Sunday, October 9, 2011

When the past hijacks my brain

WARNING:  Very raw

The waiter reached over my shoulder to top off my glass of water.  It startled me.  I jumped and knocked my fork off the table.  His voice sounds familiar.  "Let me get you another fork," he said.


I hear him say that but I also hear, "shut the fuck up."  My heart races.  I can't breathe.  It is cold on the restaurant porch but suddenly I'm too hot.  I excuse myself and rush to the bathroom.  I sit on the toilet and put my head in my lap, trying to relax my heart.  Trying to breathe through my nose, but it's hard.  My breathe has too much force.  I look around the room trying to focus on something to get my mind off my body.  The floor is a coppery maroon color.  Like drying blood and then suddenly there is blood all over me.  I know it's not real and I hit my head hard with my fist to make sure that I feel it, but I don't really feel it.  I don't want to go there.  There is so much blood all over my legs and my stomach.  I run my fingers through it, spreading it into designs on my skin.  It's wet and kind of sticky and I like the tightness on my skin when it dries.  Then there is water.  Lots of warm soothing water and it hurts.  It hurts but it feels good.  I know it hurts but I don't really feel the pain.  My body hurts but I don't cry.  I have  no more tears.  My throat hurts.  I try to cup my hands and catch some running water but my body is too heavy to move.  The water is red.  A light red, almost pink and I think it is pretty.  I rub my fingers on the tile, leaving red streaks like I do with my bath crayons.  He is talking to me.  I hear his voice but there are no words.  I see his face in the mirror above the sink.  He is crying.  He is crying but I am not.  He drains the tub and fills it up again, squeezing water down my back.  I like it.  He continues to talk to me but I don't understand the words.  He sounds far away.  Suddenly I am in a towel and lifted to my feet.  He rubs me with the towel and suddenly I am looking at my bumblebee nightlight.  My friend knocks on the stall door.  "Are you okay?"  Now I am in the bathroom.  I answer her but I am not sure what I said.  I walk to the sink and wash my hands and return to dinner.  I smile and joke and pretend to feel better but disturbing images keep flashing in my head.

I fall asleep right away when I get home but wake up to nightmares, graphic nightmares of that night.  Why is it that I can remember the blood and color of the water more often than I remember it happening?  It's so strange that I remember the bath and the smell, taste, and color of the blood, and the sensations on my skin more often then I do the actual event and in so much detail.  Sometimes it's a mix of the two, but it's out of order, and then my brain wants to put it in order when it's over.  Why do I have to rework the order?  Why can't I just move on after?  Why do I remember things like the way the blood felt when it dried on my skin or the way the washcloth felt?  I remember all these small menial things.  Why do I remember the pleasurable sensations of the water and the blood?  Why do I remember liking anything from that night?  Why DID I like anything from that night?  That's seriously messed up and I hate myself when it's over.  I hate myself for going back there.  I hate myself for the way I felt back then.  I hate myself that I feel so much hate for myself.  I hate this.  I want it to stop.  So much therapy, too many therapists and doctors and social workers.  So much medication and it feels like it's all for nothing.  I just want it to stop.