Flashbacks On Paper

[Nebulustrix]

Writing has always been very cathartic for me and has been one of the main tools utilized with my therapist, so I plan to use this trauma diary as a place to recount traumatic situations that have found themselves stuck in my mind - the flashbacks that keep playing over and over in my mind. Hopefully, putting them on "paper" will loosen them from the mold and lessen the distress.

Currently on my mind is the following experience:

We sat down for a game of poker. I had only ever played 5-card-draw, and that was just for the fun in a high-school cafeteria years ago. No money, betting, or gambling involved. He was very familiar with several versions of poker and the rules for betting. He had the chips, I had the cards, and we were ready for a good time.

Once I understood the rules, he stepped into his competitive mode and started slaughtering me. I didn't mind- I wasn't competitive and was just enjoying the experience, but he was disappointed that I wasn't giving it more effort. He started pushing me to try harder and started offering advice on how to pick cards that I'd have better chances getting a good set with.

He told me that numbers were more likely to be drawn than face cards and I should focus on keeping those. That did make much sense to me. How could one card be more likely to get drawn than another. Either way the odds were 1 out of 52. So, statistically, his advice made no sense. I told him he wasn't making sense, explained where I was coming from, and how, statistically, the likelihood of drawing any card was the same - not different.

He kept reiterating the same thing over and over, making no alteration to his method of explanation and causing me to become more and more exasperated. Then, instead of attempting to explain further, he started belittling my education - stating that my college statistics course meant nothing and he learned more about statistics playing poker than I had learned in my class, that professors were just arrogant and useless, and my college class was a waste of money.

This was flustering, depressing, self-depreciating, and just made it harder to concentrate and make sense of what he was trying to explain. Finally, he resorted to using an example, and in that example I realized that he meant a GROUP of number cards were more likely to be drawn than a GROUP of face cards. This DID make sense, because there are 40 number cards and 12 face cards in a deck. This changed the odds from 1 out of 52 for all cards to 40 out of 52 for numbers and 12 out of 52 for face.

I then lit up with excitement at my new-found understanding and attempted to explain to him in return how my statistical knowledge from my college class pertained to his example and that we were both correct and had just been mis-communicating. He insisted that this was not the case, that the two ways of viewing the information were entirely different and not compatible, that he was right and I was wrong. When I wouldn't just accept that as a fact, he became angry.

When he became angry, his demeanor changed. At this point in the relationship, my confidence had not yet been shot enough for me to react to that change. I saw the alteration in his expression, his eyes, his body tension, and thought nothing of it other than that he was reacting immaturely. I continued to attempt my explanation, wanting to provide an equal exchange for the understanding of poker he'd given me, but he wasn't having it. He just wanted me to acknowledge that he was right and I was wrong, and I wasn't doing that.

He snatched up a handful of my playing cards and tore them in half, then knocked the desk we were playing on over onto it's side, scattering everything everywhere, and bumping me with the desk. Under normal circumstances, the bump would have been a minor thing, but I was going on 7 months pregnant, and that little bump felt more like an enormous lurch. It had me helpless on the ground and suddenly distraught with fear.

He loomed over me, rage coursing through him, and flame in his eyes. He didn't seem to notice or care that I was hurting and terrified, as he ranted out his anger. My memory goes blank at this point, and it picks back up where his anger had run its course. I don't remember what was said or if he hurt me more before he calmed down, but I remember after he claimed that he'd known from the beginning about our mis-communication and had been purposely reiterating his point the same way over and over without listening to me as a lesson. He'd meant to teach me through example what it felt like to be ignored and not listened to, because - he claimed - I always did the same to him.

I could not remember any times I had failed so immensely in listening to him, but all the spark in me was gone and I just agreed with everything he wanted me to agree with. I, I repeat, I apologized to HIM for MY behavior. But the hurt that he felt the need to treat me like a child with such a harsh lesson was fresh in my mind even as I apologized. More than anything, this seemed to hurt the worst, because it was evidence that he didn't see me as an equal. Instead, he saw me as a lesser, someone he needed to teach and train.

Add to that hurt his blatant destruction of my property, his disregard for my safety and disinterest in my emotional and physical well being - all just to make a point and put one over on me.

 

[Flyaway]

What a D**KHEAD!!! Pease tell me he is no longer in your life!

