When I was young I was traumatized*. The aftershock reverberated through my entire life. The trauma was so fundamentally profound, I came out a completely different boy. “Bri” didn’t die. But “Brian” was born that day. Brian the schemer, the planner, the keeper of secrets.
If when looking at myself I lose sight of it, or forget it in the equations, I falter. In silence, it’s a razor sharp gyro spinning in my gut, viciously defending itself. If I keep coming back to it again and again, it’s to stay on top of it. If I pack it away, denie it, minimize it or belittle myself, I will go mad.
All the therapy in the world won’t cure my trauma. But I can work towards healing. I promise that I will try to repair what was broken. I will replace what was stolen. I will give the memory voice and wrap it in compassion. I will grow.
I have been struggling the past few weeks as I explore it deeper than I ever have. There is so much I have never said or could ever say enough. What I felt is protected in a vault. I know there is pain and shame. But there is a ton on anger. I don’t know if it is original rage or after anger. This isn’t the big bang, I don’t have to exactly chart when things showed up. The experience was a ball, time folded on itself, crushing me.
* I tell the story in Under 2:00 – It