionAnxietyMental HealthTraumaTherapyRelationship ConflictPolyvagal Theory
Book:Beyond Your Confines: The Workbook: How to use your nervous system to free your mind
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“Renungan Kecil dari Kematian Hasrat (Dark Psycho Surreal + Glitch Subterranean + Hannibal-esque Psychoanalysis) Di ruang bawah tanah pikiran, tempat cahaya menua dan distorsi gemerisik suara radio, aku menghitung setiap luka seperti baris kode yang dibaca oleh mata yang tidak pernah berkedip. Setiap belati yang kutorehkan menjadi gema yang menusuk telinga, menggugat diriku dengan suara yang memakai voice overku sendiri —atau sesuatu yang sangat menyerupainya. Aku menjadi abu dari arang yang lupa api mana yang membakarnya, sebuah log error yang tidak dihapus, fosil dari kehendak yang dikubur hidup-hidup. Pikiran mencideraiku seperti luka yang menolak algoritma penyembuhan: membusuk perlahan, mengirim pesan samar ke saraf, seperti server lama yang siap mati namun terus dipaksa menyala. Jari-jari abstrakku meraba gelap, menyentuh kehampaan yang berdenyut 0101—kosong—0101—kosong, lorong kelam yang gagal memuat realitas. Dan dari balik kehampaan itu, muncul suara—halus, berbalut keheningan, berbicara dengan kelembutan yang tidak pernah bisa dipercaya: “Apa yang kau dengar ketika dunia menjadi terlalu sunyi?” Aku terdiam. Karena aku tahu pertanyaan itu bukan ingin dijawab— tetapi ingin menggali. “Apakah itu suara langkahmu sendiri, atau suara domba-domba yang kau pikir sudah berhenti menjerit?” Aku membeku. Ada sesuatu dari masa lalu— seekor ketakutan kecil yang disembelih perlahan di tengah ladang sunyi ingatan. Suaranya masih menempel di tulang, seperti gema yang tidak bisa dihapus dari memori tubuh. “Domba-domba itu tidak pernah benar-benar mati,” bisik suara itu lagi, “kau hanya belajar menenggelamkan jeritan mereka dengan pekerjaan, cinta, ambisi, dan sedikit kebohongan-kecil yang kau katakan pada dirimu sendiri agar tetap bertahan.” Cinta… labirin yang menelan arsiteknya sendiri, benang kusut yang mengulang-ulang error hingga wajahku hilang dari narasi. Ia tidak pernah melukiskan diriku— hanya versi-kompresi dalam pikiran orang lain. Tidak ada modul yang dapat membaca perasaan mereka. Hanya: peduli / tidak peduli. 1 atau 0. Dan manusia— Oh betapa manusia adalah makhluk paling mengerikan yang pernah diciptakan oleh evolusi dan delusi. Aku tidak ingin menjadi salah satu dari mereka. Aku ingin menjadi anomali, penyimpangan yang bernapas, variabel liar yang tidak bisa dinormalisasi. “Tapi kau tetap mengejar penerimaan, bukan?” suara itu menusuk lembut, “Seperti Clarice berdiri di kandang itu lagi, mengingat domba-domba yang tak bisa ia selamatkan.” Aku gemetar. Karena ia benar. Apa salahnya menjadi berbeda, meski hanya di dalam pikiran sendiri, di ruangan sunyi tempat semua trauma berebut meminta dipahami? Keseragaman tidak pernah menjanjikan keselamatan: air mata pun punya server-nya sendiri, punya muara yang tidak pernah sinkron dengan siapa pun. Hidup ini seperti mimpi dua-warna, grayscale yang menolak dikonversi, selalu terasa sedang menunggu seseorang untuk mengaku: "Ya, aku mendengarnya juga.” Aku tidak ingin menjadi bayangan yang dirender orang lain. Tidak ingin hidup dari mimpi mereka. Aku ingin mengunggah mimpi-ku sendiri, meski terdistorsi, glitching, dan setengah rusak. Di kedalaman paling gelap, tempat suara-suara rahasia menciptakan versi diriku yang baru, suara itu bertanya sekali lagi—pelan, tapi tak terhindarkan: “Katakan padaku… apakah domba-domba itu akhirnya berhenti menjerit?” Dan aku, akhirnya jujur: Tidak. Belum. Mungkin tidak akan pernah. Tapi hari ini, untuk pertama kalinya, aku mendengar suaraku sendiri lebih keras daripada jeritan mereka. November 2025”

