Some time ago, I wrote about my childhood trauma – that moment, when childhood ended, for me, and innocence was lost forever. It was a really cathartic moment for me, sharing that in such a public forum – my blog. And I was heartened by the support I got from all my friends out there in the blogosphere.
Most of the time, I can put that memory behind me, and go about my business without thinking much about it.
And then, something happens that brings it all back, right to the front of my brain – and I’m lost again, in the nightmares that I used to have all the time.
And then there’s the depression that comes with it, because of the denial of others. Those family members, who, for whatever reason, refuse to acknowledge that it ever happened, and then expect me to just “get over it and forget about it”.
But I can’t. No. WON’T. I refuse to give up the anger, the sadness, the loss. Not until I get the validation that I should have gotten when I was a girl. If I could just get my family to admit to my face what happened, so many years ago, maybe I could finally stop being angry with them.
I went to lunch today, with my mother and her best friend from our old home-town in Iowa. I was hoping, praying, that they’d leave that other person out of the conversation. But of course, they figured out some way to work him in to the talk during the meal.
And I immediately went into emotional disconnect.
Looking down at my plate, and totally ignoring any exchange that took place about that other person, I tried hard to pretend the conversation wasn’t happening. I’ve told my mother before that I won’t talk about him, not unless she wants to actually talk about what happened back then.
She won’t, so we don’t.
And afterwards, I couldn’t get the memories out of my head.
Like tearing open an old, raw wound. The pain is still present, aching. The primal scream that lies buried, deep in my gut, that claws and squirms within me, not allowed to be released. It makes my head hurt, and my stomach churn. And that’s not all.
Every time I’m forced to remember, the nightmares come.
Another year, another obligatory meeting. Another tearing of the old wound. Someday, I’m going to make this meeting happen in a place that’s not so public. I will have my say, at last, and – I. Will. Be. Heard.
But not today.