Being triggered by a word.

“Daddy…” I am playing a video game, Bioshock 2, a small girl affected by genetic manipulation speaks. “Daddy… you would never go away…” My heart is racing in my chest. My stomach is lodged somewhere in my throat. “Daddy…”

I can no longer see the game in front of me. I can not see the room I am seated in. I can not speak. I am hyperventilating as my brain swirls around memories of the pain of the single phrase: What did I do wrong? What did I do wrong?? Flashes of my mother beating me filled the air, filled my brain. Thoughts of wishing for my absentee father to save me swished through my soul followed by the recognition of the betrayal I felt of his actions.

What did I do wrong!?

“Daddy… I’m scared…”

The word… That word… Daddy stung deep in my chest. It burned like ten thousand thoughts that kept me sane as my mother’s fists found my face, my body, my soul. Daddy will save me some day from this horrible place. He loves us. HE CARES. And, yet, he never came to save us. He only perpetuated the problems and claimed it was never his fault.

My mind races and races, ruminating on every pain, every affliction I endured as static rings through my brain. I am shaking like a leaf with the understand that neither parent cared enough to not damage the precious innocence that was their children. Neither parent cared enough to save us from the other, but, oh, that the thought that always rang in my soul: WHAT AM I DOING WRONG. Never in a million years could it NOT be my fault.

My hands shake. I cannot breathe. The room is spinning. I taste electric copper. I know what is happening. I know I cannot stop it. “Ben” I gasp as the world fades to blackness and the convulsions of a seizure begin. I fall into the black pit that I know all too well for what feels like ten thousand years. I hear buzzing and static as someone in the distance calls out for me. Calls out my name. Warm, strong fingers find mine and rip me from my dark dispear. My eyes flutter open to Ben’s caring face. To my husband that stares knowingly into my soul.

I weep. I weep with every fiber of my being. I weep with every pain and hurt I have bottled over the past year. The flood gates have open and I am pulsing with all the great oceans and seas. I spit every thought I have held it. I spit out every notion that triggered my panic. I spit out that I am broken and hate myself for being this way. He tells me none of this was ever my fault as our child cries from her bed. Ben leaves to tend to her and I feel nothing but fear. I have broken my rule to not feel. I can not feel. I can not be broken. Not now. Not with Nancy so little.

As I walk down the hall listening to my husband cooing at our little girl and her responding giggle, my sobs sharpen. I feel a pain in my chest. I am panicking. I can’t do this. I can’t I will hurt her. I will hurt her. I can’t. I can’t. Ben smiles at me from the door as he holds our girl. I want to run as I step backwards down the hallway, shaking my head and weeping. I feel weak and stupid. I feel broken.

“I can’t touch her,” I tell him through broken sobs. He places Nancy safely away as he comes to hold me. I scream with the pain of my childhood. I scream with the hatred of my parents. I scream with hate that I have failed to safeguard my feelings. I have never felt so weak when I need to be strong.

Thank you for reading.