The trigger...
During the course of the visit, we talked briefly about the laws regulating behaviour during the pandemic. It seems as though if people were reasonable, we would need laws. “But,“ I said, “we need a laws for…“ I was looking for a good word, but couldn’t think of one, so I finished my sentence, “If everyone was reasonable, we would not be the laws. But we need them for stupid people.“
This sentence got a lot of laughter, and my brother said, “you can tell that we have the same dad!“
As we talked, I noticed that telltale signs of my father in our heritage were everywhere. The way he had fixed his room, the big hunk of wood on his deck, the creative but unsightly way that he does repairs. The signs were everywhere: but my brother is a decent human being. And in that moment of conversation, it seemed as though it was implied that my father was also a decent human being, and we were all one big happy family again.
Driving home, I commented to my wife, “That is not what I meant! I did not mean that statement the way that my dad would mean it. I do not think that there is a great mass of stupid, worthless humanity, and I am standing above that. I really didn’t mean to use the word stupid, I just couldn’t think of anything else to say. I just mean, if people would be reasonable, we wouldn’t need the laws in the same way…” She understood. She had noticed the comment, and knew it would be hard for me to process.
When we got home, I was still bothered by the incident. The effect was hard to describe, even for myself. “I think it is fair to say,“ I said tentatively, “that I am a victim. A victim of abuse. And I have been triggered.“
I had heard that terminology online, but now is experiencing it.
I have been feeling somewhat under the weather already, and had taken some time off of work. That day, a headache started, and the next day I woke up with a dehydration headache. I have written about this elsewhere. I thought it would pass by noon, but ended up staying in bed till 4 o’clock. I spent the day in agonizing pain. It only went away when I took one of my wife’s strong migraine meds.
As I tossed and turned, I thought about my dad, about the book Dracula, and the control that Dracula had over his victim, and the eyes of my heart kept being turned back to the light by the gentle lullabies that I was listening to, and I kept focussing on worshipping God and being grateful for him. I felt in limbo. Between an evil and controlling person, (evil, but with a smile of innocence on his face) from whom I could not seem to break free...and the unconditional love of God. How could I live in such tension?
I think it is time for me to recognize that reading emails, meeting my parents, hearing their names come up in conversations, etc., will create a profound physiological reaction in me. This is completely normal for victims of abuse. Because abusers are almost always two-faced. To the world, they are wonderful people. But behind closed doors, they are a monster. Actually, even to the victims, they are two-faced. Dracula threatened, yelled, controlled...then sweetly smiled to his victim and treated him to a sumptuous meal. It is this two-facedness that breaks down the spirit of a victim.
And so when a victim says, “this person hurt me!“ The rest of the world says, “what do you mean? They are such a saint!“ This is an extremely common phenomena. And when the world says that, it creates cognitive dissonance for the victim. “But...no. He...hurt me. He hurt me...very badly...”
Up until now, I have been welcoming some triggers. Inviting them, really. Triggering thoughts and memories has brought insight, and that insight has led to further freedom. However, as I sense the end drawing near, and as I have the answers that I need, it seems that there is less use for being triggered. I know the abuse that I suffered. I know the evil that lives within that man.
It does me no good to be reminded of him, and to have these triggers. And I also need to recognize that when these triggers happen, it will hurt me. It will hurt my family. It will be costly.
I think I may be at the point now of no longer reading emails, opening parcels, at all. I don’t need to see his handwriting, I don’t need to see his picture tucked way in the toys. I don’t need to read between the lines and see the subtle manipulation and tactics he is using.
It is time for me to let my wife to what she has been offering, and let her read them, deal with them, and give me the highlights when and if they are relevant. And it’s time for me to be gracious to myself. When I feel triggered, to admit it. To give myself some space, and sometimes to rely on this blog to remind myself of the evil that lurks inside of my parents, and the very evil treatment that I have received. These things are true. It is my truth. And the truth that other people have about my parents is based on their treatment of them. That might be true for them. But I was treated differently. And it is OK that my truth is different than other peoples. I don’t need to convince anybody. And I will not let them convince me that I am wrong. Because I know that what I am experiencing is true for me.
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