Trauma.
My body’s way of dealing with trauma is to shut down, block
it out, get sick, ignore it, or move on. Not this time. This time my body said
no more. I will not hold you together. I will not give you something you can blame
on me. I can’t hold all the evil inside. I can’t give you a way out. I am no
longer strong enough.
I collapsed into a puddle of tears, leaving my wife to pick up
all the pieces. She text my boss from my phone to let her know I won’t make it
to work. She finds a doctor. She walks me there. I haven’t stopped crying for
three days. The doctor agrees with my wife on leave of absence. A plan is put
in place. Medicine is prescribed.
I am horrified.
It takes me forever to do anything. I make a plan everyday
on things I will accomplish. It never works out. I spend hours in silence. Get
up I say to myself over and over. Just get in the shower. When I finally make
it to the shower, I turn the water on so hot that my skin is bright red. I like
the feeling. I stand there until the tabby cat comes in and meows obnoxiously.
I put on the same dirty clothes and go back to sitting couch.
I try to block out the world. I try to forget the evil. I
try to forget the trauma that my body refuses to hold for me. I have memories
that play over and over in my head. I sit. I tell myself to get up, do
something but I sit.
My body aches and my soul feels broken.
I worry. I worry about work. What will I tell my coworkers?
My students? I worry about going anywhere. What if this happens again? What if
I am out and all the sudden can’t move? I worry that my life has changed
forever.
I wonder why the memories that play over and over again, don’t
seem that traumatic in all of the trauma in my life. I wonder why my body
refuses to hold me together. I wonder why I can’t just get up.
I cry. I cry for myself. I cry for the little girl I never
got be. I cry for the adult that just kept on taking the punches the world
threw at me. I cry for my wife.
If there was an answering machine for my body it would say, “You
have reached Kim’s body. She isn’t here right now. If this is an emergency
please call her wife.” For almost two weeks now she has taken care of every
part of my life. I try to be grateful for having a safe and loving place to
fall apart but it’s hard to feel gratitude through the pain.
I sit on the couch. I am scared. I am in pain. I cry. I
worry. I feel. I feel too much. The feelings are holding me hostage. They won’t
let me ignore them.
