Not in Rome, 1:42 AM
The sight of this statue in Maastricht has recently awakened a dormant, ugly memory from the past I buried deep, cemented in my hard skull. It reignited an unresolved issue I apparently never processed and gotten over after all these years. It might be one of those so-called childhood traumas (for the lack of better term), though I'm no expert to call the diagnosis so let's call it a bad memory from the past and leave it at that. The thing is, it triggered my having nightmares for about 4 months now (including one I just had a while ago) in addition to having a really shitty sleeping pattern these days which heavily affects my mental and physical state. This, and a lot other unnecessary & futile stuff on my plate during the past months have pushed me to shut everything out in exchange for some peace of mind. But there were some that are just beyond control – unwanted thoughts flooding up my mind – warranting this not so #StoryTime to expound on it a little.
I once had a dog when I was around 10 – treated her more than just a pet. She was a family, heck I gave her a name. She used to be my steadfast source of comfort by showing me the real meaning of loyalty which gotten me through depression even before I actually learned what that unpleasant concept is called. It was a tolerable time to be alive despite my un-acknowledged struggles, invalidated feelings, and unsupported needs, knowing that I was unconditionally loved somehow, all prejudice aside. Not until the day I lost her over a stupid cause when some stupid people sealed her fate ending her life, with some stupid superstition as their sorry excuse. I was consumed by the hate and guilt I felt for not saving that helpless, fragile, little life I swore to protect and vowed to love. It easily was the first heartbreak I never truly recovered from. It also marked my frist attempt at running away.
Her death left me with a huge wound that never healed; shifted my perspective big time, damaged my core beyond repair, and forced me to commit hypothetical crimes. The pain pushed me to cross the bridge to hell, cursing and killing the perpetrators over and over in my head. I ended up plotting a revenge scheme as a minimum consolation. For that, I'd probably go to hell.
I guess time could never really heal the hurt or anger or grief or whatever this pain is, to cease or subside. If anything, all the negativity have accumulated over the years, ready to explode anytime. To be fair, I tried to move on, started by vowing to once-and-for-all leave that place & those stupid people overrated-ly called family. It took me a great deal of energy to make it happen; I successfully got out a few years later. More years passed, but forgiveness was still not an option. I guess I'll continue paying the price for keeping this my roman empire for more years to come, so fck meee.
