Saturday, June 20, 2009

When the trigger is pulled . . .

Seriously though, it's often called having a trigger fire, whatever you wish to call it, the results aren't pleasant.

I was having a fairly productive and positive day. Managed to make it into the mall for another of those amazingly yummy protein smoothies today. One Friday no less. When the mall was full of kids after school. Worse still the store next door was having the launch of a new product with SERIOUS fanfare. I mean sirens, bells, loud speaker, cheering and more. Everytime they sold this new product. Which while I was there was couple times a minute.

Anyway, survived the noise, the everything, even survived getting lost on the way to the bathroom. I only wish I was kidding. Long hallway big enough to drive my care down opens into the veritable plaza of rooms. It was way over the top. Sitting rooms, vending machines, baby changing ROOMS, mall security and all the way in the back, finally, the ladies room. Stalls a plenty which was an amazing thing, but the sings where in a different room. (Eww?) So I'm walking out of the room with the stalls as another woman's coming in and she smiles and says it's like a maze. I smiled back and said "Thank you, then it's not just me!" Found my way to the room to wash up, and then managed to find my way out to the rest of the mall, and back to my car.

So, I figured that accomplished, with me slightly jumpy but otherwise okay I'd head over to the grocery store for some Boar's Head brand cold cuts and some other stuff and I'll be on my way. I sit in the parking lot for a few minutes mediating to ground and center, and then I'm on my way in. Things are going fine when I'm hit with a "Song Remembers When" moment that had me reduced to a sobbing wretch in the store. Pachabell's Canon in D Minor was playing and until it hit the trigger, I hadn't noticed.

This was the music I walked down the isle to way more than ten years ago. That memory was then a cascade trigger for a decade of flashbacks in seconds and I was toast. I mean toast. I'm standing there crying like I've lost my mind, holding on to the cart for dear life, praying the pain would stop and that the music would change or go away or something. So much pain. I heard a voice as from a distance saying "Ma'am are you okay? Ma'am?" while I'm standing there my eyes screwed shut crying like a loon.

Finally it was over and I looked toward the source of the voice and said I'm sorry, this was the song I walked down the isle to, and . . . and . . . I hurt. It was a long time ago and he hurt me so badly before he crawled off and died that I wanted to for a while. I still sometimes get caught in flashbacks. Just give me a minute and I'll be okayish. I'm healing but it takes time. She was nice, we talked for a bit, and then went our own way. I shortened my trip, checked out, and went to the car to compose myself more and come home.

It was just so hard. I haven't had a series of flashbacks like this in a while. Then again I limit my time in stores to the early morning when no one is around and they are quiet to prevent this kind of thing, so it's no wonder I've not had a serious flashback episode in a while.

Wow and I was going to write about Rosie the riviter here. Well the morrow is good enough to get to it I guess. It's a better post, funny even. So I'll get that written tomorrow.

2 comments:

alan said...

Steppenwolf's "Pusher" is one of mine...shared in the days of vinyl by the wife of someone I thought a friend, she looked out for me at a point I wasn't looking out for myself and threatend more than once to "kick my ass" if I did something she knew would "undo" me; one of the only lines in my life I still haven't crossed!

She died at not quite 20, not from the abuse she suffered, but an accident that came from not leaving it; she left a 6 week old daughter behind...

I still have her album and few other mementos, along with wonderful vivid memories across all these ensuing years.

None more heartrending than the phone number of the landlord of the apartment she was looking at as she considered her own escape, written on the back of a recipe card in her little flower covered recipe box!

I'm very grateful that song doesn't get much airplay...

alan

farnel said...

((hug))

Ps: thanks for the lovely comment you left on my blog.