By the way, I really love your writing style- you're very talented! Have you considered writing a book?

 

[Nebulustrix]

Fly - He is no longer in my life. I left him when our child was 5 months old - at the time only in the interest of the baby. My own self-esteem was so shot I didn't care about my own life which he'd threatened on several occassions, but my protective motherly instincts would not allow him to hurt the baby. It's been 4 years since he was in my life.

As to the writing style - I AM writing a book. :) And I plan to attempt publishing it. It's not about this - it is a fantasy novel, but I might at some point use some of these flashbacks and other information to write a book about my experience too.

 

[Flyaway]

I'm so happy to hear that!!! Both bits of news!!! I'm so glad you had a child, and found the courage to leave!

Please keep me updated about the book! I've started writing one too- but it's not fictional... It's basically a guide book for parents to become more aware of ways in which they can protect children from pedophiles, and teach their children healthy, protective behaviours.

You never know, you could be the next J. k. Rowling! :)

 

[Nebulustrix]

Second flashback on my mind - This particular event resurfaces in my thoughts often. It was ultimately the trauma that pushed me over the edge and turned my relationship from something I was willing to work on, to a snare of terror and hopelessness. This is the event that drove me to depression, suicidal thoughts, and obliterated any sense of self-worth I'd managed to maintain. There is another pivotal memory where I switched from hopeless depression, to an anxious need for escape - a desire to survive, but that is for another entry. This is also the first event I worked through with my therapist, as most of my PTSD triggers were taking me back to this moment. The fact that it keeps coming back makes me wonder if there are still things I need to resolve here, or maybe it is just something that will never stop bothering me. I don't react too adversely to the memory anymore, though it does sometimes keep me from sleeping.

I was almost full term in my pregnancy, standing uncomfortably at the sink to clean dishes that had been piling up there for at least a month. We had no dishwasher, and washing the dishes at the sink had become a strain for me once I'd made it about 6 months into the pregnancy, and an equal strain for him - or so he claimed - due to a back injury.

He was in the bathroom just down the hall taking a shower, when I heard him suddenly spit out a curse. I immediately tensed, uncertain why he'd become angry and my body instinctively driving me into fight or flight mode the moment I'd heard his tone. I heard him throw something that snapped against the bathroom wall, and he shouted out to me that he'd stepped on my razor again because it had slipped from the edge of the tub where I'd put it, and he was pissed with me because he'd told me to put it somewhere else.

Before I could think through my response, I defensively shouted back at him that the cap was on the razor so he was fine and I'd put it there because I'd kept forgetting to shave and needed it where I'd see it when I was in the shower to remind me. There was silence then until he finished his shower, and then still dripping wet and wrapped in a towel, he stormed over to me and just loomed in the doorway of the kitchen glaring at me with those rage-filled eyes that terrified me so.

I always go back to those eyes in my memories, the intensity of their gaze so vivid and final. They are eyes that reflect an irreversible change and unavoidable pain. When his eyes burned like that, part of me believed I was peering into the gaze of a demon and not my husband, that he'd been possessed and the husband I loved was no longer there. My husband loved me and could be reasoned with, but there was no sating this demon - all he cared about was pain.

I avoided meeting that gaze and continued to wash the dishes with him standing there staring at me. Though I did not make eye contact, I could not avoid the heat of his glare searing into my back, nor the caged feeling his presence in the doorway instilled in me. I was trapped. There was no escape. It didn't matter what I did or said, he had me blocked into a corner and I wasn't leaving until he decided he was done with me. Something about that finality made me angry instead of scared, so I lashed out the only way I knew how. I ignored him.

He demanded I offer him an apology for my lack of sympathy, and I continued to ignore him. My feelings now a mixture of fear and anger, I could not bring myself to say anything, unwilling to apologize, unwilling to meet his eyes, unwilling to acknowledge his presence or his rage. I knew it didn't matter what I said or did, pain was unavoidable, so I refused to sate him.

He shoved me into the sink, restrained me, and yelled at me. Instincts kicked in, and I attempted to escape his hold. I kicked his knee and slipped out of his grip, but could not get past him out of the kitchen. He walked in further, still blocking my way out and pushing me into the corner. He then dug into the kitchen drawer and drew out a large steak knife - a demonic gleam in his eye and his rage beyond anything I'd ever seen before.

