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Dates Matter

Dear Father, on your birthday...

Photo by Dawid Zawiła on Unsplash

Today is my dad’s birthday.

He’d be 68 if he were still alive.

I don’t feel an ounce of sadness today.

Rather I am a ball of pensive energy.

Anxious, restless, alert.

He was a witness for the defense, sworn to testify against me at the trial against my abuser.

Estranged from me most of my life, once I left.

Never accepting of any responsibility to his part of my destroyed childhood.

Dead when I was 25, nothing resolved.

No closure. No justice.

Just resentment and anger. Rage like.

Last night I dreamt of words, not images.

I dreamt of illness and struggle.

Of chaos and confusion.

Last night P T S D screamed in my head.

He doesn’t deserve this hold over me.

Yet he has it because he is my father.

A man I loved with all my being, who terrified me as a child.

The damage he has done is extreme.

The wounds near impossible to heal.

I often long for the days when his birthday was just a date on a calendar.

No emotions, barely an acknowledgment.

Just sweet dissociation.

Read next: Polluted
Shanon P
Shanon P

Mother, Wife, Student, Advocate of Social Justice, Childhood Sexual Abuse Survivor, Blogger - learning to live with PTSD after decades of dissociation.

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Dates Matter
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