The other day I was explaining to some of my friends my concept of "ugly trauma."
I am not new to ugly trauma. It is a phrase I came up with many years ago to explain some experiences I have had since childhood.
Ugly trauma is, well, ugly. It is not beautifully tragic, or bittersweet, or even melancholy. It's just... euuughhh.
So when some recent life events had occurred, and everyone asked me why I wasn't writing about it--why I hadn't suddenly transformed into a nobody, mediocre version of Taylor Swift overnight as a result of this devastating, crushing trauma, my answer was simple: because it was too ugly to write about.
There was nothing left for me to romanticize, to contemplate, or to reflect upon; the situation simply disgusted me to no end.
Of course, ugly trauma is deeply personal, and what one person deems as ugly may not be ugly to another. Perhaps if someone else had gone through exactly what I had been through, they might easily be able to pen an entire novel.
I must emphasize that "ugly" does not mean terribly painful. It's not that it's so painful that I can't write about it. It's just... gross. It's boring. The words just don't come. I just don't want to. There is nothing I want to say.
In short: it's not poetic--it's repulsive!
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