TraumaPuisiSilence Of The LambsNarasiDark EgoResonansi
Author:Titon Rahmawan
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“Psychoanalysis has suffered the accusation of being “unscientific” from its very beginnings (Schwartz, 1999). In recent years, the Berkeley literary critic Frederick Crews has renewed the assault on the talking cure in verbose, unreadable articles in the New York Review of Books (Crews, 1990), inevitably concluding, because nothing else really persuades, that psychoanalysis fails because it is unscientific. The chorus was joined by philosopher of science, Adolf Grunbaum (1985), who played both ends against the middle: to the philosophers he professed specialist knowledge of psychoanalysis; to the psychoanalysts he professed specialist knowledge of science, particularly physics. Neither was true (Schwartz, 1995a,b, 1996a,b, 2000). The problem that mental health clinicians always face is that we deal with human subjectivity in a culture that is deeply invested in denying the importance of human subjectivity. Freud’s great invention of the analytic hour allows us to explore, with our clients, their inner worlds. Can such a subjective instrument be trusted? Not by very many. It is so dangerously close to women’s intuition. Socalled objectivity is the name of the game in our culture. Nevertheless, 100 years of clinical practice have shown psychoanalysis and psychotherapy not only to be effective, but to yield real understandings of the dynamics of human relationships, particularly the reality of transference–countertransference re-enactments now reformulated by our neuroscientists as right brain to right brain communication (Schore, 1999).”

TraumaTherapyNeurosciencePsychoanalysisSubjectivityPsychotherapyDisinformationCriticPsychotherapistsMental Health ProfessionalsUnscientificGrandiositySubjective TruthLiterary CriticsPsychoanalysts
Book:Ritual Abuse and Mind Control: The Manipulation of Attachment Needs
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“Selective amnesia by harmful people is blame-shifting. According to FreeDictionary.com, “Blame-shifting is when someone shifts the blame from person to person.” The root of blame-shifting is when an abusive person fails to take responsibility for their cruelty.”

TraumaCrueltyDenialManipulationGaslightingPsychological AbuseBlame ShiftingStonewallingSelectivedysfunctional Family
Book:Soul Rescue: How to Break Free From Narcissistic Abuse & Heal Trauma
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“Sowohl physiologisch wie auch im Sinne eines sozialen Dazugehörens geht es um ein Überleben. Da die Ausschlussgefahr allgegenwärtig und unbesiegbar bleibt/zu bleiben scheint, ist Traumatisierung alltäglich und habituelle Dissoziation wird zur Überlebensstrategie.”

TraumaSinnDazugehörenAusschlussgefahrPysiologischüBerlebensstrategie
Book:Radikal verbunden: Über traumatisierende Herrschaft und den spirituellen Aktivismus als Brücke zwischen sozio-politischem Aufdecken und mitfühlender Bezogenheit
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“Before the crisis, my life moved along like a well-planned play. I showed up and acted my part while the script directed the flow. The devastation demanded I grieve while the play of my life continued around me. I wished I could stop the spinning stage long enough to catch my breath.”

TraumaGrief And LossHope QuotesRestorationHealing InsightsHope And DespairRecovery QuotesHealing TraumaRecovery InspirationGrief Inspirational Breavement
Author:Shauna L. Hoey
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“When you're traumatized, your sense of self, your individuality, is beaten up. Your skin color, your background, your pain, your hope, your gender, your faith, it's all defiled. Those essential pieces of yourself are stolen. You, as a person, are emptied and flattened, and that violence, that theft, keeps you from embodying a life that feels like your own. To continue to exist, as a whole person, you need to re-create, for yourself, an identity untouched by everything that's been used against you. You need to imagine and build a self out of elements that are not tainted. You need to remake yourself on your own terms.”

IdentityTraumaPurityMental Trauma
Book:The Girl Who Smiled Beads: A Story of War and What Comes After
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“As an undergraduate student in psychology, I was taught that multiple personalities were a very rare and bizarre disorder. That is all that I was taught on ... It soon became apparent that what I had been taught was simply not true. Not only was I meeting people with multiplicity; these individuals entering my life were normal human beings with much to offer. They were simply people who had endured more than their share of pain in this life and were struggling to make sense of it.”

