I suffered a lot of trauma growing up. Most of it I have overcome throughout the years. I mean, I’m 56 now, so much of my past is exactly where it belongs, in the past.
But there’s one thing that continually pops up year after year, several times throughout the year. It came up again just a couple of days ago and I was pissed off, upset, frustrated and felt completely hopeless. It was so much wtf and “when will this bullshit stop”?
I’m so tired of it.
I don’t talk about it with anyone. Most of the triggers and trauma I am able to deal with myself, quite effectively I might add, but this one. Not so much.
When we were younger, we went on many road trips. Not too far. Dad’s brother lived in Bracebridge, an amazing small town with the famous Santa’s Village, about 3 and a half hours away. We would go at least 3 times a year during the summer. It was my favourite place in the whole wide world.
One hour into the road-trip and it started. The yelling, the crying, the freaking out the “Mommy please tell Daddy to stop the car”. Iva has to pee. Every.single.fucking.time. My sisters would laugh at me, mom would yell at dad, dad would yell at me and if he was mad enough, he’d reach behind while driving and hit me as hard as he could, and I would just sob hysterically.
It never ended. And that was just the first stop. An hour later it all happened again. The screaming, crying, yelling. Iva has to pee again. It was an endless vicious cycle.
I carry this trauma with me right through adulthood, still to this day. When I have to get on a shuttle to go the city the anxiety starts the day before. Iva make sure you only have half a cup of coffee in the morning, make sure you empty your bladder before the driver gets here, make sure you’re gonna be ok. You’re gonna be ok Iva don’t worry. You’ll get through. Stay tough girl, you’re gonna be just fine.
I never am.
If the shuttle arrives at 9:00 am, I’ve pee’d at least 5 times in the hour prior to his arrival and then the minute he gets here I have to run to the bathroom one more time just to be safe.
And, you guessed it, an hour into the trip I have to stop and pee. Again. But this time it’s different. I’m now in a van full of strangers with a driver who I don’t know and I have to trust that if I ask him to please stop, he will. Thankfully, they always do.
This trauma has plagued me my whole life. I have road trip anxiety and the worst part of it, is that I love road trips with every ounce of me, except this part.
So thanx Dad. Thanx for fucking me up so bad that I’m still traumatized 50 years later. You know, the really ridiculous part of it is that even after all the abuse you put me through, this is the only thing that still torments me. I’ve healed from the physical trauma, I’ve even healed from most of the emotional trauma.
Just not this.
So thanx Dad, for still being a monumental part of my life, in the worse possible way.
Peace and Love
xo iva xo