When Trauma Causes Trauma and Trauma Fucks Trauma Unwillingly.

I strive to be as open and authentic as possible.  It is easier to do than you would think.  You just need to take a deep breath and trust people.  Trust that people will see you for all the shit you might be in and the crap you fought so hard to get out of.  But all of the risk and reward is on our side and often disappoints us to the point of burying our shit deeper and deeper to protect our headspace.


A couple of weeks ago I started to write a new post.  I was going to call it “My Father’s Legacy Dies With Me” and write about my history with my father.  I started writing and making notes.  Spent hours digging through saved emails, files, pictures, discussions, arguments, and plenty of old pain.  I thought I was ready to write about it.  Nope.  I spiraled.  Badly.   Like “suicidal thoughts” bad.  (Yes, THAT is how bad my history with my father is)  (Also, I left the previous post up… you will see me giving up)

I didn’t like reliving the shit from the past.  All the hurt came flooding in all at once and now that I am sober, I couldn’t numb things as easily.


I have done a ton of shART about my father and other ‘father figures’ in my life.  I just don’t need to relive any of it to move forward.  My life won’t thrive if I am constantly looking in the rearview mirror.

So I let it all go.  Hundreds of saved conversations, allegations, and the physical proof of the shit that my father has done to not only myself but my whole extended family.


DELETE.  They are gone. Nothing to look back at.  The baggage has been wiped from my inboxes, sent folders, backups … everything.

It took two weeks to write this (meager) post that maybe two people will see.  I will share the shit I started to write in the comments.


Bottom Line:  You see what you aim at.  Choose wisely.


One thought on “When Trauma Causes Trauma and Trauma Fucks Trauma Unwillingly.

  1. If you were to ask my father [LaVerne] to share a single word that exemplifies the legacy he has with his children, it would be ‘Dishonored’. I know this because he told me. LaVerne also told me that I was a loser that would continue to lose. Hearing that your father believes you are worthless fucks with your head in such gigantic ways. It is hard to hear simply on the surface of things, but some of the back-stories might paint the dirty picture in a more shit-stained light.

    On or around August 23, 1978, LaVerne gave me the best thing any child could ask for; his sperm. I don’t know any of the specifics, nor do I want to, but he ejaculated semen inside my mother and somehow, magically, and immediately became worthy of honor. I would be lying if I said I did not have any good memories with my father, and I believe it makes things much harder because I do. LaVerne was never the cool dad even if he thought he was. He wanted to be seen as the involved, thoughtful, and spiritual leader of his family by the watchful eyes he craved. LaVerne always cared more about the appearance of keeping a higher cognitive function than he could ever be capable of harnessing.

    My father is a narcissist.

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