I Don't Know Why, But I Googled His Name.

I don't know why, but I googled his name.

He got into an accident on his bike in April and has a GoFundMe set up by his girlfriend. He was in the hospital for 10 weeks.

There's some feels here, but not what I was expecting.

Oopsie.

You know when you know something is a bad idea, but you do it anyways?

Have any of you figured out how to curb that yet?

He got in an accident on his bike and I found out by chance by googling his name and finding the GoFundMe. My very first instinct was to donate $$ to him. I didn't, but that's another post.

I was surprised by how much money he'd already received and the number of donors. He always said everyone is useless and incompetent, and that he doesn't have good people around him to rely on. He keeps friends and people around him purely based on their utility. When they cease to be useful, he removes them from his life.

So it's shocking that he's amassed thousands in support from dozens of people. There's people here who put down some serious cash for him.

I wonder if they'd give him a cent if they knew.

Oopsie.

You know when you know something is a bad idea, but you do it anyways?

Have any of you figured out how to curb that yet?

I still feel anxious for a split second when I go to take a slice of pizza

Inspection

This was him if I was ever eating anything with my hands. Sandwiches, pizza, crackers, whatever.  He was waiting for the second a crumb dropped so he could squawk.

And, man, did he squawk.  As if he’d be the one cleaning it up.

I started doing the dishes immediately after I finished cooking so he’d be done or mostly done by the time I sat down to eat. He never sat with me if he was done.  

I ate a lot of cold food, but at least I could eat in peace.

I’ll start off by saying that I can’t speak for everyone. However in my experience, and in my discussions with other survivors, it seems that in the early days of abuse recovery we become obsessed with understanding WHY.

Why did they do this?  Why didn’t I see who they really were?  Why did they choose me?  Why did I allow this?  

We buy books, research online for hours, bombard our therapists with theories, and try to find stories like ours. We look for the truth somewhere outside of ourselves.  It feels like if we can just find that one elusive  piece of the logic puzzle, our knowledge will heal us. 

It’s probably a necessary part of the process, and can be therapeutic in its own way. But you can’t push away the inevitable forever.  The feelings come, and they come hard.  They have to.

When I slowed down on the fervent research and made myself sit in the pit of horrors that was my brain, things started to change a bit. 

Does anyone else have this trauma symptom?

Thinking about my childhood and any pleasant things from it makes me cry. I just watched something that played the theme to Mr. Dress Up and I'm weeping.