“It’s okay Brit. Just close your eyes. Everything is going to be okay. I promise you. I just promise you.”
I closed my eyes and I imagined my great-grandma, or my nanny as I would like to call her, brushing my hair as she calmed me to sleep. Her touch, imagination or not, always calms my mind and eases the hardships around me.
My Nanny is my inner rock when the darkness is just a little too much to handle, and always appears to me in desperate times of want. But not the want for attention. The want of love from my mother.
To this day I believe my Nanny loved me with all her might. And I shall continue to believe she was the only one that truly loved me as a mother should.
Sadly not only did my mother decide to stay with my abuser, even with concrete proof, she also never wanted me to be born from the start.
My mother thought she could ignore the growing child inside of her and miraculously all of her problems would wash away. Hence why I ended up born in a toilet with my mother shocked that it wasn’t a huge shit coming out of her. Apparently, she had no clue she was in labor. Quite honestly I just call bullshit.
My nanny and my great-grandpa, or Grandpa-Dad as I called him, took us in and helped my mother find her way. The best way they knew how.
The times I spent with them are the only happy memories that flourish throughout my exhausted brain. As a child, however.
My inner childhood self still has quite a lot of learning to do. We are beginning to love each other, but our trust is still lacking in some areas. But with very good reason.
As I continue to heal me and her, I’ve come to realize that I do have memories of complete bliss. And those memories are with my Nanny and Grandpa-Dad.
Hence why her warm embrace on my freckled, pale cheek brings my body to peace. Even if it’s just for that split second.
Sometimes my mother likes to creep in with her short, blonde hair, and plead for the love she took advance of. But over time I’ve learned to allow my mother to say her peace and once again remind myself that my mother’s love was completely bogus.
But as I closed my eyes just the other day, my mother’s presence was screaming with all her might. I just couldn’t ignore.
So as I said goodnight to my Nanny, reminding myself that my mother didn’t deserve my love. I squeezed my hazel eyes just that much tighter, and said “What mom?”
She dropped to her knees, pleading for me to come save her from him. Save her from my father. All I just needed to do was call her. Just call her.
And fuck man can my fucking head play some nasty tricks on me. It’s quite sad that my own mind wants to ruin me. To ruin all the work we’ve worked so hard for.
Mental illness in itself is quite a bitch.
But I knew. I knew that my mother pleading to me was some other type of voice trying to make their appearance.
And that voice being guilt.
Guilt is one of the many voices that love to￼ creep into my thoughts during moments of weakness.
And this weakness being the damn Coronavirus.
This damn virus has done more harm to me mentally that it ever physically could. All the panic rising around me makes me want to believe it’s the time to be a drama-filled Brittian. But all of us know that she would only crash down her World when it’s absolutely unnecessary.
Let me tell you. I never thought it would be so incredibly hard, and I mean hard, to convince my mind that everything around me is okay. It’s all going to be okay.
I just need to live in the moment. I just need to live in the moment.
I opened my hazel, freckled eyes and thought once more. “I just need to live in the moment.” I grabbed my journal.
And wrote every damn thing I was grateful for. What was I grateful for at that moment?
Not once did I see my mother’s name. Not once did I mention the want or need to call her.
Of course, I felt guilty. Of course, I wanted to know my mother was okay. She is a sicker human than me. But not only does her health struggle, but she is also stuck with the man, that man that videotaped her child. Naked.
If anything this is the moment where she could crumble. And as much as she deserves to hit her rock bottom, I still love her. I will always love her. She is my mom.
But I am not grateful for her. So the want for her needs to wash away with the guilt.
I need to live in the present.
And to those that are having triggers arise. I see you. I hear you. And I support you.
Feel that damn shit. Cry. Scream. Stomp your feet if you need to. But then let it go.
Other people’s actions aren’t worth your happiness.
Don’t forget that.