Tuesday, January 28, 2025

Trauma, Part One

**TW: mentions of trauma. Names have been changed/generalized.

 

I wake up in a room.  Dazed, tired, heavy.  By now I am so used to feeling this way I don't notice it.  They have become my normal.  Part of me, like another one of my freckles, a scar.  In my mind I'm stuck in a huge room.  All around, spaced evenly apart, are dozens of doors with signs above each one, "JOB", "FRIENDS", "CHILDREN", "RELATIONSHIP", "SEX", "MONEY", "CHORES".  They're evenly spaced apart, but the size of them is different and it always depends upon the day.  Sometimes there is a "Do not disturb" sign hanging from one or several. 

In my hand is a large key ring full of keys.  All silver and labeled.  The door labeled "HEALTH" is always covered in dust. 

My heart starts pounding and my chest gets heavy looking around at all the doors.  Which do I go into first?  My hands start shaking as I shuffle through the keys, knowing all these have to be done, all these doors have to be opened and closed by the end of the day.  Knowing I'm the only one who can take care of them.  It's.  All. On. Me.

I start the internal social media coaching, "Get moving girl.  Pull up your big girl panties, you're fine.  You're enough.  YOU CAN DO THIS."  I muster all the strength I can and walk quickly toward the children door.  That one feels important.  I run in and out, slamming it behind me.  That didn't go well.

Before I know it, I'm sprinting from door to door, opening and closing and running to the next one.  In and out, in and out, panicking as I shuffle through the keys as quickly as I can.  As soon as I get done behind the relationship door, I hear banging coming from the job door and dishes crashing behind the chore's door.  I don't even have time to question why there's a separate room just for laundry when it falls under the chores category because I'm rushing and running and gasping for breath until eventually, I collapse.

I can't keep up, no matter how many times I go through each door there's always something chaotic happening when I come out of another one.  I throw down the set of keys down with a crash, screaming like I'm tied to the tracks watching a train barrel toward me.  I'm desperate to make it all stop. 

With a crushing blow to my pride and my womanhood I realize it.  I can't do it all.  This is the never-ending highlight reel, all night, every night. My big girl panties are permanently welded on.  I cannot pull them up any higher.  

I wrote this post about a dream I keep having in January 2020.  However, there is a door that my brain has refused to allow me to even acknowledge that I have. Until now.

My Trauma door.

Sure, I've done an adequate amount of keeping the door free of the moss that keeps threatening to take over, but I've done my best to ensure that it stays closed.  Hidden away, as if a secret garden only I know, but even I cannot find the way in. Frankly some days it takes all of the energy that I have to ignore the claws creeping out from the space at the bottom. I've even replaced the nails with screws so that the threats of flying open when I'm not ready for it to are quieted. For today.

I think that the best way to get over something is full-on confrontation.  With everything else, but this. I can't explain why, so I suppose that the best way to get over it, is through. And I finally feel like I can breathe a sigh of relief that, finally, I can. 

I think I can, I think.....

I can.

I think I'm awake.....I can hear, smell, everything. The rustling of the leaves, the smell of decay that only a damp autumn morning on the coast of Maine smells like. I feel a sudden, sharp lightning bolt rip through me as if a chain saw was tearing me open from the inside. "It's cold.  Why is it so cold?" "Why is everything wet?" "Why can't I open my eyes?" The inner monologue threatening to take in the scenery around me, it feels like I'm sitting in front of a firing squad, waiting for the order to strike. The heaviness covering every inch of my body like a herd of elephants.

I tried to move my fingers. They hurt and wouldn't move as commanded, as if just meat sleeves at the end of my hands. Nails, bent, broken. Bloody. My eyes slowly work their ways open to find my face next to the ground, a pile of fallen leaves my only pillow. "Why am I bloody?" "Why does everything hurt so much?" I realize that I didn't even realize that I was naked. "Where are my clothes?" I knew that I didn't have time to panic. I could smell the faint bonfire smoke from the night before. Short of a few crows and seagulls, there was no signs of life around me.

Doing what I could to muster lifting my head without feeling like my brain was going to fall out, I slowly looked around. I'm alone, in the woods. I could see the pile of ash from the party pit yards away. Surely nobody would have been able to see me if it was dark. I look around, my jeans about 3 feet to my left. My sweater, one of the 90s with giant holes in it, behind me, because what self-respecting 17-year-old trying to impress a boy would cover up or wear anything remotely weather appropriate in the name of flirting? A singular shoe that wasn't mine by my head. A boot. Too big, but I put it on. My hair is matted, I can't tell with what. Not yet anyways.

