Bruised Knuckles, Bruised Heart

The other night I lost it. Anne keeps talking about the tough childhood Alex had. She's trying to make up for it by giving him everything he wants. I told her that we can't buy back his childhood. I also told her that we did the best that we could. Then she hit below the belt. She said "so I guess your parents did the best they could". I threw my water cup across the room and slammed the door on my way out. She followed me and asked what was wrong. She knew what was wrong. I told her 3 times to NEVER compare us to my parents! Then I told her to leave the room. She left. Ben went and checked on her. I took my fist and hit the dresser as hard as I could at least ten times. I may have broken knuckles. My hand developed a nice bruise. I thought about getting in the car and driving off. But the state I was in I would wreck the car intentionally. After awhile I went upstairs and asked her how she could compare me to my parents. Ben was with her. We walked downstairs and talked it through with Ben as the moderator. I told her that I felt alone. She and Ben and Alex talk, but I am not included. Ben said that it was because I did and said strange things. There's still don't understand that I am disabled. I am not normal mentally, emotionally or physically. I act different because I am different. But I am getting better. In the end we hugged and cried together. I am not like my dad! I didn't beat my kids. I have them the best childhood that I possibly could and the years I was depressed and numb were not my fault. I can't be blamed for those years. PTSD is not something that I can just turn off. But I hate when I get in a rage. I end up getting myself. I couldn't hit anyone else. Anne knows how to push the right buttons. She knows how to hit below the belt. We have had a calm few days since that incident.

I decided today while I talked with my therapist about it that I need to call a family meeting. I need to explain to my boss and to Anne that I am disabled. I am not always going to say or do the proper thing. But as I said I will tell them that I am getting better. I am in constant pain and that v doesn't help me emotionally or mentally. If they are going to live with me they need to accept me flaws and all.

I also want to be a part of the decision making process. If Alex needs money that's fine, just include me in that decision. My father or mother never sought help for their problems. I have. I go to a counselor every week to work on getting better. Because I love my family and need to be for them what I needed to be. I'm not there yet, but I'm a lot closer today than I have been for years.

My Sister Understands

I received a call from my sister, Joy, last night. She was so excited and appreciative that I was coming o visit. She said that she wanted the family to be closer. I told her that I did too...and that I was excited to see her. I will arrive in Virginia on Thursday and return to Birmingham on Monday. Joy doesn’t work on Friday, so we will have time to spend together.

I am visiting my sister Joy. She and I spent the last few hours talking, crying and laughing. She was emotionally abused as much as I was physically abused. Dad also touched her in places that she knew was wrong. Dad told her she needed to move out of the house when she had no where to go. She moved in with a friend in Jacksonville. She always thought I was dad's "favorite". He told her that and that was why he and mom sent me to college. I told her that they didn't spend a dime on my college education. I paid for it. If we had not talked we would both have believed lies for the rest of our lives. I know that this visit was the will of God.

I told my wife tonight that I feel like I am getting old all alone. I am alone during the day. Anne is at work. Alex is in school and doesn’t contact me. Ben is either sleeping or on the computer. They both talk to Anne about their problems and their lives. Anne said I embarrass them.  She mentioned a time last week when I was getting ketchup out of one of those squeeze bottles and it made an embarrassing noise. I didn’t do it on purpose and told her I couldn’t help it. She disagreed. I am alone at night. Ben is on the computer talking to friends until 3AM. Anne sleeps upstairs because of my crazy sleeping patterns. I fall asleep (when I do sleep) at midnight and wake up at 3:30AM...often due to pain. When I wake up I am wide awake and try not to make any noise. I go into the other room and write. PAIN is always there...or I am on edge because I don’t know when or where on my body it will hit.

Later, after I told Anne that I feel like I am growing old alone. She asked if I wanted to talk about it. I said “No, not tonight.” I don’t think there is anything she can do.  I just wish the boys would talk to me. I know I have been out of it for several years, but I’m getting better and have explained everything to them. I don’t know what else to do. At least they feel like they can talk to their mom. I am glad for that.

How can I possibly make up for the years I was in deep depression? I can’t undo that. I can just do my best to be attentive and tell them I love them. Maybe I can get Anne to encourage them to talk with me. Over the years I have often encouraged them to talk with their mom when she felt left out of their lives.

I finished chapter 10 of the book of Acts today. Smith’s Variety bought 3 of my VerseryRhymes: Revelation today. They mentioned a book signing next month, on April 12. . My interview with Village Living is supposed to be in the April edition.

I have been reflecting on my visit with Joy. She and I have a lot of the same memories. Karyn is 3 years older and Steve is 3 years younger. Joy and I are just a little over a year apart in age. We both have painful memories. Sharing them with someone who understands was very important for me. “Important” doesn’t seem to capture how meaningful it was for me. I feel that I finally have someone who understands and believes me. I need that. I desperately need that.

I haven’t heard from Steve since I posted my poem about my childhood and it mistakenly got put on facebook. I tested him and apologized. He acknowledged it and appreciated the text. But he was texting me pretty regularly until that time to check on me. I’ll try to keep the communication open.

I guess it means a lot to someone with PTSD to know that someone understands and can relate. I have no one who can relate to my physical pain that I have talked to. But my emotional pain is just as life-altering.