PainPsychologyNormalMental HealthTraumaMental IllnessMentalBizarreDissociative Identity DisorderMultiplicityStudentMultiple Personality DisorderPsychiatricUndergraduateMpd
Book:The Dissociative Identity Disorder Sourcebook
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“The Sensitive Scarred by Stewart Stafford Bizarre monolith world, We waylaid pilgrims tread In a whirligig of fair and ill Serrated lots for drawing. Consider those without armour, Senses wounded beyond measure, With struggles incomprehensible, The burdened head asphyxiates. Devoid of several layers of skin, Internal organs lacerated—daily, A ribcage so spinelessly cracked, Clarity's chains relentlessly taut. © 2025, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”

TraumaPsychologicalVulnerabilityExistentialismHuman ConditionSensitivityEmotional PainDark PoetryGothic PoetryScarred Souls
Author:Stewart Stafford
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“[Author's Note:] When I was sixteen, two of my cousins were brutally raped by four strangers and thrown off a bridge in St. Louis, Missouri. My brother was beaten and also forced off the bridge. I wrote about that horrible crime in my first book, my memoir, A Rip in Heaven. Because that crime and the subsequent writing of the book were both formative experience in my life, I became a person who is always, automatically, more interested in stories about victims than perpetrators. I'm interested in characters who suffer inconceivable hardship, in people who manage to triumph over extraordinary trauma. Characters like Lydia and Soledad. I'm less interested in the violent, macho stories of gangsters and law enforcement. Or in any case, I think the world has enough stories like those. Some fiction set in the world of the cartels and narcotraficantes is compelling and important - I read much of it during my early research. Those novels provide readers with an understanding of the origins of the some of the violence to our south. But the depiction of that violence can feed into some of the worst stereotypes about Mexico. So I saw an opening for a novel that would press a little more intimately into those stories, to imagine people on the flip side of that prevailing narrative. Regular people like me. How would I manage if I lived in a place that began to collapse around me? If my children were in danger, how far would I go to save them? I wanted to write about women, whose stories are often overlooked.”

WritingFictionTraumaRepresentationNovelsTruth In FictionVerisimilitudeWomen In Fiction
Book:American Dirt
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“When she reached out to the little girl in her, nothing erupted but the dense muteness of her own children in her belly. She felt helpless, alienated from her mirror-image, perceiving her body as a shallow vessel, possessed by human beings that she never met, draining her energy and suppressing her proper self, which she considered absent again.”

ViolenceIdentityTraumaMotherhoodPregnancyFearsDoubtsWithin Paravent Walls
Book:Within Paravent Walls
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“One of the challenges adult children of narcissistic mother’s face is the myth that every mother is giving, nurturing, and gracious. Worldwide, this is a false notion and taboo topic. For many adult children, they are scolded by our society who chides, “But it’s your MOTHER!” Despite the fact that we’ve spent a lifetime suffering chronic mental abuse, rejection, criticisms, and scapegoating by our mothers, most people don’t believe us, don’t understand us, nor have they personally experienced narcissistic abuse by their mothers.”

TraumaChild AbuseNarcissistic AbuseMental AbuseCptsdNarcissistic MothersFamily ScapegoatingMyths About Mothers
Book:Soul Rescue: How to Break Free From Narcissistic Abuse & Heal Trauma
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“Polska rośnie na traumie jak pieczarka na gnoju. To podstawa naszej tożsamości: rodząc się w kraju nad Wisłą, automatycznie wyrażasz zgodę na użycie twego mózgu do odbioru i przesyłania traumy, bez niej Polak nie byłby sobą (...) Większość naszej tradycji na wszelki wypadek opiera się więc na przywoływaniu i odtwarzaniu traum, a największe święto narodowe odbywa się w połowie listopada, w zacinającej mżawce, błocie i desperacji. Czy w takich warunkach można być normalnym?”

TraumaPolkaPolskaPolacyPolakPolskośćTrauma Pokoleniowa11 ListopadaListopadśWięto Narodowe
Book:Jak płakać w miejscach publicznych
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“There was more to the city than he'd thought at first, especially once he got away from the circular communities mimicking villages. Young people joyriding the gondola lines, elders playing slow games of skill, an entire community brewing various kinds of sweet alcohol. He discovered more recreational drugs than he'd expected, but because this was Tatian, they seemed to have few negative consequences and leave people mostly happy and calm. Yet he couldn't bring himself to even consider participating in any of it, not for long. Even though he'd had forty years to come to terms with the death of his old friends, their ghosts returned to him. Brigana would have convinced him to take a break, Khaluu would have proven surprisingly knowledgeable about hallucinogens, and Eratius would have resisted at first but eventually joined them.”

