I can't get to sleep most of the time because my heart starts racing and I have trouble catching my breath. What have I done wrong now? I must get to sleep or I'll be exhausted for that thing I don't remember and no! That thing I can't remember is a fragment of a very short agitation dream. I doubt that I was asleep long enough to decide whatever it was that I was ruining. Right now, I'm agitated because I want to write something coherent here that will help me and a few others if I'm lucky.
It's not enough to have so many memories of my father telling me to move faster, faster and faster yet. Bathing and getting ready for bed turned into a race at one point because I was dawdling. Hurry, hurry, hurry and then get right to sleep. I suppose it worked some when I was a small child because I just conked out once I reached a certain point of tired. I read somewhere that it is perfectly natural for teenage minds and bodies to become more nocturnal around the high school years. My parents never accounted for that when they scheduled my life to be full from 8 AM to five or six PM. Of course, the article never dealt with the issue of how to get a full day's work in the fields (admittedly a gross exaggeration) out of someone who sleeps half the day away. They never admitted that this was an exaggeration of their own.
My "day" was centered around the giant yard I never wanted so one had to get up early to take advantage of the relative cool from dawn to noon. My alternate plan of working in the evening suffered from the great abundance of mosquitos. My days do still start early through I'm not supposed to count what I do in the mornings as work but that's what it is. I'm writing this as therapy for myself, as a friendly warning to my friends who are parents of young children and as what I'd call psychological first aid for those who suffered similar abuse in their childhoods.
There is an impulse to take down everything I've written and apologize. I try to be careful and refer to what I suffered as psychological abuse or mental abuse because I know I'm trained to think of horrific neglect and constant physical assaults as real child abuse. I was physically bullied by my father but never tortured the way some kids were. As a victim, it is far too easy to let your abuser set the definitions of right and wrong or abuse and proper behavior. They don't give out merit badges for surviving abuse. There is no pension for those who meet the criteria of an abuse survivor. In fact, the illogical but very real incentive structure promotes silence.
* * *
A few days have passed as an actual disaster replaced the feeling of impending disaster that had been stalking me. There were no injuries but Melissa got into a car accident and got the worst of it. That was clear as mud. Melissa is uninjured but Melissa's car got the worst of it. It turns out that I can handle my own feelings of dread better than Melissa's fear of impending doom. When she fell apart, I stopped trying to be tough and sent up the Bat signal so to speak.
One of the biggest genuine heroes of my life showed up with the metaphorical Red Cross blanket. I can't write about the phone conversation that took place but it was a big part of what I needed at the time. The metaphorical Red Cross blanket came in the form of some very appreciated pledges and assurances that my back was covered. I was exhausted and losing my ability to communicate at the time but several distinct promises were made. Even if I dreamed all but one, the one would be vital.
Of course, there was nothing to be done for the pain. It has been raining non-stop and the combination of exhaustion, pain and a couple of drinks including some stiffness did nothing for me. I'm too tired, too agitated and too overwhelmed to sleep. As usual, I have to try and smile about my had habit of expecting to just brush off my shoulders and recover from trauma. It doesn't work that way no matter what your emotionally invulnerable friends think. I have at least one nightmare that I remember from the four or five short sleeping sessions that I have each day.
These aren't nightmares about being naked in front of a crowd of people or forgetting my lines. They are depictions of real events in my life. I did have the combination terror of death/feeling that death would be better than disappointing my parents issue for months at a time. I did fail to realize that vital help was available to me because I did believe myself unworthy of help. I did want to end my own life to spare others the shame of having known me.Do I have to point out how unpleasant it is to relive those feelings or can I just move on?
I could get in my recliner right now but I know that a case of the shakes is waiting. I might sleep for a minute and wake up needing a few minutes to decide that my nightmare did not truly happen again. There was no encounter with my parents where they made me ashamed of the challenges I face every day. Why is it shameful to them that I manage to survive challenges that they never faced? Why was it shameful for me to finish slowly? I had a lot more to deal with than the people with whom I was compared. It's true that school was a long time ago for me now.
Shall we move forward to newer nightmare fodder?
When I was sick enough to fear for my life, I was accused of intending to never work again.
I live like an animal. Are they referring to my tendency to warm myself with cats? Nope.
There's more but I would like to sleep sometime soon.
Today is Christmas Day. When Melissa is done working, we'll open our gifts for each other and enjoy ourselves. If my New York family sent me something, I will be very impressed with their generosity in hard times. If they didn't, I have more than enough to enjoy from previous years. Most importantly, no one will accuse me of living like an animal. I heard that some people take that for granted.
For everyone else who is sick, caring for a loved one or both, I hope you get the chance to have some joy. It's a good idea every day but this day more than most. I'll be happy if I could live my life recovered from trauma someday.
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