The Aftermath.

This one will be much harder to write than the last post. I can speak about my father's death in a very matter of fact way, but when I talk about the emotions/effects it had on my life...well that is much harder. This will likely be all over the place but writing these feelings out for the first time all in one place is needed I suppose. I feel like I should start by discussing the fucked up issues I have from my father's existence. 

Although I have few memories of my father living, I can remember the anger. The constant shouting. The fear I felt by his presence. I remember him being so upset by my crying one time that he pulled over and made us walk home. He was never one to shy away from a fight and once when a guy cut him off while driving, he got out and beat the shit out of the guy and got back in our car so calm like nothing had happened. For my whole life I have been afraid of men. Any man that gets too loud makes me shake. My stomach drops and I feel like running. I have experienced men while working screaming at me, or in different relationships and each time I felt so damn weak. I never feel like I can stand up and defend myself, but I feel more like a scared little girl waiting for someone to come and save her. It is almost like I got stuck at that point and never grew past it. Still to this day, I can say that loud men are literally one of the most triggering things for me. It seems crazy that something so relatively small can have such a profound effect on a person. It wasn't just my own father though, but many instances of domestic violence that I witnessed as a child at babysitters or different family situations. 

I have some very complex feelings surrounding my father's death. It is hard to admit, but I feel like his death was for the best. I know he struggled in this world and living for him was so painful. He likely would have ended up killing my mother had he lived and I honestly believe had he lived, our lives would have ended up even more fucked up. That fact is a hard one for me. My life would be even more fucked up had my father not been murdered...how shitty is that one huh? Sometimes I find comfort in it though. Knowing that it wouldn't have mattered what happened in my life, I would have been fucked no matter what. 

Inevitably though, his death caused a lot of long term mental issues for myself and my family. Each of us grieved in different ways and for different things. Each of us having a completely individual experience with what it did to us. I was left with a strong sense of abandonment (this feeling will be further fueled throughout my life by all people who were supposed to love me and will be explored at length). I slept with a bat throughout my childhood and was so fearful that every single night until probably the age of 10 I would wake my mom up and tell her I heard something and was scared. This hasn't changed much and even in recent years, I panic and think someone is trying to break into our home. I used to HATE fourth of July. The fireworks would cause so much fucking panic. I had the worst panic attack of my life from an illegal firework landing next to me a few years ago and I thought someone was shooting at me. I visualize death daily. I cannot drive without thinking about getting into horrible accidents. I can be laying here and suddenly will be overcome with thoughts of all of us dying in horrible ways and cry. I have nightmares constantly of my children dying. It never seems to go away no matter how hard I try. I try hard to prepare myself for worst case scenarios all of the time. Every building I walk into, I scan and plan an escape route. Workdays are filled with me planning what I would do if a shooter came in or we were robbed. I am always on alert. It is the most exhausting and draining feeling. My body and mind feel like they are always in survival mode and the idea of relaxation feels so illusive sometimes. 

I have spent my whole life afraid. I find comfort in chaos because it feels like it is all I know. I have also spent my whole life desperately trying to quiet the noise in my head. It is a battle I am not sure will ever end. But...somehow I find calm in this. Peace in giving into it and knowing that there is no end so why fight? 

 I hope to eventually maybe be able to overcome some of this with therapy, but just writing it out for the first time helps.