It’s been 23 years since the day my grandfather shot himself rather than face me in court. A day that I have very little actual memory of.
I remember the hotel that morning, going to check out the continental breakfast, I vaguely remember the detectives coming to tell us my grandfather was dead of his own hand, and that’s it.
I don’t remember packing up the hotel, traveling to the airport, or flying back home to California. I barely remember the inside of the courthouse, I can’t see the faces of the judge, or the lawyers and detectives that I had been working with for a year or so prior. In fact, if it weren’t for my one single diary entry, I wouldn’t even remember the name of my court-appointed advocate, a woman that I remember well in essence.
The one solitary diary entry that I wrote about this day gives me no additional details; in fact, I didn’t even write about what happened for almost a week, and the tone of my entry is very detached, like an afterthought. Something that I felt should be shared in my diary even though I didn’t want to write about it.
I let myself, perhaps even encouraged myself, to forget.
For the last 10 months, I have been seeing two separate therapists once a week. That’s two hours a week for 10 months I have dedicated to processing the trauma and abuse I endured as a child, through a constant stream of tears.
For the first time last night I talked about the trial during my session, about my lack of memory, and about how it made me feel. This is part of my childhood I never give much thought too, and always brush over in therapy. Now I realize why, I have no identifiable feelings about it, just a neverending ocean of tears and gasps for breath. This day in my broken mind didn’t happen to me, at this time I don’t physically or mentally identify with it, and when I try to touch it, it knocks the wind out of me.
I feel like I can’t catch a break with this shit. Like seriously, how fucked up does a person have to be to cause this level of harm to a child.
So today, for the first time in my life, I am acknowledging one of the worst days of my life. A day that changed many perceptions of the world: of family, of safety, and of stability, in my young childlike mind. Many of those perceptions following me like a shadow into adulthood and getting in the way of normal daily functioning.
I’m going to be patient with myself; I am going to feel it, process it, and do the best I can to move past it. If only the feeling and processing part wasn’t so painful and tiring.
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Love & Support ππ
Reading your post, my heart hurts for you. Be gentle with yourself today and all the days that are to come. It might not feel like it, but you’ve come really far.
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Thank you.
Thank you for the kind words and for the words of encouragement. Days like today test the limits of resilience, that is for sure.
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I appreciate the courage it takes for you to share your story. My heart aches for what you experienced. I can connect to your reaction of having a flood of emotions instead of cogent verbal memory.
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Thank you! It’s nice to know I’m not alone. π
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Such hard work. I hope you can do some sweet, kind things for yourself as you move through this; hot bubble baths, lots of rest, slow walks, and maybe a nice soft teddy bear…
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I have a snuggly toddler, an Afghan project, a great book, and an amazing husband … plus therapy twice a week if all else fails. ππ
But in seriousness, I am taking it easy, and I appreciate your words of encouragement. π
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