Crying

The problem with not allowing myself to cry for most of my life is that now, when I do allow it, I can’t stop. I purposely didn’t let myself feel. I did deny myself those feelings. Who wants to cry over vulnerability, pain, abandonment, loss, abuse? I’d rather, and I did, push it way down so that I didn’t have to feel emotionally what my body was denying physically.

I had a dream last night. But it was more than a dream. I was listening to myself as a child calling the ski team asking them to please come pick me up for practice. Then I walked down and sat on the dock and waited for them to get me. I would dangle my legs off the dock and watch as they took skier and skier and skier past me. I didn’t wonder until much older why they always made me wait. But they did. I’d sometimes sit there for an hour waiting for them to just pull the boat up and let me jump in.

In the dream though, it was my voice. My child voice that I had forgotten until I heard her speak. So full of hope and joy and anticipation of a good day on the water. I loved the water. I loved skiing and I loved the water. I loved it so much that I ignored the abuse that went on around me every week. Yes, as an adult I understand I was groomed and knew no better and blah blah blah. But I was in as much denial as my family stayed in. Even after I left that house I would take my daughter back to swim in those waters. Something about that lake I loved. I loved it so much I could shove the abuse down and take my daughter and choose to just remember the good. I so much with every fiber of my being wanted JUST TO REMEMBER THE GOOD.

Until I was attacked as an adult and sexually assaulted. I could not stuff it down anymore. It all flooded back full force for years. I remember the first time I really allowed myself to cry over it all. I was on my kitchen floor in my late 30’s. It took 30 years to really cry.

No one wants to believe or hear or understand what I went through growing up. They want to stay in denial which is incredibly invalidating and cruel to me. I’d like to have stayed in denial too but then that would have made me as weak and cowardly as they are.

I knew one day these dreams would come and I have dreaded that day. The repressed memory dreams. The ones that I left during dissociation so that I could cope. THOSE dreams. I dreamed a few nights ago of my mother and my therapist talking about something I’d told my therapist in confidence. When I woke up I felt as betrayed as I’ve always felt but more. I had forgotten what I had told the therapist until that dream. As if what I remember is not enough? I have to see myself as a child, I have to see that hope, I have to see my mother talking to my therapist about things I totally blocked out. It’s so difficult. Do we ever outgrow the need to be comforted and told it will all be ok even though everyone knows it won’t?

There will be no pictures today. There will be no searching for the good. The memories of abuse, lack of protection, and sadness have enveloped me.

I’m crying. And I can’t stop crying. And I will keep crying. My heart is broken. My body is broken. So I am crying. It only makes me feel worse but I am unable to suppress it any longer. That poor little girl that was me. That poor poor little girl. It’s just so unbearably sad.

I had a cry breakdown in CVS and no one seemed to mind

My husband was out of town today and I knew I had to make a trip to CVS to get a glucose monitor. I’ve made this trip once a week for the last many months as part of what I consider my physical therapy. It is only 8 minutes from my house down a back road. I stop at a church prayer garden on the way. I have done this with no problems so many times. Lately, things are different. I don’t know why. I don’t know what is happening to my body and why it is cramping or becoming so debilitated with pain causing insomnia and every other sort of thing. Is it the Lyme disease, the muscle disease? What is it? I won’t know. There is no way to know.

It was supposed to be a simple trip but the Doctor’s office did not get the correct prescription…twice…the forgot the strips, then the needles, then forgot to name the exact glucose meter. Ridiculous! While waiting I decided to stop at the prayer garden because their is a lot I am grateful for and a lot I wanted to pray about.

I am so glad I stopped. Their was a flower that stopped me in my tracks. I just looked over and it called to me. As I looked down there was the teeny tiniest tree frog in the flower. I adored him! I took his photo from every angle I could think of. Then I went and prayed at the cross.

The CVS is only across the road from the church garden. I made it back to the pharmacy only to find out they still had not gotten the prescription right. I stood as long as my legs could stand and then I squat down. I waited. 10 minutes. 20 minutes. Finally I sat down and leaned against the rack of bandaids. I couldn’t stand back up and sit in the chair because I’d have to walk to the chair and get up again. I was cemented there. And everyone stared. Tons of people walked around me, by me, scooted in front of me. I listened to everyone complain about not being able to find this or that and have outright fits to the employees.

I felt overwhelmed. I started saying to myself, ” I will NOT have a cry breakdown in the CVS” over and over again. Then I decided to make it positive! ” I will think of the little frog. I will focus on that precious frog in the garden.” I repeated it over and over again in my head until the pharmacist came over with my prescription that was finally ready. I stood up and gave my card and he says to me, ” What did you just run a marathon or something? What’s up with your legs?” I immediately said, ” I have a muscle disease. I wish I would have just run a marathon. It feels like I just ran a marathon. But no, I did not just run a marathon.” To which he said nothing. Blank face. Not a word. I don’t know what came over me but I started to cry. I got my two bags and carrying one in each hand walked very very slowly limping across the entire store past each person who stopped and looked at me and I cried and I cried. And no one seemed to mind.

I got to the car and knew my heart rate was too high and I would need to rest in the car but a person with a disabled sticker pulled up and was waiting on me. They had to wait. I could not make my body do what it could not do. I cried all the way home and then I just stopped. I felt no better. I felt nothing. I felt numb.

I lay in my bed trying to think of something good. I thought of when I used to swim to my Nana’s house across the lake. How sometimes when I got there she’d be asleep. She always left the side door open. I would stick my head in and tip toe soaking wet over her shag carpet and peek in her room and she’d be asleep. I lay here thinking of how cold her house was and how I loved the way it smelled. I loved the way she smelled. Then I thought about the little frog in the flower and took a nap. End of story.

Poetry

*photograph taken by me on the prairie of the pink clouds setting sun and moon on the rise.



The tears of my soul

Are welling in my eyes

My heart finally knows

What my spirit tried to hide.

The past

Has arrived.

What will happen now

If I allow myself

To cry. 

Will I fall.

Will I rise.