Daddy My Tummy Hurts
Just to push on. And hope that at some point, if I push hard enough, somehow the world would become less heavy. Not so empty.
My father never had an impact on my adolescent years. I’ve always viewed him as weak. Secretive. Never truly showing me his identity. He acted like a father. Said nice things to me, encouraged me to go for my dreams and always had a good life quote prepared for any moments when I needed extra reassurance. But, there was always a sense of emptiness in his words I couldn’t put my finger on. Plus, his anger issues and tendency to let his ego cloud his judgment proved to my young, yet forcefully developed sense of consciousness that my father is not someone to be trusted.
This image of my father helped me grind through the sticky parts of my life. When I felt everything was falling apart and I couldn’t do it by myself. I remembered my father. For whatever reason, this picture of him gave me the force and resilience I needed to push on. Which is all I wanted to do at the time. Just to push on. And hope that at some point, if I push hard enough, somehow the world would become less heavy. Not so empty.
Then…I almost Died...
I had pushed my body to the point of self-destruction. Which, now looking back on it, was probably manifested thru all of the abusive behaviors I was putting my emotional body thru.
My gut ripped itself apart. Sending my mind into a survival mode my 1000000-year-old ancestors gifted me with.
Appreciate yall for that…
so there I was. the strongest women in the world. Covered in her own vomit. Naked. Wondering if drowning herself would be a quicker escape than waiting another minute for the ambulance to come save me. That’s when I realized for the first time.
Fuuuuccckkk… you have daddy issues sis.
I understood this thru the climbing fear in my stomach that I was going to be exposed by the ambulance for being incompetent. The fear of looking weak. I was so afraid to trust someone to help me, I contemplated suicide. This realization, for lack of a better word...
Sent a bitch...
But instead of accepting the new information. My mind fought it. Sending the pain to excruciating levels. And sending my mind into a continuous loop of fears that I so desperately pushed down...
into my gut...
My body stopped responding to my commands to survive. But my mind still scrambled to find ways to suppress the shift in perfection. Throwing forgotten memories of disillusion, neglect, and fear. So much fear...
Staring at the floor, completely rendered of physical movement. For the first time in my life. I surrendered. I let go of surviving.
What comes will come...
Thankfully… I wasn’t actually dying. I trashed my body with drugs and unhealthy eating habits to the point of intestinal failure. The next 3 days were spent in a hospital experiencing every emotion you could possibly conjure up. My father didn’t come into the ‘picture’ so to speak until I was conscious enough to allow my brain to process.
I came to realized that I never felt safe asking for help because I never had a masculine figure in my early life that proved to be reliable. That coupled with multifaceted experiences of betrayal, manipulation, and fear instilled this belief that I must carry everything to be valued. That real strength is self-reliant strength. Even if that means dying by it. Which now that I had the pleasure of experiencing the closest thing to a near-death experience I hope I ever have, sounds like a complete waste of energy and time. Which it is...
I’m not quite sure how deep this belief runs, and to keep it real..
I'm not even sure if I want to dig any farther. For fear of not knowing what i will find. But I've met fear. I shook his hand. Laid in his lap and allowed him to save me.
And to be honest….
He’s not a bad guy……..
