Resurfacing

The past never stays buried.

It has an unsavory side effect of peeking through our defenses, no matter how tried and true they are.

I don’t really think about my mother anymore. When she died of pancreatic cancer back in 2019; I wasn’t really sad, more angry I didn’t get the showdown with her I was owed. At that point her and I had been estranged for over a decade due to her abusing me throughout my childhood and teen years. For me to be sad over her death would mean she would have had to redeemed herself in some way, and she didn’t. She adamantly stuck to her guns about what she did to me… claiming all her evils were for my own good and that I was stronger because of it. That woman went to an early grave with no regrets for her actions, and clearly no remorse.

So some time after she passed and talking about it consistently in therapy I thought this was the end of it. I’m not sad, not miserable, just angry I didn’t get to say my peace. She’d pop up in my dreams every now and then like a bad re-run on TV but other than that there wasn’t much to it. My therapist would always analyze it to a T and make it sound so clinical when all I wanted to hear sometimes was “it’s natural to dream of her, but it will fade with time.”

Lately it’s been different… I feel like her presence is all around me. For the record I’m not an incredibly firm believer in ghosts, but I do believe in the supernatural. It’s not anything on that level though, just a sensation. I dream about her a lot more, and instead of fighting back like I used to when she was still alive; I let her overpower me in the dreams. My therapist of course has the clinical side of this covered, but I feel like it’s more emotional. I also will get “pulled” into long forgotten memories suddenly or out of nowhere, and it can be very draining. I was told this is a common symptom of my PTSD.

I’ve never been overly worried about turning into her, but I am worried about the traits of her that I possess. The coldness and tendency to snap. My mother had a darker side, and the older I get the more I notice mine. My brother lucked out and didn’t get those genes… maybe it’s only the women in her line. Sometimes I still hear her voice in my head, like a broken record, and if I shut my eyes tightly enough it will go away, but other days it does not. I can equate it to this… like having an angel on one shoulder, and a devil on the other. Only the devil is A LOT louder.

There have been times I want to just forget my past all together. However if I did that; I wouldn’t be who I am today. Maybe everyone who survives trauma and abuse has a little sliver of darkness to their soul, or maybe it’s just me. My aunt say’s what my mother did to me doesn’t define me, but I disagree a little with that statement, because while it doesn’t “define” me, it definitely shaped me in a lot of ways. I would be a lot different had I had a happier childhood.

I don’t want to bury my past. I just wish it didn’t “haunt” me so much.