Memories have been seeping through. Partially, its that time of year for me. There are a lot of trauma anniversaries, sometime i think i’ve sailed through and it bites me in the ass, later.
i always wish i could reach out to my mother, in July. The only way she ever acknowledged the man was to pick up his habit of not fully putting out his cigarettes every July. They would be all over the house, and i was constantly washing ashtrays, finding lit cigarettes.
i’ve been dreaming lately, waking up memories.
i don’t want these things coming up. Seriously, do me the favor of NOT commenting that i need therapy. i’ve spent the last four years slicing myself open on paper, confessing many sacred cows. Media and Hollywood make it seem like you have this magic moments, one single trauma comes up-and it is acknowledged and dealt with. Eureka!
The reality is more complex, multiple layers, hundreds of ways to look at trauma.
Most people who experienced trauma young, did not have a single exposure to trauma. My hunch is that a lot of us are walking around with acute PTSD. And that is a different animal all together.
i had some just tiny things-someone on facebook had the same unusual legal name on facebook. Someone posted a photo in their twenties, and it reminded me that i have not a single photo of myself as a child. Like my whole history died when i went into hiding. There is a picture of my great-grandmother that i would love to have more than anything else. i remembered my mother had all of these pictures of me. No one mentions me on my birthday, like i’m dead.
She is still beautiful.
There is nothing in her eyes, but she is still beautiful.