In the eye of a hurricane
There is quiet
For just a moment
A yellow sky-“Hurricane” from Hamilton
It took me three days to start writing this post. I kept stopping myself either consciously or unconsciously because I’m in a place where my anxiety is winning. It keeps whispering that no one wants to read another post from me talking about my pitiful struggles and that the world is shit so shut up and get to work. I mean I know it’s only partially wrong. I can’t help anyone if I’m drowning. “Put on your mask before helping anyone else”, right? If me talking about this helps one person not feel alone then it’s worth it. If it helps me feel better that should also be worth it but hey baby steps.
Let’s start with the proverbial elephant in the room… my dad’s birthday is in 4 days and he would have turned 60 this year. He’s been gone for 5 years now and whenever I ponder a length of time something has been present or missing I’m always surprised at how it feels like forever and no time at all. My uncle died 6 months ago and I watch my cousin go through the same thing I did, magnified by different circumstances that I can’t begin to fathom. I want to help her because sadly I’m uniquely qualified but I’m also paralyzed by not knowing how. I remember how brutal that first year was for me and the pressure I put on myself to be okay. The last thing I want to do is seem like I’m hovering and rubbernecking at the grief she’s going through.
In contrast, I see how far I’ve come. I’m able to pick through my own wreckage and see what’s still grief and what’s something I’m stuck on. I braced myself for the time between May and July to be horrendous, as it has been for the previous 4 years. Mother’s Day, the anniversary of my dad’s death, Father’s Day, and his birthday all falling into a line to poke at the aches inside me.
It’s why I’ve been so quiet here. Contrary to how it may seem when I feel truly vulnerable I hide away because I don’t want to “infect” anyone with what I’m feeling. No amount of therapy has freed me from the notion that just because I’m feeling something it makes it valid, no matter how many times my therapist told me that.
My crazy ex used to tell me all the time that I was lucky she put up with me. I know now that’s a common tactic of abusers but understanding that hasn’t taken away the effect it’s had on me. She gave voice to things in my head that before that point I don’t think I’d consciously thought about, I honestly don’t remember exacts of what I thought over 18 years ago. I’ve said before on here the worse thing anyone can do to me is to confirm my negative self-talk, the minute someone other than me says it my anxiety takes it as 1000% true and never let’s go. Hence why 14+ years removed from her I still think if I talk about how helpless, guilty, and depressed I feel that the people I care about will start distancing themselves. So I curl into it and shove it in a corner while trying to act okay. I limit my time around people I truly value because the longer I’m around them the more I relax, the more I relax the more likely I am to open up and.. well that’s “bad” isn’t it?
I’m distracting and distancing again so back to the point I started to make before I spiraled. This year has been better in terms of my grief vs depression and helplessness about current events. Two nights ago was the first real sign of genuine grief about my dad’s passing and the impending reminder that if he were still alive he’d be turning 60. I’ve begun to forgive myself for the relief I felt after he passed, if you don’t know what I’m talking about listen to the poem I recorded here. Which honestly is huge. I’ve reached a point where I’m able to objectively look at some of that baggage so I can work through it instead of just going “IDK it’s all a big jumble of grief”.
That first year and well into the second after he passed was a marathon of grief and depression with rests of things that made me happy and forget. It also started to open me up to the realization that I had to start taking care of myself. In that, I didn’t have my dad and his assorted issues to distract me from dealing with the things I carry. The smaller my grief got the more it untangled.
Working through and coping with my own shit will be an ever on-going process. I’ve become such a creature of fear that it’s paralyzing. Worse is my near-reflexive ability to talk myself out of something because it’s harder than I expected, I’m not immediately good at it, or I get hung up on one stupid detail. Any piece of writing I’ve started to work on in the years since I mostly finished my novel has been shut down because I get hung up on details instead of putting fucking fingers to keys and just letting it out. I’ve been okay if I’m writing with someone else but alone where I have to carry the full story? Nope all the horrible things my crazy ex said about me starts replaying because if you think she didn’t attack me as a writer you’re wrong.
And I’m disassociating again. I do want to talk about those issues, honestly because I think the everlasting effects of abuse doesn’t get addressed from a survivor stand-point. Right now I want to focus on the stuff with my dad and acknowledging my own progress because I NEED to. It would be easy to make an excuse for why this year has been easier, such as not celebrating Mother’s Day or Father’s Day really with my parabatai’s family made it easier to forget the family-centric holidays. The truth is simpler than that, Father’s Day this year didn’t feel like a reminder of what I didn’t have anymore.
Grief, I’ve learned, is a like wound. Yes, it hurts like hell when it happens, the bigger the loss the more you notice the absence of that person. Over time you adjust to your new normal and in addition for me becoming more death positive has also helped me let go. The more work I put into accepting death as a part of life the easier it got now that the bulk of the trauma from his sudden death is behind me.
I’d been told recently that I needed to let go of my dad and at the time I agreed. Upon reflection this morning it’s easier to see that for the most part I already have. Is it possible that my lingering feelings of disconnection from the notion family are connected? Yes, to be quite honest. Every person has some sort of imprint as to what family is based on their situation growing up. For me, it was me and my dad as I’ve probably said way too many times.
In that sense, it’s natural that I would struggle with the loss of that. Which was caused by my dad’s passing is also separate from it. I can let him go and still be troubled by it, at least I think so. One of the biggest things I’ve been struggling with recently is finding a place I belong and building a life that makes me happy. I believe I’ve gotten better about not resenting others for not acting in ways I expect. I still wonder if my awareness of those boundaries is me othering myself or simply accepting the truth of things. I don’t have an answer to that.
I know for as much progress as I’ve made having bad days doesn’t negate it. I can cry and rage for a bit because I’ve carried the knowledge that I’ll have the things I see so many people take for granted with their parents. Someone to talk to, someone to gift them large things because you want it, someone to help you when you need it. It’s sad but also the truth that I don’t have that. Sometimes the jokes I can make about not having parents fall flat. Because as Carrie Fisher used to say, “if my life wasn’t funny, it would just be true”.
If you’ve made it this far in this post, thank you. Whether you’re reading because you know me in the offline world, we’re long distance internet buddies, or you happened to find this post some other way. Thank you for taking the time to read it. I hope it made sense, sometimes I just dump things just to free myself from the weight of it. And now that I feel nearly a hundred pounds lighter, excuse me while I watch the second half of the England vs Sweden world cup game and make myself some much overdue breakfast.
Steph the Bard 