Trauma

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.