My underwear, socks, shoes, nowhere to be found. I didn't feel afraid, I just wanted to get out of there as soon as I could.  Where are my friends? My jaw hurts. Why does my jaw hurt? There's nobody around. Someone should put out that fire, it's still smoking. Even when I can't see straight and everything is clearly wrong, I still mother the Earth. I put on my clothes, the button on my pants, broken off. I could barely stand. Dizzy, I've never been hung over before. Hell, I've never gotten drunk with my friends before. I staggered around trying to get my bearings. I came across a half-eaten bag of chips, stale, but I had to do something to soak up the $5 vodka and Sunny D. My mouth is covered in blood. My lips, covered in wood chips and bark as though I had face-planted into a tree. I basically threw the stale, powdered cheese covered logs into my mouth and swallowed them whole. Not understanding that my jaw was dislocated. Adrenaline was my best friend that day.

Slowly I made my way to the main road.  It's right down the road from my best friend's grandmother, no way on God's green Earth would I dream of attempting to go there. Anna! Anna's house is right there just a few doors down. It's Saturday, she's got to be home. I slowly made my way to her house.  She was only an acquaintance in my friend group, I only met her a handful of times, but what teenage connection doesn't make you instantly feel like a best friend? 

I took a breath as I scoped out her house. Her mom was a nurse, surely, she would insist I go to a hospital, and I can't have that. My mind raced with the inventory of all the things my entire being ached for. Food, my clothes, my bed, oh my word, my bed. Home, my body ached for the one place I knew that I couldn't go to. I still wasn't sure what happened, but I knew that the consequences of going home and my mother and stepfather finding out that I had gone to a party with my friends, was a thousand times worse than any other alternative. There were no cars in her driveway, so I made my way to the basement door that all of us kids used to get in and out of the house when we visited her. She was one of the "cool kids", whose parents were gone all the time, so naturally kids like me who had zero freedom at our houses gravitated to time at her place.

I knocked, noticing that my hand was still bleeding from a chunk taken out of my right middle finger. I never had a lot of investment in my nails, but every single one of them looked like a bear used my fingers as a toothpick. Thanking every entity in the Universe, she answered after the second knock. She looked terrified to see me. We talked, I don't recall specifics.  I just remember a blur of begging her not to call my mom, showering and seeing the extent of my injuries. My hair was matted to my head with mud and leaves and blood from a gash on the right side of my head. My face, swollen on the right where a bruise formed, and my jaw was dislocated. Popping that back into place was more painful than the drug free childbirth that I would know later in life. 

My left flank still hurts 26 years later where my ribs were bruised, three of which were broken, I'd learn years later when I had a chest x-ray for another reason, the doctor insisting at the time that the relationship I was in at the time was abusive and requested my now ex-husband leave the room to ensure that I was safe. I still couldn't tell anyone. I just told him I was in an "accident" when I was a teen, he could tell that they were healed, I told him that he was overstepping and that I would report him for doing so if he continued to push me. My lips, swollen and bruised. Covered in scrapes, even today bark and debris is still making its encapsulated way out of my body.

Anna was the best thing that ever happened to me.  She jumped into action, calling my dad and letting him know that he didn't need to pick me up at my other friends on Sunday morning as planned, that we were going to enjoy Hallo-weekend and our last time that we could be together to celebrate before graduation. Her medicine cabinet was already stocked for the worse case, and tag, I was it. Rubbing alcohol to soak the bruises. Clip and paint the nails to help them look like they belonged on my body. Carefully washing and combing my hair. Tweezers helped debride my lips. Canned chicken soup never tasted so good. Anna was in drama and loved dress up, so she had all the makeup that I was never allowed to have. She showed me how to cover bruises by painting orange lipstick to neutralize the color, and then cover with foundation. I stayed there until Monday. At that time, my aunt had left her husband, and I was her sitter right down the road from school, so I told my mom I was staying there so she didn't even question why I didn't return home; happy to have one less kid in the house, as if she cared about me at all in the first place. I just laughed off anything questioned as just my clumsiness, it was dark when I was out with friends, and I took a digger. Not a far stretch, as I have always been prone to tripping over myself on flat ground in broad daylight from the second I could stand on my own.

