It’s been very nearly 8 years since I’ve been disowned.
8 years since I got an email that ended with, “Goodbye daughter, it was nice knowing you for __ years.”
In 8 years, I’ve graduated twice, gotten married, had a baby and several fur babies, had my gallbladder taken out, been to the hospital a few times, and moved up in the job world.
In 8 years, I’ve been in therapy off and on, and been in it consistently what, 4 years now? I forget how long. Years of weekly therapy. Sometimes I feel more healed, and go every other week.
This is not one of those times. I still feel unstable sometimes. The ground moving under my feet. This is not the same life I had last week. Last week I had one job and one daycare provider and one routine, and this week I have another of everything.
I am still struggling occasionally with intrusive thoughts. Negative self-talk.
Did you know that the way you speak to your child becomes their inner voice? Yeah. That.
I used to have nightmares every single night about dad. Him chasing me, catching me, me trying to get away, but usually his negative energy would keep me from flying away or running away. It slowly subsided after I moved out, after I was disowned. Some nights I didn’t dream about him at all. I cherished those nights.
Then it became more nights. And more. Until most nights, I do not dream about him anymore.
Then there are the nights I do. Like last night, when I yelled and yelled at him. I wanted to yell the way he yelled at us, raging until we cried by raging until he cried or was repentant.
But he never was–the dream dad just smiled as if it were amusing that I was standing up for myself, because he was biding his time until he squashed me again.
And I woke up with intrusive thoughts. Clinging ones that, even though I’ve dismissed them, sticking to me like a fart and ruining the air around me.
8 years. And I still haven’t escaped him.
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