Friday, 19^th February 2016

Dearest Friend,

I had a horrible nightmare last night. It was pretty awful… The actions and words said in Dublin reappeared, from what happened with my mother; being in the state she was… I’ve tried to be strong and put it behind me, but the nightmare just seemed to erupt more strongly whenever I resisted or tried putting it out of my head.

The only way I could shake the thought off was to wake up, get out of bed and do something to distract myself. My sleep pattern hasn’t been great anyhow, so I always find myself getting up to do something productive until I’m literally exhausted that I fall into bed and have no time to think or dream.

Now I know this isn’t healthy habits, but for the moment it’s what I’ve been doing for urgent calls of distraction. Writing, of course, helps but I’ve been on the lookout for more practical ways of coping, such as going on walks while listening to my music and getting some fresh air.

This is exactly the sort of thing I decided on doing the other night. I walked from where I’m living here in Ballybane to The Claddagh – which is the direction en route to Salthill’s promenade – about a fifty minute walking distance.

And at first it was refreshing to be out in the fresh air and enjoying the quiet on the streets – it wasn’t a terribly late hour along my travels either, about 1:15a.m. by the time I got to my destination – but then the horrible images that appeared in my nightmare began to re-emerge, and from that point I felt sick to my stomach.

I couldn’t handle the striking episode beginning to unfold, in all its horror; reliving those heavy emotions, shouts and tears between Mum and me, and that little voice inside me – so filled with self-loathing – telling me I’m no good and that nobody would care if I dropped dead tomorrow.

Completely untrue, of course, but the thoughts seeped through either way, hitting the core of my being and slicing pieces of my heart out; the way a butcher knife chops raw meat ever so finely…

And worst still, the sequence of my mental episode soon changed to my horrible feelings surrounding the court case of last November, and receiving no real closure for what happened to me.

If anything, how I was approached would nearly want to make you conceal more rather than feel sake in the knowing that your voice is being heard and something can be done about it.

The voice in me said: “Do you really think people care about what happened to you? They all believe you wanted it…and are nothing but a faggot creating trouble… Look at what you’ve done to your family! Your whore of a mother hates you and your dad wants to get on with his own life without the mess you’ve created… Nobody cares, man. Why not just end it, so that you can stop hurting so many people?!”

These were some of the violent thoughts I kept receiving, like little demons poking me with daggers, as I looked beneath me at the deep water along the bay.

I began to sweat and like I was having a high temperature, because I was very tempted to jump right in, just so I could soak in all that cold water.

And at first it was a wonder why I didn’t follow through…but then it became clear to me WHO prevented such a rash course of action. It was my Aunt Deb!

I heard her soft voice in my head, speaking with so much love that the mental changed to a complete intervention from my dear, sweet Auntie.

I could see her with such grace that when she smiled I could see a magnificent glow surround her; it was so beautiful it was almost angelic…

Deb told me not to jump, that it wasn’t my time yet, and that the people of the world needed me more than I could ever imagine. She said she loved me so much and that my sisters need me to be strong, to be their mentor and hope for a better life...

If it’s ever possible to feel emotionally embraced, it was like Deb was holding me, and that feeling was so richly immense – at last I felt loved!

I moved away from the cliff by the water and sat on one of the benches nearby, all the while I’m breathing heavily and full of shame for what I just thought of doing. It was a desperate way to be thinking – a thought of death seemed like a peaceful escape from the hell I’ve been living in…

But it was selfish, too. How could I not have considered the people that would be affected by it?

I know at my most vulnerable state, I wasn’t thinking things through rationally; I most likely was hallucinating at my lowest point.

However crazy the vision seemed, the insight it brought me reminded me of something incredibly important: Who would be there to guide and protect my sisters?

And Cindy. God, right now she is in desperate need of my love and support…

For months now I’ve been avoiding to visit my sisters, out of fear of what low feelings it may bring me. Isn’t that very cowardly? I can’t explain it.

For a time, a part of me just switched off and wasn’t present in mind over all that happened… I completely lost my way!

I’ve felt I wasn’t strong enough, both mentally and emotionally, to handle the blows my sisters (and I) were facing… And it’s strange – that very moment when they really need me I’m nowhere to be seen but when it’s unexpected I turn up… Why is that?

Even when I’m not around, I think about them all the time – Mum, too – that’s the thing. They are always in my thoughts and prayers!

One thing is bothering me, however. And it’s a thought I scream against…but it just seems to echo through no matter how I try to push aside its negativity: Would they all in Sligo be as quick to reach out and comfort ME if the shoe was on the other foot?

I’ve heard very little from the family over the Christmas holidays, and whenever I challenge any of my family members on the matter – usually it’s my grandmothers – the feedback is always bias or distant.

According to them, it’s up to me when I visit or intend on making contact. I can’t be present every weekend but when I volunteer to make an effort, one way or another there is bound to be criticism thrown at me – over my selfishness and laziness, to state a few.

And always this sense of unwelcome leaves me wanting to stay away for a much longer period – not because I want to but because I don’t have any more space in my head for negativity… I am a loving person and filled with care for a lot of my family, but I’m also highly sensitive and in a great need of receiving their love in return.

The funny thing is they would never suspect I’d have these strong feelings, and how would they when their surrounded by so much negativity that it becomes a pattern in their thinking?

But enough of that…

I’m not helping matters by stating the obvious and doing nothing to help. I hope my family know that I would do all that’s in my power to change things and make their way of life any easier if I could, but I haven’t all the answers to such deepened levels of pain and deceit.

For the moment, I can only be their shoulder to cry on or an attentive ear to their hurts and complaints, but will these small signs of effort ever be appreciated?

I’ve said it before but I guess I’m saying it again out of kind acknowledgement: Don’t expect love from people that don’t know how to give it to themselves.

And I suppose that advice also is referred to me – since at times I can be a bit of a basket case, as well as leave my heart on my sleeve on other occasions…

I always seem to act instinctually, depending on the given mood – but never predictably.

Whenever it comes to commitments, I’m not one to be relied on. I always mess up one way or another, because the truth is I don’t know what I really want anymore – and that scares me!

Yours, Jay

"imhurt"'s Dear Diary