For 26 years of my life, I have been the greatest actor. Only able to maintain my sanity by simply pretending that not a thing happened.  Some days, I even question if it even did, but then I look at my hands and lips closely, and just like the scene in Hook where the Lost Boys recognize the adult Peter as their old buddy, there it is. Unfortunately, the body keeps the score. I still cannot enjoy a back rub without wincing if my left flank is touched. For years I could not be in the woods on a foggy autumn morning without full on disassociation. The smell of a bonfire still threatens to undo the thread holding in my guts. You know, the ones that you can never afford to spill because you will be labeled a liar, or worse, someone will believe me, and I will have to relive it all over again.  I have flashes, nothing tangible, no faces, just recalling idiot teenage boy leering; feeling a freedom and excitement for the first time that I was never going to experience ever again but spent two decades of my future self trying my best to replicate it, when it was only a tool to stuff down....well, everything.

I'm strong, because I'm in a constant battle with my mind. It's telling me that I'm weak. That I shouldn't speak up.  That I shouldn't get out of bed. That I should just run, and hide, because nobody will ever want to hear what I have to say. Lately I've been listening to everything that a very different voice tells me to hear.  I've always been able to find the power to ignore it, but over this past year - my year of Hell - as I've dubbed it, there have been days that felt like they'd never end where my mind has been nothing short of a battleground.  Being strong, socializing, smiling, showing up; it's exhausting.  Sometimes, the idea of being around people is too much to handle; but being alone is an even worse idea.  

But then I remember that the only way over it, 

is through.



Sunday, December 1, 2024

The Levee

Let me cry 


Do you know how gut wrenching it feels to be half-loved  
By someone you would bleed yourself dry for? 
My side of the story 
It doesn't matter anymore 
Life happened 

The Levee has broken
And in turn the flood broke me 
And if I lived I would be considered heroic 
But if I were to die I would simply be a plot point 
I'm healing - I guess that's what I can call this 


Leave me be 
 
To offer them everything of yourself

Only to realize they never intended to hold it  
Only in my dreams do I get loved the way that I love 
And it's not poetic like I romanticized in my head 
It's pathetic and wrong 
But what's important is I learned who deserves a seat at my table 
And who will never sit at it again 
I want to scream out all the ways that love has let me down  
In hopes that somebody hears me and tells me it's all going to be okay 
I want to crumble at all the mistakes I have made into my palms  
As I watch as they fall through my fingertips as nothing but dirt  


But don't leave me 

I want to shove the world into a dark corner and tell it to go fuck off 
I want to ask why I have been such a burden to bear  
When all I ever asked for was love 
I want to understand others' heartbreak without becoming angry  
With how it doesn't compare to mine  
I'm done with hoping for a Disney-like romance 
Chucking it in the fuck it bucket  
And reverting back to the gray scale from sunshine and rainbows 
No metaphor will soften this blow 
I'm just a secret they kept hidden away until they want attention 
I'll always just be the half-love 
The half-truth I always settled for 
The maybe that never becomes a resounding yes 

When it was all I could hear in my head when I looked at them


My God 

I want to wake up as a version of myself  
Who does not live with this loss etching itself deep inside my heart  
I can't write anything that is going to make this hurt less 
I was going to marry you 
No metaphor is going to soften that blow. 
I'm just a tool in your box  
I'm the one that knows every part of you that you're too afraid to show 
When all I wanted was you to claim me 
I watched myself shrink 
Watched myself disappear piece by piece

Trying to fit into the small corner of the world

I wanted almost desperately for us to stay in 
I traded my pride for the illusion of something real  
For a love that never belonged to me 
I can't turn this pain into poetry 
I can't make this heartbreak sound like healing 
I was a placeholder for something else  
And I always knew it but tried to ignore  
As long as my head was on your chest that was all I needed to know 
When all I wanted was you to claim me  

And maybe somewhere in there a glimmer of hope you'd save me
There is not a shred left of a silver lining that would make this all worth the pain  
Because there's no beauty in being half loved  
I tell myself I'll wait for a love that will never come  
Yet the door stayed open anyways  
The light stays on still hoping that someone,   
Eventually, 
Will see me for more than what comes between my thighs  
I never understood what makes me so forgettable  
I'll keep waiting for a love that's never coming  
I think I've realized the truth I keep burying  
This warrior officially doesn't have any fight left 
I want to see the world for what it can be

And not for all that it has not been all along 
I want to hold the Earth down until it apologizes for existing  
In the way I feel like it keeps doing to me 

Please don't leave 
 

Tuesday, July 30, 2024

A Deep Dive Into Grief

"I sat with my anger long enough 

until she told me her real name was grief"

~C. S. Lewis


If I have learned anything this year, it is that I won't ever be ready for what life throws at me. I won't have the right words when it counts; I won't know what to choose when fate itself is staring me down. But now I know I don't always need to have the right answer. I didn't always feel that way. 

