of course its just me

Three o’clock in the morning and there’s no way I’m going to sleep tonight.  Can’t remove the visions of the nightmare.  Being held down and abused – repeatedly – by him and his friends.  Passed around like some cheap toy.  Oh yes, older brothers are such a blessing.

To this day, being restrained causes unreal distress.  After the car accident the paramedics had to put me on the backboard and, of course, strap me to it.  When we wheeled into the emergency room at the hospital, I was reported as “combative”.  The tears in my eyes were assumed to be from my frustration and not from fear, regardless of what I was saying.

Once the x-rays were done and exam and they finally removed the restraints, bending my knees brought instant relief to my lower back – but just having the straps off made such a difference.  That was proof to the professional medico’s that I could control myself if I wanted to.  Someone made an idle comment about using straps again if I “lost it” … and I did.  Seventy-two hour hold and observation due to signs of mental collapse.  Or some such.

Still, with all of that.  All the misery it brought, it pales in comparisson with the nightmares of that first time.  Yeah – “first time”.  Had a therapist tell me once that it was no real surprise I had little to no memories of my life until after my older brother moved out of the house.  Ya think??

Car just drove past.  Car lights shining through the gaps in the drapes … shadows cast and move with the light and my inner child sees them again.  I sit, curled as tightly as I can get in this oversized reclyner, curled in a blanket, shivering.  Though doubtful it’s from cold.

The dog sits at the foot of the chair watching me, whimpering softly.  Sometimes I think he’s the only one that really pays attention to me, understands what fear is and recognizes it.  I call him up and he clambers into my lap, such as it is with me being so fetally positioned.  He’s warm and soft.  Wish I could find some real comfort in that.

Another car.  I want to get up.  Pace.  Move around.  But deathly afraid of what may lie in wait in the shadows.  Right.  I’m not a child anymore.  But the terrors are real.  Demons are real.  Monsters really do hide under the bed.

It’d three-thirty in the morning and I can’t stop the tears.

But then, it’s all in my head.  Nothing to worry about, really.  It’s just me.