 |
| Me at 16. That Deee-Lite-esque print top was my absolute favorite. Mom even got all the blood out after the Main Trauma! |
The burnout cycle is partly just because of being really sensitive and spotting too many patterns, and maybe inadequate autism support. But also it's a chime of an old, rotten memory, the source of the intrusive thoughts that I've harmed myself and others with so much over the years:
"I don't belong here. I have to get out of here before I get hurt."
But, can intrusive thoughts sometimes just be intuition? Because sometimes, a lot of the time, I leave because a place isn't safe.
I already wrote to you about my Worst Trauma, it's here if you dare. The one I'm working on this summer and telling to my therapist over and over ever Wednesday morning and then listening to recordings of on most other days, happened a few weeks after The Main Trauma. It's kind of worse because instead of violent near-strangers assaulting and berating me, it was my own dad.
I was sixteen and trying to let myself heal, but I couldn't find quiet or space to heal because at the same time, my parents' fights ramped up to new levels. On the night in question, my dad kicked my mom down the stairs, and I got in his face about it, like "Stop hurting my mom!"
He was like "She kicked me in the balls so I kicked her down the stairs!"
Totally normal sentence to just keep living in my brain.
I kept yelling at him, and then he lifted his fists above my head and started pounding on me--head, shoulders. Ears. I crouched down on the floor and made myself as small as I could get, but he just kept pounding, and kicking too.
"You brought this into our house," meaning that I had caused my parents violence (with us my whole life long) by getting raped and assaulted.
That's the moment that I'm stuck in, and it translates to:
I'm bad.
I'm worthless.
I have to stay away from everybody or I'll bring this upon them, too.
When I called my friend B. for help, I was scared of scaring her, I tried to sound as calm as possible while I told her what was happening. I was afraid of her coming to get me because I thought dad might hurt her too, but I'm so, so grateful that she came.
At her place, I got those moments of peace that I needed. I don't remember talking too much or anything, but it felt good to be near her. She was a new friend, an art pal from school I was really excited to be getting to know!
Though I wasn't out yet and wouldn't have put into words, I was attracted to this pal! Even in the hollow tunnel of trauma my brain was in, I felt giddy to be close to her, sleeping on her floor, floating free of my nightmare of a life.
B's mom said I could stay longer, but my mom wanted me at home. When I got in the car, I saw that she had two black eyes to match my own. She wanted to stop for concealer, but I wanted her to let it show, so someone would see and help us. We were stranded on an island of terror together, and I was mad about having to go back to that terrible, haunty house, but here in 2025 I'm glad she wanted me with her.
I couldn't see how I could have a life after that night, I still don't see how I can make a life even though I've been making a life ever since.
I hate that the bad memories sometimes Godzilla through and help me sabotage my life. I hate this story and all the other trauma stories. Today, I kinda hate myself. I'm at a loss to imagine what my life will be like from here.
All I know is that tomorrow, I'll go to Summer Job and pick up a few things. I'll rest a little before my main job starts next week. I'll keep doing my trauma work assignments, including visiting my high school home town next week as a culmination of all my exposure therapy. I have no idea if I'm doing the right things, if I'm making it worse, but all I can do for now is the next thing, and keep writing.