There wasn't any joking when I admitted that what happened with my brother has set me back.
My anxiety has been terrible this past week. More than once I've been awake at 3 am thinking about snakes under the house.
Flashbacks and memories are overwhelming. I never thought my PTSD was gone. But holy wow. My nightmares and time of being locked in flashbacks has increased exponentially. It's been hard on me physically and emotionally.
My anger toward my parents has come back. They are the reason my brother is who he is.
As I sit here watching a tv show, I'm watching this family fearing the loss of their father. It's a show. Not real. But I sat here crying. I could blame the hormones I take, but that's not the case.
When I love someone, I love them very deeply. Friends, family, my husband, I love them. Not the kind of love that slips off the tongue easily. Not the kind that is equal to a love of potato chips. When I love, it's straight from the heart, thoroughly considered and without reason.
That deep love is why being hurt is so deeply painful.
It's not the first time but probably the hardest. I am reminded that along with all the other things my parents stole from me, they also took away every chance I could've had at loving parents deeply. Sharing life with parents. Good and bad. Caring for them in their aging years. I'll never be able to share moments of fear or loss or love with my family.
They've stolen all of that from me.
Lots of bad words come to mind right now. I'm angry. And a bunch of bad words wouldn't change that.
I'm angry. The people who should be there to comfort me and talk reasonably with me are the ones who cause the problem.
How do you ever fully recover from that?
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