It’s been a while since I made an appearance on this blog. Well, baby, I’m back. We’ll make this short and sweet.
Trauma is hard. Trauma sucks.
There is no way to predict how something will affect you—until it does. And then, when you are feeling like you’ve been run over by the steamroller by about the fiftieth time, you think, “Dammit, how many more times can this possibly happen?”
So 2014 brought a whole load of crap my way. And these are problems that everyone has to deal with at one time or another, but the circumstances leading up to the particular incidents…well, those are what make the incidents more traumatic. And a bit personal. Suffice it to say, a survivor is a survivor. And a writer is a writer.
When it’s all said and done, what is there to do but tell your story? There are stories to be told and smiles to be made and memories to be shared. The ones of us that are left here are keeping that burden.
Dad left in 2014 in a shitstorm of who-the-hell-expected-that? Which brings up the age-old question of whether it’s better to have time to say good-bye and face that long, excruciating end or whether it’s best to be surprised. I’m still not sure, but I can tell you this: For six months, I have been a wreck of my former self, trying to figure out exactly what the hell happened. When someone surprises you by up-and-dying butt-ass-naked for abso-fucking-lutely no reason at all, that seems to be a problem that lingers longer than most. But, hey, that could just be me.
Anyway, I’m starting to see the light of day. And I’m starting to look in the mirror and realize I’ve back-pedaled. A LOT. All the Cross-Fit work I was so proud of…turned to flop. (Quite literally.) All the bridge-troll-isms I had adopted previous to “the incident”—even more profound now.
And what do I have to show for it? Now I have to untangle this web I have woven. I’m not sure I can EVER show my face in a gym again. And somehow I have to explain to my friends, “I’m sorry for that momentary lapse of insanity, but it’s all ok now, because I realized that sometimes shit like dying naked in the spur of the moment just happens and families just have to deal with it and people are traumatized and no one gets to say good-bye and you end up blaming people and maybe that’s ok and maybe it’s not but who the hell knows…anyway, want to still be friends? And also, now I’m ridiculously wobbly, and can I still work out at your gym because I’m embarrassed and can’t seem to go in public without a mask? Thanks.”
So yeah, that’s a recap of 2014. It blew. Happy New Year! Let’s hope this one is better than the last one!
And by “it blew,” I would like to say that I have the best family, friends, and support system in the whole entire world, and I might not have survived it without them. Those of you who know me—you know this. So let’s get on with the good stuff. Love you all!