Reality is.. there is so much of stuff that is lost in the abyss. So much wonder if what I remember is real.
Allegedly Today a long long long time ago my father did substances and overdosed. Died. And all I remember is coming home to my mom crying while on the phone. My sister clinging to her leg crying. And my cousins sitting on the couch confused.
When my mom finished the call. She told me my dad was dead. I ran away with my cousin. We climbed a school roof where I continued to cry.
The years later were trauma. Pain. Torment. My mom was in a relationship with an abusive douche. Who purposely talked ahit about my dad. Who kept my mom from us. Deprived us of food
So then I became a runner. I kept running away from home and it seemed took forever for social service to realize I was being neglected and abused. If that makes any sense.
We spent years in foster care.
What do I remember about my dad... it's hard to say it's been a long time. Random times when he was home. He'd make me French fries in deep fryer. I'd run home and have lunch with him. He was a hockey fan. He loved music like rolling stones. As far as I'm aware he loved us. I don't think he wanted to leave us
When he died... we were young and we got none of his belongings none of anything. And all the pictures I had in a photo album. My mom seems to have lost. I had several photo albums of my great life. And they are now all gone. Destroyed for all I know. There are no baby pictures of me no kids pictures of me. Only pictures of my childhood would exist in the schools I attended.
So now. Being a mom. My kid hates pictures. But is sentimental about his baby clothes. I was going to throw them in donations. An my kid said no. He wants me to keep them. Its only one bin full but wow.
Idk got distracted. But.. my dads death anniversary. Horrible experience. And today had an appointment where I talked about what it was like. And because of that I found out something I sort of already knew. Was that. I've been very against physical contact. I found out today there may be a name for it touch aversion. An someone suggest i work on it. But I can't. I don't want to do. Regardless. Trauma. Pain.
Because I talked about my dad. I went into deep sadness and the urge stupid urge came in. I had to self harm to regulate. And I realized... I need it. Which is lame. But I realize why do I need it. What is it.
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