It reminded me of the comic book arc "Batman R.I.P." (C) 2020 #BATMANRIP #DCCOMICS #Death #Electionnight

In loving memory of Fred Holmes (September 5, 1948-November 4, 2016).

#electionnight #Trump #PresidentofUnitedStates

 I do not own the rights to Batman. DC comics does. 

When I think of it now, when I think about it after it happened, and when I think about it while it was happening, it reminds me of the Batman R.I.P. Batman was tortured, lost his mind, unable to fight insurmountable odds until he mumbled a phrase that was buried in his subconscious mind. The Batman said “Zur-en-arrh.” Then he was unstoppable. 

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                    It’s not so illogical that something inside of self can be brought out by a word or an action. There was a moment of strength, confidence, when I did something, I didn’t think I could do. I am not sure whether it was by self-will, or some manifestation of thought, that gave me the strength to meet the challenge in trying times. As well as, in this one particular time, before, during, and after my father died.

.Also, in Batman RIP, the phrase “Zur-en-arrh,” was used by Doctor Hurt to try to control Batman. Doctor Hurt was the main villain in the story. 

Somethings that are said trigger a person to relive a painful past in their present moment. Thus, skew their perception of reality. A person is thus trapped in the hallucination that their present now is going to be painful because of something dreadful that happened in the past. This is post-traumatic stress disorder, some would say. The difference between me and most is that I recognize when I’m having those moments. Most would blame others and create generalizations. Yes, these ugly thangs are inside me to. “I’m ugly to, but the difference is that I know it.”

My father and I had a strained relationship at times. Especially, shortly afterwards of me running away from home. I chose to let go of the things he taught me. Things like working hard to get what you want, to show initiative, to always do what you said you were going to do. For a sense of approval, and a sense of belonging, kids, and adults, are more inclined to follow their friend’s ways, rather than their parent’s ways. I chose to partake in doing drugs, drinking, and partying for a decade.

I remember him having family get togethers. I would be high out of my mind. Would tell anyone who listened what a terrible man he was. I chose not to work because the world owed me something. I used emotional blackmail on him and my mother. “You ruined my life now give me money.” Many of the relatives on his side of the family, chose not to be involved with me. All they remembered was how I used to be. After all, there’s a popular belief that “People don’t change.” Maybe I should be happy for them because I am providing them a reason to not focus on their own pain as they focus on me. Then again, I could have been perceiving things that weren’t real because I was remembering that dreadful moment of some angst in my past. What could have that dreadful memory have been? Perhaps it was my peers, in school, looking at me as less than because I was in those special education classes. Am I transferring my pain? How selfish of me, I should have sought out someone to help. They all seemed gathered around the relatives and friends that I had turned my back on. As well as, they had turned their back on me.

They already have their family to lean on. I seemed to have no one. “What will help me? God, please help me,” I cried out. Then I remember the prayer in my pocket.

 

There I was thinking that I was surrounded by judgement. Not many decided to console me. They were too busy talking among themselves. I waited till they all left, to spend time alone with my father for the last time. In order for me to keep my composure I wrote the Saint Francis Prayer on a napkin. I sat in the chair and looked down at him, as I recited the prayer out loud. There is a moment when many of us thought of our fathers to be so strong, to be our hero. Now I knew he was gone, that reality was in my face. My mistake was the times I wasted, because of my resentments.

 Had memories of me and my father fishing. Had memories of him helping me learn math for the teacher’s exam. Had memories of him giving me my first car. Had memories of him telling me basic facts of life. I felt destroyed, had to keep it all together. Couldn’t break down. There were items that they need that were at my apartment. The drive was six hours I remembered times in the army when we received that unexpected call on the battlefield when someone died. We had to stay up sometimes for two days to process human remains. At a certain point it becomes natural. I went to that empowering memory and emotion. “I can break down plenty, after the funeral is over.” I muttered to myself. I have learned that sadness and anger are sometimes brought by self-centeredness. Yes I am indeed ugly, I maybe the only one in this crowd that realizes it.

My time for being by myself and breaking down, came after the wake, when I awoke from slumber to the television news channel blaring that Donald Trump had one the election. Seemed impossible, hours earlier Hillary Clinton was ahead. I realized waking from my sleep that our lives as Americans would change. My life would also change. Then I had a memory of my father telling me, “Boy. If you can’t stand on your own. You just can’t stand.”

I told myself one day I would write a story about it and compare it to Batman RIP. This is a shorter version of that story. You lose readers if blog post are too long. Took me 4 years to separate myself emotionally enough to create adequate content.

I have more so, since that time, learned more emotional intelligence. Specifically, what I call ‘Emotional Autonomy.” Not letting my wants and needs from another person dictate how I feel.