CHAPTER 2: REMINISCENT

The garage to my house has always been a mess. There’s not a single time I remember it being organized for garage-y type things — only ever my father’s car parts he got from the junkyard (he was an auto dealer for a while). As a kid, I wondered a lot about what the garage was really supposed to be used for. Piles of random things (some that make sense, most that don’t) that I would sift through. I’d go through these items until my nostrils had enough of the garbage wafting over from the corner that my mom would have to throw out because let’s be real, my dad couldn’t be bothered.

One of the earliest memories that I can remember with my dad — before our now conversations that consist of mostly just a head nod as we pass each other in the hallways, is at Walmart when I was about 8 years old. It was when I had just started having panic attacks out of what seemed like nowhere (it wasn’t out of nowhere boo, it was all for valid reasons!!) and I had my eye on two blue and black Converse branded hoodies. I can’t remember the pricing of them and let’s be real my 8 year old brain wouldn’t have been able to judge appropriately what monetary value meant yet anyway, but what I can remember is my dad’s voice. He told me “Love, we’ll get them for you. You look so happy.” They were my favourite sweaters for years. My mom would laugh every time I’d choose to wear it to family functions over and over again, I would not let them go.

I can’t quite remember when things that I never wanted to see started to happen around me, I want to say it was nine years old. Things were broken often when I was asleep, in the room, at school, or really anywhere. I found refuge in the pieces of things I’d find after the fact. I know they say he wasn’t necessarily “him” when he created this unsafe environment at home, and at this point in my life now I don’t know whether I would blame it on his addiction or his mental unwellness or just plain blame it on him, but I know that I still feel it when I walk into a room of people. My natural being is to cower at any rapid movement made around me and to make myself as small as I can. I expect that others are going to reject me before I even give them a chance to meet me first. It kills me to think about making someone mad and giving them a chance to get up and leave me for it. I feel unworthy no matter what I do.

I’m now fixing a nine year old broken heart with sour key gummy candies, stuffies, toys, and the Ice Age movies. I’m fixing it with genuine, gentle, and unconditional love. It’s hard to reparent yourself as an adult, it feels like regression at times. But, who says that’s a bad thing? I feel as though it’s a blessing. I get to live and nurture myself in ways now that I never could before. In ways I never thought I could catch up with again. But my darling here’s a reminder from me, that you create your own reality. Every single moment. You deserve your life to be a peaceful place to be. Your brilliance is and always will be original. Every single one of us has a one of a kind story. Do not dim your light. It will be your lantern.

Much like my home’s garage, my mind can get cluttered with a lot of things that a lot of the time don’t make sense to me either. A note to self in the future is: how can you be hard on yourself for not having things together when all you’ve ever been around or exposed to is of a chaotic nature?

Well, I’ve existed like a hurricane for at least two decades now. I guess it just means I have some extra practice in me for the years to come!