Flashback Blues

"Fear is an emotion indispensible to survival."~ Hannah Arendt

Stop!  This material may be triggering.  Please proceed with caution.

When I was taking Wolf for a walk around the neighborhood yesterday, I smelled some kind of flower that must have been in one of the many backyards in which I tried to hide when I was a child.  I couldn't see it; it was probably behind someone's privacy fence.  The scent brought me to a moment of stark, naked terror.  The way I used to feel all the time when I was a little girl.  It's been a long time since I've had a flashback of such intensity.  It only lasted a few moments, but a few moments like those go on for an eternity.  It all came back.  I could see the way my father's eyes looked when he was working up to being violent.  It usually didn't arise quickly; it was almost premeditated.

I could sense it when I was a little girl, this building up to the great climax of intimidating rage.  He always had such a good time.  I would start to stay outside more...a lot more.  I never knew whether it was going to be okay to look at him or if looking would cause him to identify me as a target.  I tired to pick up clues.  At the same time, I tried to protect my mom if it looked like she might be the preferred recipient.  She had a bad habit of saying things I knew would be inflammatory.  I tried hard to distract him when I knew she'd gone too far.  Sometimes I was successful, sometimes not.  

When he asked me a question, I never knew how to answer.  Asking me what I learned at school that day could either go well or the kick-off of a fun session of terror.  I never knew which answer would provoke his rage.  It didn't really matter, though.  None of it did.  He was just going to hurt someone sometimes; it didn't matter what you did.  Sometimes that someone was me.   

It was much easier for me to be the recipient of his attention than to see my mom being hurt.  Of course, once he moved the 13 year old in, he used her as a punching bag.  This was okay with me. It stopped the violence inflicted on my mom, but I was still fair game until I was around 13.  I made a decision that year.  He would never physically hurt me again.  I wasn't sure what I would do if he did, but it would be the last time it would ever happen.a  Maybe I would run away.  Maybe I would kill him.  Luckily, I never had to find out.

It makes me so sad to remember.  It makes me shiver with fear.  It was a beautiful day yesterday, cool and sunny.  It's so easily spoiled--the fragrance of a flower, the quality of light, sticks on the ground--and such a good day becomes such a nightmare.  

We're a little over a month away from the anniversary of his suicide.  Just writing the word makes me anxious.  It's clearly time to stop.

America held hostage day 1699

Bushism of the day:

"[B]y the way, we rank 10th amongst the industrialized world in broadband technology and its availability. That's not good enough for America. Tenth is 10 spots too low as far as I'm concerned." - Minneapolis, Minn., April 26, 2004