I am infinately and painfully flummoxed by the incredible pain that other people have the ability to cause me. No matter the light self coaching, the heavy medication, the medium self help reading, there is something inherent in my personality that allows people to zero in on hidden, deep seeded, bruising self loathing with frightening accuracy rip me twig from tree. And it seems that this past week, intentionally (my sister) or unintentionally (my phil proff) have left these painful throbbing.. bruises.
There is that horrible feeling the morning after you are violently ill, the feeling of having thrown up that rips up your stomach and makes you feel as if you were in a prize fight. That bruise. But at the same time it's a few minutes, those minutes when you realise that you're not throwing up anymore, that you've slept for a couple hours, before you feel the pain and cold bruise of your stomach - that you feel ok. I'm waking up like that, with bruises on my brain, probed and tired and achey. I'm getting these brief, blinding minutes of "I'm alright" before I move and it rushes in.
My brain.. is tired, and dry, and overwhelmed. It feels dehydrated and scratchy like an old yellow bruise that you only really notice in the shower, when everything feels darker and more real and baptismal in its finality.
I can't seem to steel myself against the attacks, against the people, against any of it. I feel like the bruises are just piling up, an entire suitcase of them layered on me like those ridiculous static stickers. I wish I was competent enough to peel them off like old scabs, to feel lighter, to not carry them around but feel a sting of air instead of a wince of bruise.
I'm dreaming of car wrecks and lobotomies and amputations and peach trees and running away and zombies and death and obituaries. Every night. Unending nightmares that leave me as exhausted as if I had been up all night, but worse, because I'm up for 15 minutes between every dream, 5 or 6 times a night, lying away, willing my heart to slow. Getting a few minutes for every 15 that I'm awake where I think that the bruises are gone and I'm ok. And then falling asleep and dreaming them all over again.
Probed and tired.
3 comments:
What are we going to do with you, Ms P?
You are valued, and loved.
As a mother I always seem ready to offer advice - I find myself at this very moment unable to do so. Do I tell my beautiful sensitve daughter to harden herself against life like the rest of us? or do I tell her that leaving herself open to pain and the consequences of it is what makes her so special? I'm afraid for you - I wish I could make the darkness go away as easily as I could when you were little. I guess I can only tell you that we are here for you and if you need us we will be there quickly to hold you. I love you. Mom xxxooo
You know, with my own daughter, I want to tell her, "Toughen up! Suck it up! Put on the armor and get ready, little lady, because what the world has to offer is oftentimes not pretty and in my life brutal beyond description."
My beloved daughter is also seven years old; and that is unfair.
So... I'm recognizing that being a parent never goes away; she will always be 'my daughter', if not always 'my little girl'...
I try to introduce her, carefully, and controlled, to negative things; so she won't be shocked if something bad happens...
Oh, Crap, we're all on our own.
This parenting thing is the hardest thing I've ever done.
And that's saying something.
Well, I look at it this way:
AT LEAST I'LL NEVER HAVE TO BE A MOM!!!!!
...it looks a whole lot harder.
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