I knew this would happen. Make a teensy tiny crack in the egg and pretty soon there are feathers flying in the air. Like in cartoons when a bird gets swallowed. The feathers are evidence.

I’m having flashbacks. I suppose I always have, but I would drink or eat them down. Stuffing, numbing, pushing them down. And because there isn’t much room left down there, they all had to come back up somehow. So it is a never ending cycle of feeling something, numbing the feeling, doing crazy things when numb, purging or being sick/hungover/remorseful, then waking back up to do it all over again. Wheels on the bus go round and round…

Continuing on with the EMDR session. Before we get to the bus accident my ET asks me to describe the pain I’m currently in. I tell her it feels like I have a fist jammed into my left lower back. What color is it? Red. Its almost as though I have fallen from a million miles above, and been impaled by the fist. So my body relies on the fist for balance yet longs to fling itself off. The fist hangs on tight. We do some deep and slow breathing. She asks me to imagine a glass jar. I do, and tell her I’ve placed it by my side on the purple couch. (I don’t want to intentionally get caught under it, like Sylvia Plath’s Bell Jar.) The glass jar is where I am supposed to place my pain. I ask it to sit quietly beside me (with inside voice) and let her know when I’ve done so.

I think she expected my pain to magically be gone. Ha! I expect to be writing her more checks than one! She asks how my pain is now and I say the fist is fine, right in it’s place. She makes a remark that the pain must have a real source then. Something like that. I giggle inside, because I really wish that I was making it up. It’s all in your mind, baby.

She asks me to take her back to the accident. July 7, 2009. Around 7PM. Michael Jackson’s funeral day. It’s a sunny  and warm summer night. It is a Tuesday. I am on my way home from the graphic designer’s office. We’ve just created my new logo. I’m enrolled in personal training school and working full-time. Planning on starting a business. I stop and put my left turn signal on, so I can pull into a 7/11 parking lot. I see a bus on the opposite side of traffic. He’s stopped. Passengers are still coming off the bus. I see a father and three little ones walking hand in hand. Father stops and puts his arm out to halt the children. I smile and wave them on, so they can cross the driveway. I blow them a kiss. Smiling.

I remember so clearly having this thought. “Thank God I’m a slow and careful driver.”

The bus is still stopped, now passengers are getting on it. I make my left, basically coasting into the driveway. I’m in no rush. The bus is stopped and there is no on-coming traffic.

WHAM. T-Boned on the back passenger side of my car.  Are you serious? I’ve been hit by a bus!

Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. He hit me. Did he not see me? Oh my God. If I hadn’t been pulling into the 7/11 to buy wine this would have never happened. I pull my car into the parking lot. Oh my God. The lot attendant comes to help me. “He hit you” he says and I am freaking out. I call my boyfriend. He is being an asshole and can’t be bothered. Oh my God. What have I done? I climb on the bus and start writing down everything I can. The bus driver was ready to bolt. I won’t budge. I say “Didn’t you see me?” He realizes I am not leaving. I take every piece of information down that I can. The people on the bus are pissed and glaring at me. The driver realizes he can’t just continue on his merry route and calls his supervisors to report it.

Now, there is a big huge (round) man who is inspecting his bike which was connected to the front of the bus. He’s waddling. I hear him say. “My bike, my bike. You broke it. What will I do now? How will I get home”  What do you mean, asshole, you were taking the bus home. I am speechless. I take down his name and number. No idea this guy would later sue ME for  not only the bike, but for injuries! Hello. Bus vs. tiny cheap ass Toyota Echo. The parking lot angel tells me “Don’t talk to him. He said he was fine and now he’s complaining about his bike.”

Oh my God. What have I done? All of these people are mad at me. The bus supervisors arrive. They are so sweet. I tell them about Bike Man. They roll their eyes. They must see this sort of thing all the time. I am naive of this world. Pictures are taken. Reports written. And I am heading home. I’m shaking. Am I hurt? I can’t tell. I’m in shock. I go into burning woman auto pilot mode. Every neuron is firing. Oh my God. Calling my insurance, calling my parents, calling my graphic designer. You’ll never believe what I DID

It’s 9-something at night. I venture out into the night. I need that bottle of wine.


The Cockroach

Copyright © 2018 Kissing The Cockroach All Rights Reserved.

~ by Kissing The Cockroach® on February 26, 2012.

3 Responses to “Flashbacks”

  1. I’m glad you’re okay.

  2. […] was the bus accident and the subsequent physical injuries that brought me here. Oddly enough, physical pain has the […]

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