Legacy

We are on vacation and watching a movie in the room. The Bourne Legacy. He has seen it before. I have not. Typically for us, I become increasingly engrossed in the movie and he falls asleep.

The main character, Aaron, is in deep trouble. Being chased by a spy who has been altered physically and mentally. Aaron is the best, but he is losing ground against this machine of a man. They run into a building under construction. I am tensely watching to see what will happen next. 

Rebar. The screen is covered in rebar poking out of concrete. Aaron is maneuvering his way through the maze. All I can see is rebar.

I know it's happening, and I know it will go one of two ways. I shake my head and tell myself to stop it. Stop focusing on the rebar. I know even as it's happening. I am having a flashback. I will either breathe through it or move into a panic attack.

I don't intend to focus on the rebar. I'm watching a movie. It's just set dressing. It doesn't have anything to do with the story, but it's all I can see. Rebar like she raped and sodomized me with in the barn. 

I start deep breathing. I adjust myself to a more upright position. I'm sitting up now. A more powerful position. One with more control. I slow my breathing. I have an internal dialogue. Whatever happens here -- control or anxiety -- is okay. There is no right or wrong reaction to the situation. 

I couldn't have seen it coming. I can't quit going out in public or watching movies or reading books or looking at Pinterest, because something might crop up and trigger a memory.

I keep breathing and am suddenly re-engaged in the plot of the movie. I have survived the trigger without a full blown panic attack. I did it by myself, and I recognized what was happening in the moment. I stayed present through it all.

This is something huge. I am as used to triggers and flashbacks as one can ever become, I suppose, but this may be the first time I've made it through one fully present. It's a milestone of sorts. I took care of me. I didn't turn on me. 

It doesn't mean it won't happen again. There will always be triggers as long as I am alive. And the odd thing is I wouldn't trade those horrific memories because, ultimately, they are a part of who I am. But I am truly grateful to have consciously survived this one on my own.

linking up with Just Write

Again

(warning: adult content and triggers)

She had a box. It was her treasure box she said. She pulled it out to show me. And when she opened it up everything went crossways.

Yesterday my dog brought in a dead baby bunny. I made her take it outside and leave it. Dogs do these things. It made me sad, and let's face it, it was gross. I cleaned up the droplets of blood in the house. I told myself it was okay. People have to deal with these things all the time. I called my husband and he said he was sorry he hadn't been here to take care of it.

But I couldn't let go of the incident. I felt the panic rising in my chest. I had flashes of pictures in my head that I tried desperately to shake away. 

The box is divided into little squares. In each square is a skull of a small animal. She begins to tell me what each one is, and how she killed it. She looks at me and tells me she will do the same things to me. Just like the kitten. The kitten that she strangled with the chain on the swing while I watched, after she took him from me. The kitten that she skinned the whole time telling me that's what she'd do to me it I told anyone.

I can't get the image of Lucy/me as that dead bunny out of my head. That baby bunny who didn't do anything wrong, but had its life cut short. And I know animals aren't people, but when the comparison is made when you are 5 years old, and in such a visceral way, it's hard to let it go.

These are not memories or pictures I want in my head. I don't want to remember how Lucy felt in that moment, and I don't want to feel guilty for still struggling with it now. But I do. Lucy and I could have been that bunny. A life cut short for no good reason.

So I cry and I hurt. I breathe deeply. I color a picture. I watch too much TV. But somewhere in it all, I remind myself that it is in the past. I survived it then, and I'm still surviving the memories.

There are no pithy wrap-ups. There is just another memory to be dealt with -- again.