Over the last year, after losing my Mom and my two cats all within the year of one another, I have had nightly nightmares that have me re-live the worst times in my life thus far.
My dreams consist of seeing my mom pass away, become sick, or injure herself.
Last night, she choked and had a seizure in front of me.
My dreams consist of nightmare scenarios: being stuck in the ocean, shark attacks, losing friends and loved ones, falling from high altitudes, plane crashes…..
Last night, I fell through the sky, off of a skyscraper, and I felt it. I felt the roller-coaster feeling for a long time.
Will I ever recover? Will these ever go away?
I’m stuck in my trauma, awake and asleep.
I am sorry you felt the need to binge tv shows nightly and eat fast food to soothe yourself.
You stopped seeing friends except on the weekend when you would get wasted.
I am sorry you slept with numerous men who did not care about you.
(Remember the one who slept with you, took your cigarettes and then left and never talked to you again? Shout out to Kyle from Longmeadow, Mass. You reignited my trauma, yet I feel sorry for you. I saw those sadness in your eyes. I hope you are ok.)
I am sorry you let your mother, who loved you and who you loved very much, to control your emotions like a light switch….so badly that self harm and disordered eating became a part of your life.
I am NOT sorry for these experiences. They taught me lessons.
I am sorry for the hurt they caused my sensitive soul though.
Now, we will heal, but it’s up to me when.
I don’t know.
I am unsure if I will live through these addictions. The addictions of life. These addictions keep me going, keep me living, keep me surviving. The happy moments I have had these past years has been manufactured by a chemical substance. How will I ever be able to experience something that instantaneous happiness that GREAT again?
What is it like waking up under no influence of a pill, an herb, or a toxin? What is it like waking up like when I was a little girl?
The little girl before trauma. The little girl who wanted her bottle, her blanket, her Baka. The little girl who was robbed of her childhood and yet forgives those who robbed it from her.
Oh, that little Kayla was such a sweet soul. She had no hate in her body. She had love. The hate came later on disguised as rage. Rage against being forced to grow up without feeling completely nurtured.
Sadly, I do not see waking up as my natural self ever again in my lifetime.
the last time i saw you
was years before you died
that big smirk, hazel eyes
wrinkled face, aged and wise
leaving your home, i reverse to see
the door ajar, peeking out at me
the smoking woman seeming carefree
dog in hand, both of you, short and gutsy
i wave goodbye, ‘i love you’ with glee
knowing one day i will miss this reality
the last time i saw her
almost two years has passed
my personal doomsday
an emotional bomb blast
i have no choice, i look at that day
as the other side gently making way
for the gutsy smoking woman
April 23rd, feast day