I’ve been told I share too much and this post will be no exception. So best to stop reading if such things bother you. This time of year is always an emotional one for me. Yes, I’m intense and take things too seriously sometimes, but Independence Day is the one day I withdraw and get a little weirder. 13 years ago, the man I called father was arrested for his transgressions taking place over the period of… oh… about 10 years. It was July 3, 1996 about 11:45pm. I was 15.
I sat, with my sister and my best friend, Sivar, on the front lawn in front of our home, numb. Up until that point my days were spent strategically placing myself out of sight… spent tip-toeing through my life, fearing a man I should have trusted. All my excess energy had no where to go and I didn’t know what to do with myself. It wasn’t until 3 days later that I remember finally breaking down and truly being hit with the reality and severity of everything. Independence Day has multiple meanings for me and isn’t a day I ever take for granted. This year, was no exception.
My life seems to revolve around dramatic events and displays of emotion… and lately, they’re not even mine. I somehow seem to get sucked into these situations and never see them coming. Am I too trusting? Is my judge of character that bad? Or is that truly just how I roll?
Thursday night I found myself in the middle of a situation that left me clutching the sheets of the bed I was lying in, staring up at the ceiling, on the verge of tears, shaken to my core. One solitary thought rolled over and over in my head...“What the fuck.” The only benefit of having my daughter sleeping next to me throughout this was with your children around at times like that, you are allotted only mere seconds for your freak outs and then you have to put your big girl panties back on.
Saturday, while spending time with another piece of my past that I have never truly been able to release, I donned those proverbial big girl panties again, wiped my tears and stood on my own two feet for the first time… ever, in front of him and told him all the things I knew… all the things I couldn’t do anymore. I see him now, clearer than I ever have. There are some that will never understand this attachment, and I can’t say that even I do, but I can say this, a small piece of my heart will always be there, but the largest part of me has moved on. And I will continue to do so, until memories of our life don’t bring tears to my eyes and pains to my sides.
I definitely have my triggers and emotional barriers, we all do. I’d like to think mine are no deeper than anyone else’s and my past experiences don’t govern my life. But I find myself wondering more and more as I look back on my more intimate relationships and can’t help but wonder, why do I attract so many emotionally unavailable men? I keep hearing/reading this everywhere… literally… “You get back what you send out to the universe.”
Wait... what?
2 comments:
really really good entry.
Good for you, and proud(?) for standing up to people. I firmly believe you do get out what you put into life.
Oh yeah, I can definitely relate to this post. Could have even written parts of it but not as well.
And you know what? F*ck the "you get back what you put out in the universe" BS. Sometimes people just suck and through no fault of your own (we didn't pick our parents or the impact they had on our future lives) can and will do destructive, life-altering things for the sport of it. I know this very well. Wish I didn't but in NO WAY does anyone deserve it. Ever.
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