I don't feel like this is the place, or rather the right time - avoidance being my superpower and all, to go into details with regard to exactly what has transpired, but to put it as simply as I can, I watched in slow motion the losses I knew were going to be catastrophic, and suddenly they happened together within less than 90 days.  To say what I'm about to, is coming from a place I never knew I would access within myself. And I'm not sorry on one hand, and destroyed on the other. I guess it's fitting for the Pisces in me.  An Irish one. Stubborn until I process, realize what I've done, and depending on who you are I still won't apologize until the day I die. 

This is me, apologizing. To everyone in my life.

I've chosen to grieve privately, and that's not good enough for everyone. Unfortunately, it'll have to be. I got hit with the stunning realization that I don't know what to do,  for the first time in my life.  I have never been shown how to deal with loss.  Sure,  I have all this training, mental health and psychology are my jam.  But there's learning, experiencing, and the ocean in between.  My healing journey has taught me, if nothing else, it's that I must stop drowning myself for people who wouldn't dip their pinky in a teacup for me. And this has historically proven itself as fact. I'm always the one drowning, and I'm not even asking people to blow the life raft up before throwing it to me, I just need that tiny effort of throwing it in my general direction and it's still too much. 

I've always been the one who everyone relied on to swan dive directly in the middle of their chaos and make it all better.  And now, I find myself completely unable to be there for anyone else when I haven't been able to be there for myself.  I simply don't know how to be sad and do life at the same time.  I'm finding myself having visceral reactions to interactions that I fear might be taxing when before I could deal with anything and take anyone's shit that they wanted to throw my way, my safety coating is gone from my nerves. And even in my best efforts not to bother anyone with my emotions and what I have going on, it has cost me. And I realize that, now. It was wrong of me not to explain honestly what was going on to those within my house. I was trying so hard to push away all negativity that in those efforts my child needed me, and I couldn't be there for them. And then as a result of a stupid misunderstanding, I also lost the one person who has come to mean everything to me. I can be stupidly impulsive and found myself to be very reactive to the needs of others. One phone call where I was impulsive with my emotions with my daughter was the catalyst for the amazing path we're on now. Perhaps it needed to happen. We've been sad about the same things, however caught in a cycle of avoidance and crashing. I was seasoning a cast iron skillet in my oven and because my living room and kitchen are so open, I didn't realize how smoky my house had gotten down the hallway.  She was sick in bed with a migraine, and she called to request that I open the hall windows.  I yelled at her to do it, forgetting that this wasn't one of her usual attempts to run my life, she was really in distress.  However, after getting off the phone, I realized that she was right, that they did in fact need to be opened and I felt horrible. I still feel horrible that I was so quick to react and that I didn't have the emotional foresight to just pause and assess.  And then I made things even worse by thinking that I was making it better. That person has been cut out for half a decade, and in my thoughtless panic I reached out. I cannot explain what on earth was happening. This is absolutely not like me, and I am so disappointed in myself. 

I would give and do anything to rewind time and go back to 11:13 am Sunday, July 28. I was so happy, a day out of a storybook. I'll leave it, vaguely, at that. And you, I know that asking you to come back might feel like a lot right now and I have no leg to stand on to ask you to trust that things are better, but they are and a life without you in it just doesn't make sense anymore. In my defense, I wasn't trying to tie up your evening by wanting you around, I was trying to tie up you.  (**insert wink, I've got jokes for days, but you know you love it) Seriously, at least please come take away the 2 dozen muffins that I baked for you.

I've learned I can go on waiting for something, sustained by hope and nothing more — and have, for years.  Or I can put it aside and shrug my shoulders. Bravely, radically even, accept the fact, despite my best efforts, that I can't keep my heart safe anymore than I can stop love from taking everything from me.

I am learning (changed from my previous "learned" because I definitely am a work in progress) to stop saying yes when I don't mean it — to live as authentically as I know how. To allow the tips of my fingers to skirt the darkness, as long as I remember to keep my eyes fixed on the light. We know how much I like my hidey holes. And as one door opens and another closes, I will move forward with the knowledge that unlike so many others, I have another year ahead of me, another shot at making it all the way around the sun, and a chance to get it right this time round.

Be good to each other. And if someone tells you that they see the universe in your eyes, maybe don't be a dick to them on a regular basis. It was a compliment they were vulnerable enough to tell you, not a marriage proposal.