Wait, I did WHAT?! (Maximum Trigger Warning)

This post, it’s the post no one can not be triggered by. So after the little line thing I will be babbling about things and they are scary but ….. yeah I am okay.

 

The unburying of those toys, I had been fighting a flash back from the moment we found them. M the carer did a great job of supporting me enough that I could just keep going. That was somethingĀ  I needed but I was so tired I had to nap after she left. I dreaded it. In my dreams, the bad things come again. His body is there, making mine scream and I cry. Oh I cry.

This time was a bit different, even though I had the “You will die again” headtingles. I was so very upset that I almost gave into the really bad idea of not sleeping. Not sleeping does two things. 1. Makes me sick physically. 2. Deprives me of my ability to cope via a lack of energy and the puking thing that happens.

I remembered something new. I have thought at the very least about writing on my father and his guns. He had them. He shot me a few times, he shot AT me a few times. He made me shoot a few times and I was never able to do so with my eyes open or not screaming. Guns to me are associated with extreme pain of the aural and the physical.

In the suppressed memory that remembering my friend as real unlocked I fought back. I fight back in all my nightmares, and I have a history of self defense. I once, upon remembering a suppressed rape, tried to kill my rapist because he was touching me right the. He had a fork stabbed into him. I felt threatened, and he had hurt me before.

In my dream, there were some fuzzy parts, so there is still more of this crap buried there and there were things that were filled in incorrectly. The gun having ice over the bullets and him being the size of the house were things based on how I felt. This is normal. I was a just turned eight year old girl who the only thing I had done to deserve being beaten and raped, and beaten presumably to death by my FATHER… was not a damned thing.

I remembered standing there with him between me and the door, I was going to run for it. He told me he would snap my neck. I picked up his gun or had it in my hand, that part isn’t clear, took off the safety and he laughed at me. It felt like I was holding a canon. I could feel my shoulders pulling out of place, I could feel my hands going numb. He came for me and I pulled the trigger. One, two, three, four, five six. There was a clicking sound, and he was still there. I remember he looked at me with a face I had never seen before, surprise and confusion the adult me whispered in my dream. I surprised him. He then fell over, and I ran out the door.

Sadly, I hadn’t killed him. Maybe this isn’t such a bad thing, as at this point I was already badly beaten, and there was no going back but I think adding in “Murdered Daddy” may have been one too many things. The freedom I felt. I felt free, there was no fear for a few moments and I ran.

HIs hand grabbed my ankle. He let me get the door open. I could see outside. I remember smelling punkin pie, the only smell I still like from the stupid gluttony day. He pulled me in, exhaled in my ear, “Now you have to die.” The door, I almostĀ  made it through was slammed right infront of me. I fought more. This was what lead to the worst beating he ever gave me, and the moment when he thught he had actually killed me. When my Ehlers-Danlos syndrome had protected me and minimized the damage to my neck (still broken but not dead broken counts).

I woke up. I am alive. He is dead. I felt very upset for a few seconds and then realized why he spent the rest of his life afraid of me. This is something I have written about, this is something I have struggled with. I pulled the trigger. I didn’t hesitate, I looked him in the eye and pulled the trigger. I think the eye contact is important here, because that’s something I have never done willingly. I didn’t start faking it until I was sixteen. It was either real and I was screaming or no eyecontact not the forehead watching thing I do.

I am surprised that the memory I was so afraid of feels so… light. It only took a few seconds for me to calm down and this is my processing of where the memory goes. So … yeah….

I have gained the most out of all the fragments with this.

1. I did fight back. I have wondered my entire life if I did, because there was no coherent yes moment.

2. I was beaten so badly because… I FOUGHT BACK.

3. God damn, my innocent self was pretty bad ass.

4. I really am okay.

 

I needed to know that I fought back. For many years after when I knew that something had happened and that he had hurt me I always presumed I did not. In any conversation about my father’s raping and attempted murder of me on Thanksgiving day there has been no concrete, “Yes, I picked up a gun and shot him in the shoulder and upper chest.”

It may not have been enough but, I fought back. I am so relieved and surprised. Why surprised? The lack of concept that I did. Now I know what he was hitting me with when he was bleeding. That was all I had of that before. He beat me with the gun, several times.

I shot him with it.

 

I win!

The head fuzzies at the moment are NOT present, I am going to go watch really stupid movies (no horror for the next week or so) and… I pulled the trigger.

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