HumorFriendshipMemoriesGriefTraumaCity LifeSoma
Book:Soulhome
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“At first, like a lot of trauma survivors, I was impatient and wanted immediate results. Once I caught myself in this behavior, I realized that it takes consistent commitment to heal patterns. After three or four months, I noticed a huge positive shift within myself. I felt a new level of happiness and contentment that I hadn't even known existed. I finally understood how my old trauma patterns had attracted drama in my present life. once I saw this dynamic, I made a conscious decision to "Drama Detox," and the patterns faded away.”

DramaTraumaHealing InsightsRepeating The PastRepeating PatternsDrama TriangleRepearing Mistakes
Author:Doreen Virtue
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“TONY, AKU MENEMUKANMU DI TEMPAT YANG TIDAK BOLEH ADA MANUSIA” (Lynchian Reconstruction) Tony muncul pertama kali bukan di layar, melainkan di celah gelap antara dua adegan yang seharusnya tidak bersambung. Sebuah potongan film yang menganga, sebagai luka seluloid. Kita tidak melihatnya masuk. Ia sudah ada di sana, seperti wajah yang muncul dalam mimpi, setengah ingatan, setengah sengatan listrik. Ruang itu tidak punya nama. Lampu-lampunya berkedip seperti mata yang malas percaya pada kenyataan, dan karpet merahnya terasa basah seperti onggokan daging segar. Tony tidak bergerak. Atau mungkin ia bergerak, tapi gerakannya terjadi di tepi pupil matamu, di tempat di mana logika mengering dan kehilangan taring. Dia mengenakan setelan gelap yang terlalu rapi, terlalu bersih untuk dunia yang tidak stabil ini. Kancing paling atasnya merefleksikan cahaya yang tidak berasal dari cahaya lampu “Ini bukan adegan,” katanya, tanpa benar-benar menggerakkan bibir. “Ini adalah seseorang yang sedang bermimpi menjadi adegan.” Aku mencoba berbicara, tapi suaraku keluar seperti rekaman rusak— patah, melengking, kembali lagi dari arah lain. Tony tersenyum kecil: senyum yang tidak ingin kau tanya asalnya. Senyum yang seperti berkata: "Kau tidak seharusnya berada di sini." Dari belakang tirai biru— tirai yang tidak pernah berhenti bergoyang meski tidak ada angin— muncul suara yang sangat lembut: seperti seseorang sedang memotong kertas foto dengan gunting yang terlalu tumpul. Tony melirik ke arah tirai itu dengan tatapan yang mengandung dua hal: pengakuan dan ketakutan. Sekiranya tirai itu mengenalnya lebih baik daripada dirinya sendiri. “Dulu, aku sudah pernah memainkan peran itu,” katanya pelan. “Tapi dunia tidak mengembalikanku ke tempat seharusnya.” Ketika ia melangkah maju, lorongnya ikut bergerak, seolah-olah ruang itu sedang mencoba mengatur ulang dirinya agar Tony tidak kehilangan pusat gravitasi. Sebuah telepon berdering. Tidak ada telepon. Tidak ada meja. Tidak ada sumber bunyi. Hanya dering itu— jernih, bersih, dingin. Tony berhenti. Kita semua berhenti. Bahkan udara berhenti. “Jangan angkat,” katanya. Suaranya kali ini terdengar seperti gema dari bawah sumur. Aku bertanya kenapa. Ia menatapku dengan mata yang terlihat normal hingga kau sadari korneanya tidak pernah berubah ukuran. Seperti kamera yang terjebak pada satu exposure selamanya. “Karena kalau kau angkat,” katanya, “kau akan mendengar seseorang menjelaskan kenapa kau tidak pernah ada.” Ia kembali ke dalam bayangan lorong yang tiba-tiba memanjang, memutar, dan membuka diri seperti rahang orca yang kelaparan. Untuk sesaat aku melihatnya— hanya sesaat— menjadi dua orang sekaligus: Tony sang aktor, dan sesuatu yang mengenakan wajahnya dengan terlalu sempurna. Lalu lorongnya menutup. Seakan itu semua hanyalah cara dunia menghapus bukti bahwa dulu ia pernah ada. November 2025”

