This was written recently, after the passing of my dad. To read the backstory of what happened, you can check out my blog post here. The theme of this was struggling with a feeling of being trapped in a trauma that feels unlivable. How do you move through that?
FAIRYTALES
Once upon a time life was easy. Worth living. Now I wake up every morning mad that I’m alive. Mad that I have to exist with this brain that plays my trauma on repeat. Like a tape that’s stuck on a loop, it doses me with consistent hits of horror that courses through my veins.
No matter what I do, it’s there. In blinding 4K clarity. I lived that day once in this reality and 10,000 times on replay. Useless to stop it, helpless to change fate.
I’m trapped with this brain, and the only way to make it stop is to turn off the lights; short circuit the fuse, pull the plug. There’s no way out from this hell, but I beg for a reprieve. Knock me out, put me in a coma, let me sleep. I daydream about wasting away for a few weeks in a slumber that lets me escape.
I would trade all my memories if it meant you could take this too. You can have them all, no matter the cost. That memory in the sea when my dad threw me in the air and I felt so blissful and free. Splashing in the water, hugging his chest, giggling in the waves. Take it, it’s yours. Take them all. I’d rather never recall my happiness of the past than to contend with the demons that infiltrate my mind now.
What exactly does it feel like to not welcome death? Is it nice to look forward to each day? If you gave me a genie and let me carve my own path, I’d simply wish my life away. There’s nothing here in this 3D reality that can make it better. Or livable. The wound is gaping, and I’m fresh out of stitches to seal it shut.
A beautiful sunset and the love of my dog are but mere bandaids to a heart that’s buried so deep in pain that the light can’t reach it. Sure, it feels nice for a moment, but it’s only a mere shot of novocaine that evaporates when the tape starts to play again. It’s like maneuvering a minefield through the crevices of hell I didn’t know could exist on Earth. But yet, it does. It’s here, all around me.
Darkness looms in shadows and I know there’s no way out. The disappointment of that realization hits freshly each morning when I open my eyes. And each morning I make the same request of God as I start to tackle the day. “If you’re real, make this stop. If you’re real, steal my memories in my sleep. God, if you’re out there, you have a child who is much too broken, and much too weak.”