It’s something I’ve felt since as long as I can remember; This deep, dark heaviness sitting in the pit of me and the feeling of never being alone.. sensing someone always watching.
I didn’t realize what it was back then and I still go through the possibilities of where it came from.. past lives, generational trauma, the devil himself..
I grew up in a chaotic, religious home. The oldest of 7 kids with violent fights between our parents almost daily. The stress of running a household and business together got the best of them. Most nights I prayed to god to stop the fighting, to save my soul from hell, or to save me from the things I heard and felt, but couldn’t see. I slept to my favorite radio station on my prized possession, a double speaker, 6 CD changer stereo. It helped drown out the screaming.. and the scratches and growls as I anxiously tried to fall asleep.
Sleep walking might have stemmed from the stress, but I always wondered if it was actually me pulling these crazy stunts in the middle of the night, or could it be demons? Furniture being moved, framed pictures taken from their places and almost hidden.. I once woke up from the sound of my bedside lamp crashing against the wall. I never remembered doing these things or what I was dreaming about to cause such violent reactions. I knew I was an angry kid, but really? Throwing a lamp in my sleep? And I knew my siblings couldn’t be playing a prank on me. I always slept with my door locked. It was the only boundary I had in the full house.
As I grew into my teenage years and even early 20’s I chalked up a chaotic life as a personality trait, bad luck, and still recovering from my childhood. I spent many nights black out drunk in bars, going into work hung over, not holding a steady job, obviously, and in and out of unhealthy, drama filled relationships. The sleep walking continued too. My roommate and friends told me how mean I was when I slept. I would “wake up” yelling at them or even worse, them waking up to me choking them. That deep, dread still sat inside me, festering. Maybe depression? I’ve had suicidal thoughts as long as I can remember. Fighting it off in waves like trying to swat away a swarm of bees that just keeps growing in size.
I had a son at the age of 28 and I swear he saved my life. He gave me purpose. A reason to live and be better for him. I worked hard to become a better person, better mom. I did the best I could with what I knew in each step of this process. Fighting the suicidal thoughts harder each time another wave surfaced. I loved my son and only wanted what’s best for him.
Things got better for a bit with a ton of hard work and hardship. I had another son two years into a relationship. But my son’s father was cheating and left me weeks after finding out the efforts of getting pregnant had succeeded. My long time business partner and dear friend basically kicked me to the curb after my maternity leave, but I bounced back and wanted to prove them all wrong. My sons and the drive to show I was worthy had two businesses of mine booming. I was making more money than I ever could’ve imagined. I was able to support my kids on my own while running two growing businesses. I felt like superwoman and everyone told me so. I was constantly admired as strong and beautiful and courageous.
But I didn’t feel it. The dark pit told me I was an imposter. I had them all fooled. I’m a failure, a fuck up. This was a beautiful life, but it wasn’t meant for me. I wasn’t worthy of it. The only people who truly love me are the two who are biologically programmed to do so. All of the good was only for a moment before it will be taken away.
And then it was. It all came crashing down. The dark engulfed me. Both businesses crashed. I lost everything including two more pregnancies I deeply desired. One to a miscarriage I think due to the overwhelming stress of work. The other to another lying spouse who was cheating and walked out on me again weeks after finding out our attempts to become pregnant succeeded once again. I had a devastating abortion. It pained me terribly to go through with it. I already had a list of names picked out. But I couldn’t go through the same situation twice. Alone in my pregnancy with my second son, dealing with the trauma at the height of Covid didn’t do me any favors. I couldn’t do it again.
Since then, I’ve been fighting the darkness as I try to get my life back on track. My kids are my anchors holding me here. But sometimes my little demon tells me they’re better off without me. He whispers I’ll only hurt them as I’ve hurt myself.. that my life is destined to eventually end in suicide and to come to peace with it.
Sometimes, the thing we’re running from the most is what we’re running directly towards. I know if I let the curse win, it will continue to be passed down as generational trauma. I don’t want that for my boys. I want them to be happy and healthy. But maybe they’re already cursed and it’s already too late and I could spare them just a little by removing myself. I almost feel like Medusa.. cursed to kill everything in her path, including myself. Maybe she was a past life.
The curse. The demon. The past lives. The generational trauma. Maybe all of it is real. I’ll never know, but it doesn’t matter anymore.