Lately I feel like I’ve been coming apart at the seams. Considering I sew for a living – that’s pretty funny. (HA!) Aaaanyway… therapy is helping and it’s breaking things up for me. I’m feeling things I hadn’t thought about or dealt with properly. It’s removing them from their previously organized place and caused some pretty decent mental chaos.

I’d like to begin… by saying, my therapist is patient. (Yes, I know…. I’m the patient. Do go on..)

For the most part, I’ve used humor to disguise the anxiety and PTSD. Today, as I was sitting at work I wondered; ‘Was this what my father felt like at any time after my mom’s vegetative state diagnosis?’

I think that broke a chunk off. It’s possibly still floating around my fight or flight section of my brain.

I spoke about how I felt at sixteen years old. She felt like screaming and also being exhausted. The outside was a pretty home. I didn’t have my foundation though. After our house burned down, I felt like I couldn’t find a safe place. And no one listened. As a kid growing up, you obeyed. My siblings were out of the house by the time I started figuring things out (a bit). Essentially, I was – as I’ve said before – an only child. I didn’t understand a lot of the examples my siblings left before me. I figured since Dianne died, Brian left the church, and well…. Tim was the one applauded. He was going to school to be an engineer like dad – and also staying in church. The church was so integral to our lives. And after my mom was no longer in the home for medical reasons – I felt absolutely unloved and alone. 16 year old me went into survival mode. I hated what some of my family loved. And I loved when someone (despite being the bad boy type, non church related, alcohol/cigarette/pot smoking people….. people who broke laws, might’ve been engaged/married, professionals) created a sense of desire of company. Any attention is good attention, right?

I got love, sex, desire, judgment, ridicule, restrictions from friends family, and left like a bleeding swimmer next to a group of sharks. I was either caressed OR ignored. I could be kissed OR stared at. I could be satisfied OR feel empty. What would you pick?

In the end, it all amounted to the same. I got fucked and left with a handful of memories – but a lot more regret. When you tow the line, no one will judge you. You’re behaving. You’ll be a complete fraud, but you’ll be light in the eyes of your peers and their family. I feel like – even though I didn’t say “HELP ME!!” with large rocks/sticks and tree branches, hindsight says it’s impossible to miss. At that time, I was speaking Aramaic and the rest of the family were speaking Polish. Nothing makes sense then.

My depression is hard to organize. And with the PTSD, I’m trying to wiggle my way out. I referred to my house (post fire) as ‘the house of the dead’. It was eerily quiet. I told my siblings that it’s like the house was always waiting for mom. The wish was not fulfilled. It was empty. And everything that happened after that? It was just a build up for more fuckery.

I’m trying to and by contrast not wanting to lose this feeling. Not for ,a bizarre reason, but because her rage holds a lot of force. Not just body, but language. She wants to fight. Not physically, but quite forceful one way dialogue. Yes. I said a forceful one way dialogue.

This is my entrance into … something? Honestly, right now I’m just confused. Everything is in an uproar. More feelings to come. Stay tuned….