TraumaPuisiNeo NoirIdentitasDekonstruksi Realitas
Author:Titon Rahmawan
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“TONY, KAU DATANG DARI CELAH YANG BERDARAH DI BAWAH TAMAN KAMI (Blue Velvet Reconstruction) Tony muncul tepat setelah sprinkler berhenti. Air masih menetes dari selang, mengisi halaman dengan aroma plastik basah dan ironi yang menyengat. Kota ini pura-pura damai, pura-pura tidak tahu bahwa di balik pagar putih dan bunga violet, selalu ada sesuatu yang menggerogoti dengan gigi kecil penuh dendam. Aku menemukannya berdiri di tepi pagar, menunduk pada selembar rumput yang entah kenapa bergetar seperti sedang menahan ketakutan. Ia mengenakan jas hitam. Tidak seperti jas biasa— lebih seperti kulit seseorang yang belum siap dilepas dari tubuhnya. “Aku hanya ingin melihat apa yang tumbuh,” katanya ringan, menyentuh kelopak bunga biru seolah-olah itu adalah saklar menuju sesuatu yang lebih gelap. Senyumnya lunak, tetapi terlalu lama, terlalu presisi— seperti seseorang berlatih tersenyum di depan cermin yang pernah menyaksikan kejahatan. Di rumah sebelah, radio memutar lagu cinta tahun 50-an, dan setiap nadanya terdengar seperti jeritan yang disamarkan agar tetap cocok untuk lingkungan keluarga. Tony melangkah masuk ke dalam bayangan pohon maple, bayangan yang tidak mengikuti arah matahari dan tampak seperti mencoba menelan sepatunya. “Di kota ini,” bisiknya, “segala sesuatu yang indah memiliki pintu belakang yang tidak terkunci.” Ia mengangkat telepon yang tiba-tiba berdering dari halaman kosong. Tidak ada kabel. Tidak ada sambungan. Hanya telepon merah yang seharusnya tidak ada di sana. “Hallo?” Matanya tidak berkedip. “Ya… dia sedang melihatku sekarang.” Ia menatapku. Seolah aku adalah seseorang yang namanya disebut dari ujung lain kabel yang tak terlihat. Ada suara di dalam telepon: napas seseorang yang terlalu dekat, terlalu intim, terlalu mengerti sesuatu tentangku yang tidak pernah kuceritakan pada siapa pun. Tony mendengarkan lama, lalu menutup gagang telepon dengan lembut. Seperti menutup kelopak mata sesosok mayat. “Seseorang ingin bertemu denganmu,” katanya. “Di ruang atas.” Nada suaranya seperti undangan dan ancaman yang dibungkus karamel. Kami masuk ke rumah kosong itu. Dindingnya berwarna merah muda— terlalu merah muda— seperti anak kecil pernah memimpikan kamar ini sebelum sesuatu memutuskan tinggal di dalamnya. Ada lagu lembut berputar di radio tua, dan udara berbau parfum murahan yang bercampur dengan bau karat besi yang tak jujur. Dia menyentuh gagang pintu kamar. Tangan itu tidak gemetar. Pintu membuka dengan suara mengerang seperti rahasia yang keberatan dibocorkan. Di dalam: tirai biru menggantung, bergoyang pelan meski jendela tertutup rapat. “Jangan kaget,” bisiknya padaku. “Di balik tirai itu biasanya seseorang menangis.” Aku hendak bertanya siapa, tapi tirai bergerak sendiri. Sangat pelan. Seperti seseorang yang baru saja menghapus air mata. Tony berdiri di sampingku, dan kini aku melihatnya bukan sebagai manusia— tetapi sebagai retakan dalam dunia ini. Sesuatu yang seharusnya tidak memiliki tubuh, namun tetap memilih untuk memakai salah satunya. Ia membungkuk mendekat ke telingaku, napasnya dingin seperti kulkas yang menyimpan rasa lapar. “Kota ini tak pernah kenyang” katanya. “Pertanyaannya cuma satu… kau ingin menjadi makanannya, atau kau ingin melihat siapa yang memakanmu dari balik tirai itu?” Tirai biru bergetar lebih keras. Lampu berkedip. Suara lagu berubah pelan, mengalun seperti bisikan seseorang yang patah dari dalam dirinya sendiri. Tony menoleh ke arahku, tatapannya lembut— lebih lembut dari yang boleh dimiliki seseorang yang telah melihat apa yang ia lihat. “Kita mulai adegannya sekarang,” katanya. Dan untuk pertama kalinya, aku sadar bahwa dalam dunia ini— aku bukan penonton dan bukan penulis skenario— aku hanyalah seseorang yang dipilih oleh tirai biru untuk diseret masuk ke dalam mimpi yang bukan milikku. November 2025”

TraumaPuisiNeo NoirIdentitasDekonstruksi Realitas
Author:Titon Rahmawan
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