I melted in that corner, for the first time fearful not just of pain, but for my very life. With a stark sense of finality I knew I might die then and there, and it wouldn't be quick - it would be slow and painful. And not only would my life be lost, but that of the baby inside me. I had this sudden image flash in my mind of him cutting the baby from me, blood gushing everywhere. Terror hit so hard, I could do nothing but weep - loudly and uncontrollably, my cries near screams, and I lost all control of my bladder, soaking myself in my own urine.

I guess the sight of me in such terror was enough to bring my husband back into those eyes. The rage diminished and he put down the knife and tried to reach out to me to console me, but I slapped his hand away and shoved myself further away from him into the corner. I don't remember how I managed to get calm - I just remember that stark, vivid, instinctive, horrific terror. I was helpless, hopeless - my life completely in the hands of an uncaring demon, and there was no escape.

 

[Flyaway]

I always go back to those eyes in my memories, the intensity of their gaze so vivid and final. They are eyes that reflect an irreversible change and unavoidable pain. When his eyes burned like that, part of me believed I was peering into the gaze of a demon and not my husband, that he'd been possessed and the husband I loved was no longer there. My husband loved me and could be reasoned with, but there was no sating this demon - all he cared about was pain.

This is a great description- I know this so well!!! K (bio dad) always had a cold look in his eyes, but when he got violent (physically or sexually) ...it was like his countenance would change, and looking back at me was just pure evil. It was terrifying!!!

I have had to beg him for my life... I look back now and am confused that he didn't kill me. I tell myself that God intervened - it's the only thing that makes sense to me. The only way I can explain his sudden personality change... It was out of character for him to feel mercy in that state. In fact, I wonder if he ever did feel anything 'good' or if his 'good' responses were just an act to manipulate and make me vulnerable.

I'm so glad you've left him!!! The thought of that creep attacking you, let alone when you were pregnant!?! is just sickening!!! :sick: ...I really admire your strength! :)

 

[Nebulustrix]

Flyaway - I used to wonder why it was his eyes that bothered me so much more than anything else - even more than the terror of being threatened with a knife, or choked, or beaten, etc. But I think it's because the eyes are the image that links me back to all that pain and suffering. There was never an instance where the rage filled his eyes that I was able to avoid being hurt. It was an inevitable result. So the sight of anger in his eyes was what triggered my "fight or flight" response and brought the terror of anticipation, and the fear of guessing when the pain would stop, how intense it would be, and if maybe... this time... it would be worse than all the other times, unbearable, crippling,or wasn't going to stop until I was dead.

Another flashback on the brain:

I remember very little of the actual details of this event, just the outline. This is the case with nearly every traumatic moment after the knife-threat, as my emotional response to his anger went into overdrive. I remember the feelings more than anything else - the terror.

I was changing the baby's diaper and he was mad. It wasn't rage-level mad, but I was already tense with the terror, expecting his rage and expecting pain. I don't remember why he was mad, I don't remember what was said. But he was standing behind me, and I do remember that he said something insulting.

I turned over my shoulder, tossed the soiled diaper in his general direction, and shouted something at him in instinctive self-defense, lashing out at his insult.

I felt something thump the back of my head, and thought he had hit me, flashing back to other instances where he had hit me in the back of the head and then proceeded to beat me into the ground. In actuality, he had simply tossed the diaper back at me, not meaning to hit me in the head. It is possible this particular instance could have been resolved without him hitting rage-level, but that thump, and that flashback threw me past reason.

I leapt up at him and started laying punches into his chest and stomach, screaming "how dare he hit me". He took maybe two seconds to try and hold me back and calm me down, then I saw brief flash of rage in his eyes, and he punched me in the face hard enough to knock me back to the floor, bloody my nose, and chip my front tooth. I landed right next to the baby, and he started crying.

I was in shock then, and he was already past rage - apologizing to me and trying to help me up. The terror was past and I was just drained and depressed and concerned about the baby. I didn't want him touching me or the baby. I pushed him away, took care of my bloodied nose, and didn't even let him know that he'd chipped my tooth as well.

Too depressed and tired to fight it out any more, I just agreed with whatever it was he'd been angry about, apologized for the "danger" I'd put him in by throwing a soiled diaper at him, and apologized for the terror and pain I'd caused him to feel when I'd started punching him, all at his insistence. That was when he insisted that we needed to get outside help, because I had become abusive.

