Therapy session: what do I want?

Trigger 2

I think I know why I like my dishes to match. Never really thought about it till now. As the triggers continue to show its face, it also shows me that I have been crying for help for quite some time. Then again, I do remember a time in my life. I think it was in the early 2000s. I lived in Bloomington, California. I remember driving. ( I love to drive around and listen to music. It helps me think or maybe unwind.) I knew there was something wrong with me. I felt so out of place. I didn’t have any emotions. Like, I was numb. I didn’t know how to feel or react to certain situations. That caused people to think I was this cold blooded b*tch. To this day, I can sometimes feel numb and tell myself that I should be feeling something.
Anyhow, I was driving along the road - I forgot which street it was - but I remember thinking that I should drive to the hospital and check myself in. I knew I had to fix something in me, in order to be “normal”. Here's the thing, at the time, I really did not know what I wanted to get help for. I felt numb and so out of place. Like I needed to be somewhere else, but where? I don’t know.
I never did go to the hospital that day because I told myself I was being silly.
I digress.
So, about the beast. He had this issue with his attitude. He did not know how to have a conversation without screaming. That was all he did. In fact, I could tell when my mom was dreading to speak with him because she knew that if it was something that did not please him, it would cause an explosion. The funny thing is that it didn’t have to be a conversation. If something was not at his leisure, he would flip out. I remember there was a time where my mom had made food, tacos, so good, and he came home angry or irritated about something. I could feel the tension in the air, the silence, as she brought him his food and put the plate on the table. I remember that she had walked away and went to her room. I don’t know why I was following her to her room, or maybe I was going into my room. Our rooms were across from each other and the bathroom was in the middle of both rooms. I remember hearing shoveling and then, boom! The dish flew across the hallway and the plate crashed and broke into pieces on the bathroom door! Taco shells, meat and lettuce falling to the ground. He then continued to throw other things. After he was done with his stupid tantrum, he went into the room with my mom, slammed the door and that is when the shouting began. I was in shock and shaking all at the same time. Later I thought: “That was the last dish that matched with the original dish set.” We never had any dishes that matched. Maybe I am overreacting because I am sure that was not the only reason why we never had matching plates. We were also rather broke. But the beast had done this several times. I don’t know if what my mom told me later was true or if it was just a joke, in order to calm the situation. But she had told me the reason why he was upset was because there was not enough filling in the tacos and he was starving. Really? All that drama? Talk about telling your wife that you are not interested in eating her food. There are other ways, you ass!
Now, as I am older, I try to have a unified kitchen, dishes matching, as well as the silverware. Maybe it’s not a big deal but for some odd reason, this stuck to me. I think the other reason why I keep looking over my shoulder- when confrontations occur- is because the beast was truly unpredictable.
The other thing I remember was being in my room with the door open and they were having a heated argument. Their bedroom door was also open. I remember just sitting at the edge of my bed, waiting. Just waiting to see what was going to happen next. Then I hear my mom cry out for help. By the sound of her constrictive voice, I knew the beast had his hands around her throat. I remember running down the hallway, searching for the phone. I felt him coming right behind me. He was trying to stop me. I could feel his presence close to me, almost reaching towards me, to grab me. I think he was able to take the phone away from me ( things were going so fast that I miss some memory) and tore it off the wall. The good thing was that the beast feared the law because he was an illegal immigrant. (Until they got married. Sheesh!) The fight was over after that. Later on that night I was in my room and my mom came in with tears in her eyes. With bitterness in her voice she says to me: “Thanks for nothing! He could have killed me and you did nothing!”
I was in shock and hurt and stood quiet. Did she not see that I tried to help? I had a beast behind me and I tried to reach for the phone. I really did but he got to it and tore it off the wall. And somehow I did nothing to prevent him from hurting her? What was I supposed to do? I was there but I guess I was not strong enough. I don’t know. That man had done so much damage to my mom that when we talk about it to this day, she has blocked so many things. Why couldn’t I? Gosh, this hurts just rethinking this. Opening a door that I wanted to forget. It is so much easier when it is left in the dark. But I know that I must talk about it if I want to fix these triggers that keep arising. I want to feel strong and be in control of my emotions. So that I wont feel so weak or scared to open myself to a man that could potentially be good for me. But because I don’t trust or feel as though they will eventually hurt me, I push them away. What a way to live right?
So much to unravel and it sickens me to think that I will need to walk down this path in order to come out clean. That’s it for now. I can’t stand another thought for the day.