After lunch with Amelia, I went into my therapy session with confidence. I am making all of this progress. I mean, hell, I am getting back to my old life by reconnecting with friends and family, I am making strides with work, and I am helping other people learn about doing what I love. Everything is going so well.
And then last night hit. It was a normal night, nothing too crazy. I watched a movie with the boys, ate some takeout, and then we all slept on the couch. We were all tired and the thought of having to get up and make our beds made us all groan and unanimously decide to just stay in the living room.
I figured everything would be fine. After all, sleeping with them always makes me feel safe, and my nightmares are not as frequent anymore. I thought I had everything down.
But then a nightmare hit and the tv was off. I woke up the boy who found me in the fetal position on the couch, crying and screaming how the bad man was here and wanted to hurt me. I don't know where the nightmare came from or why I had it. Everything has been so good, and therapy has been super helpful in trying to think about my trauma more positively (I made it out of there alive), and more productive ways of thinking about my trauma (I am strong so I can do this… Or let's think about something good that happened today that can connect to the trauma). Mostly, it is thinking about the trauma and processing it in less harmful ways. And it has been working wonders for me.
But, now, I feel like I am back to where I was months ago, again. It is like a constant tidal wave of good and bad days. One day is going uphill on the roller coaster, everything is exciting and new, your adrenaline is pumping. And then the drop hits and your stomach plunges to the floor and you feel sick and just want to get off the ride.
Honestly, I am tired of riding the same roller coaster. I just want to go uphill and then small drops where it is a bad moment or a bad dream, but not this. Not the way I am right now, sitting in Damon's bed, unshowered, with only a night light on and no food since the night before. I haven't talked to the boys either. They don't know what to do with me. I don't know what to do with myself.
It then becomes the question of: how do I help them help me when I don't even know how to help me? Once again it becomes an inescapable cycle of just helplessness. It is so frustrating.
So, as I sit here with my thoughts, I pick apart the last few weeks of progress. Everything that could have told me this was going to happen, something that may have triggered me into having a nightmare. There is just no way that it could have come out of nowhere because, aside from therapy, I don't think about it anymore. I have new, important things to worry about, such as Amelia's almost upcoming wedding.
Not knowing what to do with myself, and knowing that if I keep thinking I will fall deeper and deeper into an inescapable hole, I pull out my manuscript from underneath the bed and start to read. It doesn't take long until my thoughts start to shift from the nightmare to memories of the boys and Amelia.
You won't always be able to rely on something you wrote. You never know if you made those things up or not. Maybe none of that happened and they are all nice to you because they pity you.
The poison begins to spread throughout my thoughts and I feel myself drowning in them like standing on quicksand. I need to get out of here. I need to do something to get away from my mind. I can't take it anymore.
Jumping up from my position on the bed, I tuck the manuscript back under the bed where the boys won't be able to find it and walk out of the room. I don't know where I am going, but I need to focus on something other than my thoughts.
My hands grab my keys and I shrug my shoulders. I need to pay attention when I drive so nothing happens and I don't get lost. That makes sense. Feeling better, I continue my path out of the apartment. Both of the boys are home, but they come rushing out of their rooms when they hear the apartment door.
They call my name and run to catch up with me. I want them to be here, but at the same time a million emotions are running through my mind and body and I don't know how to handle them. I need to be alone, I don't want to hurt anyone anymore than I already have.
I don't say anything to them. I simply stop in my tracks and look at them. I know how my eyes look: dark, stormy, empty.
They reluctantly let me go, but not without giving me my phone. I didn't realize I left it, but maybe I did that on purpose. Maybe I just want or need to fall off the grid for a little while and calm whatever is going on with me.
I know I am being selfish, but I- I might hurt them worse by shutting them out entirely instead of taking a little time away from everything and then coming back better than I left. The excuse doesn't sound good, I still sound selfish, but I need to do this. I worked hard to get better and now I need to work hard to get back to being better even if that means taking a side road instead of the more direct roots I had been taking. Nothing is wrong with self-care, right?
With my mind half made up, I walk into the stairwell and don't look back at the two people who I know are watching me leave. The walk across the garage is quick and my car starts before I even notice that I put the key in the ignition. I shouldn't be driving, but I need to get out of here. So, with my shaky hands, I put my car into reverse and pull out of my parking spot. I creep out of the lot and pull onto the road. Luckily, the traffic is minimal being five in the morning. The birds are chirping and the sun is slowly starting to come up.
I give myself an hour to get my head screwed back on. I know they will not fall asleep until they get back so I will take the time I need to get back to the place I feel comfortable in and consider them at the same time.
With that plan in mind, I drive around. I pass the small town that the boys took me to. I pass my old college and job. I pass the diner Amelia and I went to a couple of days ago. And then I am on a street, in a town I have never been to before. How did I even get here? My heart starts to pound and my palms sweat. My instinct kick in and I speed up the car. The quicker I find something I know, the quicker I will be safe again.
I take random turns, trying to find something that I have seen before. But there is nothing; I recognize nothing. Now what?
I take a sharp right turn and end up on a beach or maybe a marina. I still have no idea where I am, but I can recall all the good memories of Damon and me on a beach and it calms me down. Just then I remember that I have my phone. How could I have been so forgetful as to not remember that the boys gave me my phone? Shaking my head, I blow out a breath and pull into a parking spot. The sun is coming up now, the rays reflecting off of the water. The sight is beautiful.
I feel calmer some fifteen minutes later and reach for my phone in the passenger seat. Holding the rectangle in my hand, I am safe. I pin my location into my maps so I can come back here again and start the route home.
Somehow I am two hours away from the apartment and my phone is only blowing up with missed calls and messages as the GPS starts to tell me how to get back. I duck my head and kick myself for doing exactly what I didn't want to do. I call Damon back and he eagerly answers the phone. I quickly tell him that I am coming back and that I am fine before pulling back onto the main road.
The drive was good in that my thoughts are no longer toxic, but I am angry at myself for letting the boys down again. One question plays in my mind for the remainder of the drive: when will I ever be good enough to deserve them?