Timbuk2 recently posted an awesome post about Groundhog Day. And whatever happened, the weather was really nice. I posted a big really? As a sarcastic response because I thought it was funny and it seemed to be a parody of some things I post on social media. It was hilarious. But then I also wanted to give a glimpse of my internal world, which is in extreme turmoil. I almost wish I never even went down this path. But I know there is a promise at the end.
Lately, I have been recounting horrendous memory after memory to my therapist. It all started after I started at intuitive. Seeing pigs be operated on set me off inside. I couldn’t handle I t for a variety of reasons. Some people thought it was immoral. I don’t know if it is or isn’t. But it reminded me of something. So I’ve done all of this eft trauma release but it just keeps going. And it’s like there was this big black hole in my childhood that is now making more sense. But it’s horrible. And I am constantly on edge. Because of it I make a point to give others space. But people are constantly robbing my space. It’s really hard right now. I don’t know how to describe it. I don’t want to die. But the only relief I am finding is sleeping in late, going on a ride, and digging in my dirt. Then my toe broke and I couldn’t ride. And my neighbor is this overbearing wacko. He blames everything on everyone around him, and I started to carry that blame. Can I tell these people to literally go away and will I still be ok?
I can’t handle my mom right now either. We got lunch and it was great but her facial expressions admitted that she knows a lot more than she says she does. So inside all I can think is unhealthy get away get away get away! Life has bad things but I can’t live within a lie. And I think she is in denial and that is a lie! I can’t live with lies! I can forgive anything but I can’t forgive if it isn’t validated!
And now I’m healing so much that each night brings back some memory of utter travesty. He details shouldn’t be said. I think that is why I hate details. My details should be hated. Rightfully so. Things that just erode any sense of morality, humanity, or justice. A lot of it is things that happened to other people. And they are now dead. And that is wrong. I’ve seen news articles of people who go missing, but they figure the case out and prosecute. These cases aren’t really prosecutable, unless someone else helps me fill in the details. They also happened in Santa Cruz, which means I probably know the perpetrator. Maybe even now.
And I stand back and think this all through, and I ask myself deeply, am I making this up? But then I realize thats what my dad used to tell me all the time. That I was making things up. And now he is across the country, posting pictures with little girls with his new product, and you can see his hand is resting on their butt behind their back.
And this is my life, and always has been. Absurdity shoved in your face until you can only smile and pretend nothing is going on. And it’s hard to live with. So I bike! Then some moron comments “oh going old school”, because of my bike, and I think, I’ve been riding up here since I was 3, thanks to my dad. This isn’t old school. This is me and my bike. Leave me alone freak! When I learned to ride, it was a rigid frame and rim brakes. Why don’t you try it out? You might learn something. Like, you don’t actually need brakes! The arrogance. I can’t stand it. Amateurs!! I am going to train myself to respond, ” you’re comment makes your lack of experience obvious. Please be courteous and respect your elders, and focus on yourself and your riding. If you would like help with that, I would be glad to help you understand riding from a more fundamental perspective.”
So. I write. I don’t have a choice. And I hope this doesn’t hurt anyone. It seems to hurt people at my church. And that is weird.
I hoped Sean would have helped me connect some details. He said he experienced similar things as a kid in Santa Cruz but not by anyone I knew. He seemed to know who it was. I interviewed him for hours, cross checking everything and seeing if anything matched what I remember. It was similar situations but different people. His death was a suicide and it was because he couldn’t handle it. And I am dealing with the same things. It just means I get testy. But I wish I had someone to comfort me!!!!!
The pain and inhumanity come up inside and it’s like I can’t get away. It’s like the holocaust in Germany. You just think, that needs to be stopped at whatever cost. And this country geared up and stopped it at WHATEVER COST! That is exactly what the feelings are. I can’t live knowing these things happened and not stopping them. It’s very disconcerting.
And I need an outlet for it. Perhaps the police would be a good outlet. Maybe a description would match something. Maybe they would connect the dots?