The Prey – On My Knees
Father’s Day was punctuated by being punched in the gut. This awful fight continued for years. Ten. The minimal advertisements sounding off the airwaves on TV, radio and elsewhere leading up to the ‘holiday’ celebration ambushed delicate emotions; all such cues sparked heightened anxiety and gut-wrenching dread. Already, I have fallen prey to the day. If your experiences are far better, then remind yourself to be notably thankful. But, if Father’s Day has been besieged or you are otherwise embattled by grief, then don’t face the conflict alone in that vein of struggle. The agony is surmountable. And maybe if I should tell you my story, that could help you, or someone. Allow me to share my weathered boots to hopefully provide a platform for you to walk-through the takedown and as kick-starting aid for a strong recovery.
On any day, I was on the brink of tears if anything randomly triggered my memory. Leading up to Dad’s Day, without escape I sought to find a head start for releasing the tears — desperately needing a psychological slow simmer to efficiently alleviate any surge and avoid grand slam crying when the day arrived. On that day, it seemed well-suited that taking a nap could at least ease hyperventilating and somewhat rebalance cognitive functions. But, most often, trepidation brought me to my knees; that’s the fallout phase after curling up in bed and carrying on with screaming sessions into the pillow. Have you ever felt that excruciating pain in the abdomen, as though your intestines had begun twisting knots and roping your stomach with a slow and steady grind? Father’s Day buildup. Me, sludging through life’s longest decade. The best breathing techniques cannot exhale that kind of affliction.
However, hold your breath for a little while. Pardon my manners. This bout was not exactly the pattern