 

[Flyaway]

I remember those days... wondering when I woke up if I would live through the day. Thank god we have moved on from them... DAMN THEM for destroying so much good in our lives!!!

I was talking to my therapist today about a sick twisted game my much older brother would play. I would be crying because he was sexually assulting me and telling him to please stop... and he would dismiss the tears telling me that its my fault it hurts - if i would just 'relax' it wouldnt hurt. My therapist labelled it as torture... thats exactly what it was!

They tortured us. I think the closest thing to justice I will get is fighting for other children who dont have anyone to fight for or protect them (doing teaching degree). I have no doubt that one day when your daughter understands what you went through for both your and her freedom, you will be her hero!

I guess we just need to keep coming here, and keep shaking off the chains that stop us from moving forward :)

 

[Nebulustrix]

I'm so sorry you had to go through that! My ex did the same with me, though I wouldn't call what he did molestation. I was willing, or at least willing enough that I wasn't resisting, but it was my first. I was a virgin before him, and my first time HURT. It made me a bit afraid of doing it again, but he talked to me and coerced me and coaxed me, and one of the things he told me was that if I would just relax it wouldn't hurt. He even gave me one of his pills (a prescription hallucinogenic pain med- can't remember what it was called) to get me to loosen up and relax, after about three more attempts with it still hurting immensely.

I never even considered that part of my abuse, but it reminds me that even at the beginning of my relationship he showed signs of being unwilling to listen to my concerns or pay much attention to how I felt. His needs/wants were more important than taking things at a pace that would be more comfortable for me. His pace was the right pace, and if I couldn't match it, it was my own fault (because I wouldn't relax), so he had to find a way around it to MAKE me relax, so I could meet his needs.

I don't really feel the anger towards him though. I think there are certainly many abusers out there worthy of wrath, but I can't bring myself to feel such toward my ex. I know he was abused as a child - his mother neglected and abandoned him because he was the result of a rape, and when she was there for him she was going through different relationships with other abusive men, some of which abused the kids along with her. And by age eight he was put into foster care and got involved in a gang. He was very mentally unstable- had schizophrenia- and wasn't taking his medication. And he never learned a healthy way to deal with his anger because he went into wrestling for a career- which he had to step down from due to an injury shortly after we started dating.

Of course, I didn't know much of any of this going into the relationship. I uncovered it bit by bit throughout the relationship and after. Mostly, I just feel sad and sorry for him, and wish there was more I could have done to support him and help him fight his own demons. I certainly do not excuse his behavior and treatment of me- it was wrong and he knew it was wrong. He wanted to be a better person but he had no good example to follow and did not have the necessary motivation to be proactive about his shortcomings. I grieve for our relationship, because there is a part of me that still loves him, but what he put me through was unbearable and too dangerous to raise a child in. My commitment to giving my son a healthy home was more important than my commitment to him.

I do still feel attached, and I keep tabs on him- partially to alleviate any fears I have that he may try to hunt me down, and partially because I hold on to the hope that he will find the help he needs, to heal and become a better person. I am absolutely terrified of the man and think I would have a mental breakdown if I ever saw him again, but I still love him and want him to be able to find happiness. I wasn't victimized by someone who completely and totally took advantage of me with no regard for my well-being. I was victimized by someone who was himself a victim unable to work through his inner struggles without lashing out at those close to him.

 

[Nebulustrix]

Instead of posting another flashback, right now I'd like to work on a little processing for the sections quoted below:

I could not remember any times I had failed so immensely in listening to him, but all the spark in me was gone and I just agreed with everything he wanted me to agree with. I, I repeat, I apologized to HIM for MY behavior. But the hurt that he felt the need to treat me like a child with such a harsh lesson was fresh in my mind even as I apologized. More than anything, this seemed to hurt the worst, because it was evidence that he didn't see me as an equal. Instead, he saw me as a lesser, someone he needed to teach and train.

Add to that hurt his blatant destruction of my property, his disregard for my safety and disinterest in my emotional and physical well being - all just to make a point and put one over on me.

Too depressed and tired to fight it out any more, I just agreed with whatever it was he'd been angry about, apologized for the "danger" I'd put him in by throwing a soiled diaper at him, and apologized for the terror and pain I'd caused him to feel when I'd started punching him, all at his insistence. That was when he insisted that we needed to get outside help, because I had become abusive.

