How do I deal with traumatic experiences, I bottle them up and shove them behind "The Wall." What's the wall you ask, let me tell you.
I have a metaphorical wall in my brain. Think of it as a sound proof, cement, room. It has a heavy door that needs a key to open. Not really, but you get what I mean. I have this place in my brain that all of those experiences are buried.
I don't let them out. I don't, but some days, they seep out uninvited. So, I am at a crossroads. What to do when the therapist says, "You have to let a little of the pressure out." That wall, it's currently breathing. I don't want to deal with John's death. I don't want to deal with the fact that I will never, NEVER, hear my brother's laugh again in person. I don't want to deal with the fact that I will never receive a text from him again. Or the fact that, and God help me, he won't call me angry and lash out.
It's funny when you are going through life and those little annoyances happen, you roll your eyes, and think, "Common little brother! What happened to the little dude that I used to care for? The one that would run to me when someone was mean?"
I left my therapists yesterday and took a peek at his posts, yet again. Maybe I missed something. Maybe if I read this shit, I will cry. My body is numb from the pain. It's buried, you see. Rather than deal with the pain, I am putting my little brother in a box and shoving him behind the wall. And now that wall is breathing. It's about to break and what the therapist said, makes perfect sense. If you don't let some of that air out, even if it's small amounts, one day it is going to burst and then, well.... all hell will break loose.
So, I read. What I found shook me. Deep within one of his posts he made a statement, the wife that died too soon, I still loved her even though she killed two of my sons. I stopped and re-read it. That can't be true. Did Anya have two abortions?
At the end of John's life, I didn't know him. Not really. He pulled away and God only knows how he felt about our relationship. I know he was very angry with me that I still kept in contact with his daughter's mother. When Em was little, I talked to her mom a lot. But as she aged we grew apart. I wanted to see Em a lot, but it wasn't always possible. So we grew apart. I'm sure in his mind, I was a traitor. What he didn't realize is that Em was me. I didn't want her growing up thinking that her father and his family didn't give a shit. Funny thing, little brother, I didn't do a good job. Maybe we could have been closer had you known. If you would have asked me.
Then, of course there was John, Sr. I know, without a doubt, that he spoke to John about me. Little John had mentioned on occasion about it. Fuck, he made a Facebook post years ago berating me saying that John Sr. was the best father in the world and I was lucky to have him. I feel like now, John is seeing it all clearly. Realizing that it wasn't me. I wonder what he thinks now.
One day, hopefully not soon, maybe I will get to sit down with my little brother again and reminisce about our relationship. One day, One day.....
Comments