Living with teenagers, whose every track is affected by their trauma, is like a train ride. Recently has been no different. We have moved house. We were on the coastal route, slow train by the sea. A chance to soak up the views. To kick back, and chill. A chance to look at the scenery. A chance to take stock.
I know this train well. I know that we are on a circular route. I know the regular stations. I know where we get stuck. I know where the maintenance areas are, when everything……grinds……to……. a….halt.
I didn’t miss it. I expected it. I was waiting for it.
The train picked up.
Slowly at first. The fields crept by quicker. The animals became less clear. Then faster. The station signs going too fast to read. The pressure exerting on the seat. Too fast to lift your head. Faster it goes. There is nothing you can do. There are no seat belts. There are no harnesses. We plough through Grand Central Trauma Station. The blinding light as we shot out of the tunnel, snaps me back to reality.
Dad! Dad!
One of them is screaming from the top of the stairs. I go up. He is standing there. Hand on his neck. Blood coming through his fingers. Running down to his elbow. Dripping to the floor. Terror in his eyes. I grab a towel. I move his hand, and press the towel to his neck. He didn’t mean it. He had been arguing on line. He wanted to show them how upset he was. They told him if he was that upset to do it, they didn’t care. Even after they saw the blood coming from his neck, they didn’t believe he had done it. He started to sob, uncontrollably.
We cleaned his neck. The cut was about eight or nine inches long. It was on superficial. No stitches needed. We washed his hands. We watched the redness from his blood swirl around the sink and down the plug hole. We had a hug. He went to bed. He went to sleep.
I checked on him a while later. He was curled up, asleep. He looked tiny. He looked so vulnerable.
We are on our trauma train. We never left it. We just had an excursion.
This is so heartbreaking. I hope you get back to the coastal route soon x
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I sorry for all that you are all going through. You are an amazing dad and they are lucky to have you in their lives.
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Healing from trauma is a long road but you’re doing a great job of giving them the support and patience they need. It probably doesn’t feel like that sometimes but You’re a great dad:)
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I am sorry, I really hope the trauma heals
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oh blimey, that sounds horrible! hope hes all ok now x
#mondaystumble
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Wow how your posts always amaze me. Thank you for sharing and I hope you find your costal route again soon
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My heart hurts reading this. But talking about, and sharing these experiences is a way–I think–to deal with what you’re experiencing. As a parent, I want nothing more than your child’s safety and your sanity as you go through these difficult times. My wish for you is that you’ll feel your own strength grow as exponentially as your love.
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I think you are doing an amazing job and the boys are happy to have someone so calm and caring looking after them.
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Oh that poor boy, it’s awful when you have so much emotion and you just don’t know how to channel it. Sending love xx
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Oh bless his heart. Such a tough journey for a young boy to go through. Kids are cruel to one another aren’t they?! Xx
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Your posts are written in such a powerful, moving way. I hope he is better soon.
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He’s got a lot of feelings, a lot to process. Hopefully you’ll get back to a slower train soon.
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This is absolutely heartbreaking. I hope you are back on the coastal route soon.
And I feel so angry with those nasty people online encouraging him. The internet can be such a dangerous place, especially for someone who is already vulnerable.
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You may not have a safety belt, but they do. They have you.
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