These two quotes go together, as they are tied to my feelings of anger and resentment. I know I mentioned in my last post that I haven't really felt much anger toward my ex. That is true in that I feel no rage or hate, no desire to "get back at him" or for him to experience any repercussions for what he did to me. However, reading through these quotes and examining my feelings, there is anger there.

I am angry at the injustice of his expectations and manipulative tactics - His inability to accept that he ever did anything wrong and how he always twisted things so that I was the one who had been wrong. Always, after our fights, he found ways to make it seem that it was my fault we'd fought, and he had to elicit an apology out of me before he would apologize for anything, if he apologized at all.

In the beginning, I was strong and patient. I believed in the adage "It takes two to fight", and I refused to argue with him. I remained calm and collected and rational while he was raging over something, and I stood my ground. However, my confidence in myself began to waiver when my solidity meant he started hurting me. I remained passive and "took it" without fighting back, but I started caving to his whims, and part of this caving included apologizing to him even when I had done nothing wrong.

It still angers and aggravates me that I was expected to apologize after experiencing something so traumatic. It tears me up inside that he treated what he'd done to me like it was nothing, while claiming that my actions had been so erroneously wrong that they'd caused him to experience trauma. It angers me that he was only willing to seek outside help when he thought I had become abusive, and the only time I'd ever physically hurt him had been when I stopped passively accepting his abuse and started fighting back to defend myself. As if I was not even allowed to defend myself!

What was I supposed to do?! Continue accepting his abuse until he'd killed me?! Commit suicide to avoid the pain and suffering?! I know I'd considered that option many times in the last few months of the relationship. I was experiencing postpartum depression on top of the PTSD I'd developed, and there had been several times I'd thought the only way I'd ever escape the pain would be to jump out the window or overdose on some pills, but I could never bring myself to do it - not out of fear or concern for myself, as I'd become too depressed to care about my own welfare- but out of fear and concern for our baby.

I think there is a part of me that is still convinced passivism was the correct course, and this is why it bothers me so immensely. Part of me questions whether I really was in the wrong to defend myself. I started fighting back when I was so terrified and broken, so distraught from the trauma and pain, that I could no longer think rationally when he became angry. I could not maintain my calm any longer. I could not maintain my stoic resolve in the face of his whirlwind of rage.

I rationalize and tell myself that it was my motherly protective instincts kicking in, that I started fighting back because my hormones worked a change in me- a desire to defend the growing baby in my womb. While I could passively take him hurting me, I couldn't allow him to hurt the baby. But if this was really the reason, then after the baby was born I would have been able to continue taking his abuse of me passively, and I could not. In fact, I started lashing out at him when there was only a hint of anger, before he ever hurt me, because I was so fearful of what he would do to me. Fear guided my actions completely, and my "fight or flight" instinct had been kicked into overdrive.

I find myself wondering if the Lord will frown upon my self-defense. There is this war within myself, this uncertainty- one side absolutely certain that it was OK and right to defend myself, and that the Lord would never expect me to take such suffering without fighting back, and the other side convinced that I was wrong and that instead of fighting back I should have just continued to take it passively. Or, if I couldn't take it - to leave.

It still hurts so much- this uncertainty, this wondering... I am so angry with my ex for causing me to feel this way - because the source of my turmoil was his refusal to treat my self-defense for what it was, his requirement that I apologize to him after he'd hurt and traumatized me - even in situations where I had taken his abuse without fighting back.

 

[Nebulustrix]

There is a slide show of events that has been coursing through my brain during every "quiet" moment of the past couple weeks. It is not enough to piece together into a coherent flash back, but it leaves me edgy, tense, irritable, and even occasionally flinching at brief flashes of images that play themselves across my subconscious.

Through this slide show, I see little snippets of those moments when the rage took my husband from me and replaced him with a deamon....

I'm being held from behind, his arm wrapped around my neck, choking me, and I kick back at his knee cap to try and loosen his grip so I can escape. Instead he roars at me and his grip tightens, he lifts me slightly off the ground and hits me in the back of the head.

He has me pinned down on the couch, both hands around my neck, again choking me, and I'm desperately trying to struggle out from under him, unable to maneuver my legs to kick him off. Instead, I reach up to his face and dig my nails into his cheeks, leaving deep gouges, until he lets go to pull my arms away from his face.

