this week

It feels as if I write the same thing every Sunday: this week was a lot.

I have a fear of being dramatic, and I am nervous that others think my bandwidth to handle daily life is lower than the typical person. Am I too sensitive? Do I require too much to be able to maintain any sense of equilibrium? Why has this past month taken so much out of me?

I started having flashbacks again this past week. They are different than what they were. There is no longer a man in my doorway or at the foot of my bed as I’m going to sleep. I am not filled with pure terror of an oncoming assault. Instead, I’m driving onto the freeway exit ramp, and all of a sudden, I feel the weight of another body on top of me as if I’m lying down. There’s a sense of panic that accompanies the feeling of being unable to breathe fully. Quick images succeed each other in my mind.

I haven’t had a noticeable flashback since April. The fact that they are appearing again is telling me I need to slow down - some part of me needs more care.

This week, the substance of my dreams have lingered after I wake up. They are scratching at scabs I like to assume have healed.

I dreamt this week that my dad was still alive, but he had gone missing. I searched through his house a few times and found nothing. It had been months. He had committed suicide I thought, gone somewhere to die without telling me. I had the idea that I should call the police. But what would they think of me having waited so long? What kind of daughter must I be to not have done something sooner? The essence of him was everywhere but he was nowhere to be found. It is not far from how I feel towards him in my waking life.

In a separate I dream, I disclosed everything to my sister and her husband. My sister replied, “Yeah, I know.” It was as if I had been robbed of my most sacred/secretive/shameful truth. It was also as if a weight had been lifted.

I listened to Country Roads on my way into work on Thursday. Then a quarter dropped on my desk that had an image of the Shenandoah River on the tails side. I smiled in response. It feels wrong to say I miss you this week, but I do. I struggle to reconcile how you could do what you did - all of the good and all of the horror - and not be two separate men.

Everything feels like a lot this week, but it no longer feels like it will last forever. I have emerged from enough tunnels into bright yellow sunlight to know neither stay.