Thunder.

Published by Eaveah Tail in the blog Eaveah Tail's blog. Views: 37

I got woken up today by a clap of thunder, so loud that my dog was half way under the duvet, shaking. I was triggered. All I could do for the next half an hour was to hug my dog and tell him, rather than myself, that everything would be alright. It helped a little bit. I looked at my phone that stated it was 17:28 and managed to slowly get out of bed. I went to my computer to see if there was any messages or notifiations that needed my attention. There wasn't. I jumped violently as another thunder clap hit, it seemed a little weaker than the first that had felt like the whole building shook.

I open my internet banking service and see that my payment has come in and I busy myself with the paying of the rent and a bill that comes later than the others. All the while trying to keep my impending panic at bay. I keep flashing back to the moment in my life where I felt the least safe, when there was actual danger to my well being. Oddly enough it's just the first time it happened that comes to my mind, the other time that was arguably more serious is something that makes me shudder sure, but it's not as bad as the firs.t Maybe because I had some forewarning, that I knew what was about to happen. But the first time it came out of the blue. I was sleeping. I was woken up harshly by a openhanded palm slapping me so hard between my shoulder blades that the air was pushed out of my lungs. The initial shock was followed by yelling, then physical punishment. It's been so long since it happened. Why can't I just get over it, why does it still haunt me at moments like this. I berate myself but it doesn't help. Not that I was really expecting it to. I know better, really. There's no use in getting angry with myself. If anything it will only make it worse. I finish paying my bills and look at my phone again. There's a text message on this app I use with my long distance boyfriend. I'm glad to see it, but when I read it I immediatly grow worried. He has a temprature he says. I text back asking if he's alright and telling him I woke up from a loud sound. I hope he knows what I mean. He doesn't answer me for a little while and my worry grows, I send another text telling him I need to know he's alright. It probably seems a little panicked but he's so far away and this is the only way I can know wether he's alright or not. He finally answers after what feels like an eternity, which in reality is mere minutes. He says he's ok and asks if he can call me, of course I say he can.

When he calls me he sounds good, I breathe out in relief. I was worried he'd be in one of his black moods, the ones which it doesn't matter what anyone does, he just feels horrible. His voice sounding like he's drugged and tired. Not the normal kind of sleepy tired, but the kind of tired that say he's tired of life itself. I hate it when he's like that. It's not his fault of course, depression is a cruel mistress. I should know. But I want the best for him. Of course I do. I love him. He sounds his normal self now, the happy, cocky, teasing boyfriend I breathe out in relief. We talk a little of the normal things, I show him this site and how it could be beneficial for him too. My Russian poet. And still in the back of my mind there's the uncertainty, the feeling of not being safe, the feeling of having my core being disturbed, a long rusty nail being dragged down the lenght of my soul, like a fingernail on a blackboard. I stave off the panic as best as I can but I can feel it rising to the surface. The boyfriend picks up on there being something wrong, as he always does, I have in my own way tried to tell him what's wrong. I can hardly blame him for not picking up on it. But it's hard for me to talk about. I try to tell him that I'm fine, gently dropping that I was triggered. I don't know why I'm trying to make it seem less than it is. But I do. I always do. I have some theories of course. But none that are easy to form into a coherent thought. Much less put down in writing. I don't think he understands. I don't blame him for it either, it's not like that. It's one of those things.

We continue talking about this and that, how his work is going. Whenever he speaks about his work I get angry. What he earns isn't even minimum wage where I come from. Beggars on the street earn more than he does. Which is bullshit. He works hard, at break back hours and there's nothing I can do. I feel helpless, but I know it won't make him feel any better if I keep telling him this. He tells me he's talked about me at work today, my heart warms and the panic feeling sinks a little deeper, but it's still like a barbed ball in my stomach. Whenever I move it reminds me that it's there. Again he asks me what's wrong and this time i can't take it. The barbed ball shoots up to my throat and the pain is bad. I don't want to let him know I'm in pain, but of course being who he is, he knows. The connection of our call becomes bad, to me it almost seems like a sign. That I'm not supposed to share my pain. That it might send him back into the black sea again. But I can't help it. My eyes start to sting and the treacherous tears push their way out of my eyes. Of course he knows. He asks me why I'm crying and I struggle to answer him. He can hear me, but I can't hear him. I tell him again that I was triggered, and what that means. Or rather, my best theory of what I think it means. The connection stays bad, and I can't make out anything he says, so he types to me instead. I think maybe he's annoyed at the connection and thinks he's not helping. So he says "I think I should get some sleep.".

I panic. The fear rises to the top of my head like a tidal wave and before I know what I'm doing I ask him in a scared voice "Are you gonna leave me here like this?" I immediatly regret this. I've made him feel bad. I try to take it back, of course he should try to get some sleep. He's sick and not feeling well at all. I plead with him to just go and I'll talk to him tomorrow, but my voice betrays me. I vaguely concider mutiny, to mute myself and just type back. But he wouldn't have accepted that and would likely feel worse if I did. I start crying openly, my body won't allow me to keep it inside anymore. I can almost touch the worry coming from him, I'm still occasionally trying to convice him to go and sleep. Even if I really don't want him to. I don't want to be alone. But I don't know how to tell him that.

So this is what I did. I wrote this and then I sent it to him.
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