I'm backed into a corner and he's threatening to hit me with a bat, a bat I had attempted to take away from him as I'd been blocking his way out the door. He'd become angry with the children from our apartment building, because they'd thrown a ball at our window and said he was going to go out there and beat the shit out of them. I had been pleading with him not to, tried to prevent him going outside, tried to convince him to calm down, and he pulled me out of the way and held the bat threateningly over me, and I was convinced he was going to beat me instead.

He's pinned me to the bed, choking me again, only this time I'm not fighting back. I'm welcoming the encroaching darkness and hoping that this time he'll keep choking until I black out. Maybe then it will all end.

I've been knocked down the the ground after a blow to the head, and now he's pounding into my back.

He has the cord of the vacuum cleaner wrapped around his own neck, threatening to choke himself because I won't do what he wants. I'm not concerned, and tell him so, because I know the pressure will let up the moment he passes out - he can't kill himself by strangling himself. He responds by punching me in the face, knocking me backwards.

It's the first time he's hurt me - I'm not scared, really just a little irritated with his immaturity, his getting so angry and not communicating reasonably. I'm not giving in to his irrational desires and he throws me into the wall, my head and side hitting hard enough to leave dents and I black out for a split second, sliding to the floor.

He's trying to cage me in, force me into a corner. I slip around him, but he grabs me by the hair, and when he lets go I fall forward, hitting my head against the doorknob. I don't even realize that the blow has left a gash on my forehead, bleeding, now a permanent scar. I bolt out the door, sock-footed on a cold rainy night and run until I reach the empty covered entry hall of a school building, and I curl up into a ball, shivering and waiting. Hoping nobody finds me there and that I can hold out long enough that when I come back to the apartment he'll be too concerned about me to be angry.

These images play through my mind, over and over again. The more they course through my brain, the more tense I get, expecting those around me to raise their voices in anger. Expecting to hear his angry voice. His angry, rage-filled, fiery eyes super-imposed over everything I see.

 

[Nebulustrix]

Currently experiencing a flashback that is making it a little hard to focus right now - Trying to slow my breathing and concentrate so I can get it on paper and hopefully out of my system. Chest tight, dizzy, short of breath, panicky, vision cutting in and out...

I've flashed back to this particular scene before without it bothering me so much, but at this moment, it seems like all the emotions associated with the moment are flooding through my system. It's brief - I'm being held from behind, his arm wrapped around my neck and cutting off my airflow, suffocating me. Pause. Breathe deep. Can feel the pressure of his arm around my neck now - but I know it's not there. I can breathe now. Just need to keep calm, keep typing. I'm here - I'm now...

I took self-defense and judo before meeting my ex. The self-defense class was to help me feel more comfortable living in a big city. It helped build my confidence so much - I'd never felt as confident as I did after taking that class. The inner strength it brought me encouraged me to pursue other martial arts and I took to judo like a drug. I loved it. I joined the judo club and I practiced regularly. I was happy, I was fit, I knew I could defend myself and could handle an average attacker any time.

Then my relationship started going sour - he started becoming violent. I never defended myself, because I couldn't bring myself to hurt him back. I couldn't follow through on any of the techniques I'd practiced because I didn't want to break bones. But right then, my airway being cut-off, terror coursing through my system, I knew I had to defend myself.

I kicked in his knee-cap with the greatest force I could muster, enough strength behind it that he should have buckled and loosened his grip on my neck. But I'd underestimated his ability to handle pain, and his reaction to someone fighting back. He was, after all, a professional wrestler. He'd forgotten more about fighting than I'd learned in my short time in judo.

My attempts to defend myself were utterly useless and only made my situation worse. I was helpless in his grip. Nothing I tried worked. I couldn't escape him, couldn't hurt him enough to make him lose his concentration. Instead, the pain I brought him with my feeble attempts only enraged him further, and instead of dealing with the mere-really almost blissful- pain of suffocation, he beat me.

My confidence was shattered. I feel it now - I'm weak, helpless, small, useless. It doesn't matter what I know - It's not enough. It'd be better to just cave, to give up, to not even try. There'd be less pain to suffer if I didn't struggle.

I'm starting to come out of it... Typing has helped me focus on the here and now - separate the memory from reality, but the emotions are lingering. Think I'm going to cry myself to sleep now...