How deep are you willing to go?

Haunted.

There are days when I really must sit with myself and recall situations in my life and wonder, where exactly did I store this memory? Emotional immaturity is usually caused by deep repressed memories that have been neglected from childhood. For me, some of them seem to bond together like one big blob and only when this poison enters my bloodstream am I able to vividly remember and then dissect anything. It is important that I do go through these memories because they will open me up and force me to deal with the pain. I will note that I am not afraid to dig deep, I've just always had to take shit on the chin and push forward due to the cards I have been dealt. I am not sure when alcohol became what it has been for me but, I do know that I long for the day where it is no longer that. I mean if I were not such a high functioning drinker, I would admit that this has impacted my life negatively. I do not drink every day and I do not feel the urge to drink every day but, some days or weeks are harder than the previous and that liquid, numbs me and other times it allows all my deep rooted trauma and baggage to bubble to the surface. Healing yourself has no direct path and it also doesn't mean you'll never be triggered again. I guess now, I have become more aware of what these triggers are and I am here trying to communicate and acknowledge them in a healthy manner. 

I sit here with my favorite tequila drink and think back to the first time I saw my mother collapse in the hallway of our home. I am not fully sure this is the first time I seen my mother out of sorts but, as I said these memories in my life seem to fade into one. This was not the first situation in my life where I realized I would have to grow up faster than I would have liked but, it was the first situation where I knew a pain that cut deeper than anything I could have ever imagined. We warn our kids about the dangers and unfortunate shit that occurs in the world but, this? No one could have prepared me for this. I was on the phone laid up, minding my business. I believe we just had Chinese food 30 minutes earlier. My mother came out the shower and went into the kitchen briefly. My door is open and all I heard was "Kayla..." with an extended pause as if she couldn't finish her thought, she falls. I turn my head because of the loud thump and witness my mothers naked body shaking on the floor. I run to see what I saw and to this day I will never forget it. There was frantic yelling, there was my sisters, there was me. I had to be 14 at the time unaware of the hidden health issues of my mother and I had no idea what the fuck was happening. This memory haunts me because, for the rest of my life I would have to experience a fear that no child should have to worry about at that age. The death of my mother terrifies me. Time after time, seeing her almost die has overwhelmed me. It always brings me back to that first time. You would think with the amount of times that I have seen her laid up in a hospital bed that I would be numb to this pain and I am not, I am sure I am suffering from PTSD. Especially since every situation after that has surpassed the other. Doctors repeatedly saying that she was lucky. I have pushed it back to the deeper parts of my mind and for a long time it has affected our relationship negatively. It is not like I loved her less but, instead of going in her room to sleep because maybe I could not; I was there checking to see if she were still alive. The fears were so real it felt like my life was moving in auto pilot. The nightmares I would have of her would wake me up in tears. I started to withdraw myself from being as close as we were. I can't lie, I resented her for awhile. How could one not understand how much their life meant to their children? I was young, in my eyes mothers lived for their offspring. She is her own person and I should have asked what was one facing, that their life didn't mean anything to them? See my defense mechanism with trauma or with situations that could possibly hurt me is to detach. Detachment helps me feel in control of things I know I have no control over. It is as if I shut down completely and escape to a corner that feels safe and isolated from everyone or anything capable of forcing me to be vulnerable. My inner child is screaming, wishing this were not my life. I deserved to have a mother that was happy and taking charge of her life. I know she was hurting and so, I had to protect myself because the one person who I had to protect me needed me and my sisters to protect her. Her pain became my pain and I felt guilty for a long time because I was a rebellious child and I had family members treat me like I was the reason she was in the state that she was. It hurt me tremendously to feel like I could be causing my mother's potential demise or be the reason me and my sisters would never get to experience that mother and daughter bond as we got older.

I was introduced to alcohol in one of my most damaging relationships as a teen. I mean this boy did a number on me but, I got through it and I let it go. Drinking was not as intense as it was then but, I am sure learning at the age 15 that alcohol made me feel good, contributed to where I am now. Life went on and things got crazier and crazier for me. I overcame some milestones but, I also had a lot of set backs. I taught myself to temporarily distract myself using alcohol. It felt good to be in a daze, to feel free, to feel light. Going to sleep after drinking yourself into a state of numbness felt better than feeling like a failure and having my heart broken repeatedly. I used alcohol for its purpose usually but, I am owning up to the times where I took advantage of it. The times it kept me from hating myself, hating who I was turning into. The times it had me on the edge of my bed crying my eyes out, times it allowed me to open my body up to people who did not deserve me. Yet, I am not sitting here blaming alcohol or the people who enabled me to drink when I probably just needed to vent. It always felt safer to shelter my pain instead of tending to it. I never had the perfect time to and I knew if I did, it would potentially keep me stagnant. At times it did and I would get a drink and be ok again. The inner child in me desperately wanted to be heard and I tuned the voice out every time. Unaware that my own trauma would seep through cracks and plague everything I  touched no matter how hard I strive to move past it. You become oblivious to the baggage and unintentionally add to it every time you choose to not unpack it. I am choosing to acknowledge my inner child for once and although I sit here crying as I type this out, this is what she needs. We all want our pain to be recognized and at times we use our pain against ourselves instead of truly seeing it for what it is. If I ever want to break generational curses, I have to be willing to do the work. As a black woman you are very aware that the world does not stop for anybody, especially you and I have been extraordinarily strong despite all of this. I kept my head high with a smile on my face and although most of this shit should have stole my joy, it hasn't. I am proud that I am here, sharing my thoughts and giving it the space it rightfully deserves. On this journey I call my life, I could not protect myself from everything and it was not just my mother's job to protect me and my sisters either.

That is right, my father should have stepped up, but he never did. He even brought a new woman to my home while my mom was hooked up to machines in the hospital. I blocked my dad almost a year ago and there is so much that lead up to that but, it was necessary and the best thing I could have did to contribute to my inner peace. I almost convinced myself that it was my job to build a relationship with him. Always willing to accept the bare minimum not knowing I am worth more than that. My father is not even aware of half the things I have ever been through because he chooses to be part time. I am sure many will see this and say it is my responsibility to let him know but, is it really? He was not there to stop me from all the times I went looking for love in the wrong places since he never showed me what that was. He was not there for me when this man locked the door behind him and stole a part of my innocence, he was not there when my ex-boyfriend put his hands on me but, you know what he was always there for ? He was there to disrespect my mother and he was there to shame me for my weight and body. Did I even have a chance of knowing self love before I was taught to self hate?

They say every girls first love is supposed to be their father, mine just so happened to be my first heartbreak and the next part in this series...