The Weight of Dates

Yesterday, the day just slipped away from me. It wasn’t that I was in some deep dark place – I just felt distant, disconnected, irritable, and impatient. Unfocused and unmotivated, I did little of anything.

I didn’t realize why until last night.

Overnight my sleep was fitful. I fought my covers, my body temperature never truly regulated, and my subconscious mind was active and awake. Only I didn’t dream of images, I dreamt of words. Letter flashed in my head like I was reading and writing in my sleep. I dreamt of illness, of chaos, and of struggle.

PTSD_GraphicThe letters P T S D screaming at me clearly, boldly, every time I touched the brink of consciousness and readjusted myself under the covers. It’s a wonder I never fully awakened to the point of getting up, rather I made it to my 6am alarm clock.

Today is my father’s birthday, he would turn 68 if he were still alive.

Instead, this summer will mark 14 years since his death.

Today I do not miss him, though I do grieve him.
Today I am a ball of pensive energy, anxious and alert.
I feel resentment and anger. Rage like.

He was a sworn witness for the defense during the trial against my abuser.  He had no problem estranging himself from me for eight years beginning when I was 14. I remember when he sent a Christmas card back with a handwritten “Return to Sender” on the front of it. He told my abuser when I spoke up rather than reporting him.

He was never a safe person in my life, yet he was my whole world.

He does not deserve this grip he has on my mind, or on my heart.
Such conflict I feel when I think of him.

I sometimes wonder what he would think of the life I have built despite what he did to me, then I get angry at myself for even caring.

His death knocked the wind out of me, it solidified the lack of justice, of closure in the wake of my abuses. It left so many loose ends for me to tie up and it imprinted beliefs deep into the core of my being about myself and the world.

Photo by Eric Ward on Unsplash

I have to do this on my own. It feels like I always have. I am fatigued. It’s why I dissociated for decades into a blissfully suppressed and emotionless existence – I just needed a damn break.

This is some heavy lifting.

It seems that yesterday it was just a bit too much. Today, aware of the reasons for my over the top reactionary responses makes them a slight bit easier to manage but it doesn’t necessarily stop them.

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2 thoughts on “The Weight of Dates

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  1. I understand the fatigue – feeling as though the healing is just as exhausting as the surviving – there was no one there for that little person and now, the only one who can truly be there for the adult is that wounded, lonely child. I’m so sorry you are tormented by these anniversaries. I am glad for you though, that you are able to reflect on the impacts and use those insights as part of making your life beautiful and wholehearted. Because that’s the life you deserve 💜💜💜

  2. Feelings for my mother seemed to be either love or hate. I get the dichotomy you describe and wouldn’t wish it on anyone. The two opposing feelings felt at once were hard to bear, and harder to understand. You’re not alone if that helps.
    You possess a great depth of self-awareness.

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