Baba ripped my heart out when he asked "Is living here so terrible?"
I lost it when Baba uttered those five words. They all thought I was unhappy here. I don't know how to explain.
It's been almost five years. It's like my foster dad left something
evil inside of me. Something lurking, stalking me each time I close my
eyes.
I know it's irrational, but I KNOW it's also there. This isn't just a kid with bad dreams, my monster is real and HAS touched me. Just because he is in a maximum security prison doesn't mean he is not also still in my head.
I hate it.
When I dream it feels like I'm still trying to fight him off, still fighting for my life.
I
hate those damn white pills that won't let me wake up. I'd rather lose
sleep then lose control and hurt Zahir. He's innocent, and has been nothing but good to me. He's always been
the one who protected me. It's not fair to him.
God I hate this! Why did a loving God let this happen?
The three of them are off talking. I hope they don't decide I am too much work and send me home. I couldn't handle that, but I would understand. Too much baggage at nineteen.
Kaeleb my puppy is clinging and cuddling. It's like he knows how much I am hurting. The rest of his "pack" brothers are staying close to our house.
Oh, Chase.. sending you love! I'm sorry, that's the best I can do from here.
ReplyDeleteI'm sure they won't send you home. I read your blog and they seem like amazing people. It's probably about that huge workload of yours. Hope you know you are loved!
Thank you Martin... :)
DeleteI am good, my buddy John was right. It was wrong for me to clam up. I have people who will listen, even if I must talk with fingers.
ReplyDeleteI thought about deleting this post but maybe it will help someone else. Life is not all sunshine, trips and "rainbows."
I took a friend's advice, and put the tablet with this post in Zahir's hands. My voice is sleeping again. Long story short I'm getting a new iPad. In his haste to hug his boy, he dropped the tablet to the floor. He quickly brought his parents up to speed on my fears... I am stupid.
These people do love me even when I am dumb.
My buddy John reminded me I am a fighter, even drugged; I bit, punched and clawed my at abusers. When he tried to force my mouth open, I bit his hand clear to the bone. It's time I evict this monster from the one place he still has a hold of me.
I did offer to wear mittens to bed for Zahir, until my dreams are under control. He laughed.
Did you read the book We Contain Multitudes? It's a gay teen fiction book and it is pretty effed up, but the main "alpha" kid is dealing with some pretty bad stuff. It might trigger things. I don't know. But it also shows him kind of working through it.
ReplyDeleteAnother one is in the Music of What Happens story when he talks about trauma robbing your piggy bank and you're empty and have to refill those coins. At first, the coins drop in and make loud crashing clanks because it is empty, but as the bank fills back up again the noise becomes softer, more familiar, more secure, less rattling. For me that was just such a beautiful picture. I can't say I know trauma. I never really had that and my Persian has me locked up so tight that I never worry about anything. But you also have a man there who is working his ass off trying to fill your bank. Suck up those coins and maybe get some more professional help and just keep moving forward. You can't undo it, nothing can and it'll stay with you always, but eventually, if you embrace the support and love you have, your body will build little walls around that trauma and push it farther into the back of your storage. *big hugs*.
Mittens might not be so bad, or at least clip your nails! I mark up my man's back, but he is into that and takes it as a sign he is doing a good job in bedtime.
I'm in a better place today.
DeleteAll of this started with that damned court hearing. My foster dad's father is even sending me messages begging for "CHRISTIAN" mercy. Turns out the government had to move his son to a new prison. In addition to being treated as a plaything at the old one, someone shanked him again. Apparently the other convicts don't like pedophiles much. The new facility has a larger isolation ward.
I know I shouldn't feel guilty about what's happening to him. I know on one level that it's not my fault. Part of me does feel sorry for him. Zahir says my heart is too tender.
Zahir is regretting giving me giving in to my desire to finish my degree on my crazy timeline. My answer to stress is work harder (I am special).
Turns out both of us have the same answer to SBS (stressed baby syndrome). Let's call that response "Castle mode." My castle mode is different then his huge shock.
When I start remembering what was done to me, I start making my world smaller putting up walls and barricades keeping people out. There's a problem with that you need people in your life. Especially after dealing with major trauma. Castle mode is kind of a natural answer for me being an introvert.
Zahir's castle mode is centered around protect the baby mode. Three guesses who the baby is. He stands at the castle's gates and keeps everyone away.
My therapist called in a weaker sedative. Turns out the one I was on was contraindicated to one my allergy meds as well, side effects include heightened anxiety. That's a lesson for everyone; "make sure your doctor knows all of the medications you are on, even the over-the-counter ones."
Zahir is scheduling more "playtime." Next weekend we are going to jump out of a perfectly good airplane.
Zahir's sister hugged the stuffing outta me last night at dinner apologizing for adding to my pile. My "help" with her wedding plans is now just as an advisor and friend.