Fighting was a common practice in my life. I’m not sure if I actually enjoyed it or if I was just conditioned to feel gratification from it. Either way, I enjoyed watching fights, like physical ones. I respected the sport of it as well whether it be boxing, martial arts or UFC style. I could appreciate the dedication to it, the strength and the control that one must have to be a good fighter. Anyhow, back in my early 20’s my boyfriend at the time and I would have people over for pretty much anything. Just to party, watch a game, or to watch the fights of course! It was also much easier having events at my house because of how uncomfortable I would get being out late at night. The irrational thinking would come in, like, “what if we get kicked out and stuck outside and jumped on our way back home?” or “what if someone we don’t know shows up and starts a fight?” These things were things that had happened to me the night I was badly beaten up. So naturally those were the anxieties that would fill my head and I would never end up really enjoying myself on my outings.
Back to the fights!!! So, people are coming over and I’m getting pumped for the company and the excitement of the fights right!?!? At least that’s what I thought I was feeling. I took a couple of hoots to help me chill a bit before company showed up and continued getting ready. I felt better. Now the friends are all here, there’s a good vibe throughout the house and a slight buzz of excitment in the air. FIGHT! *DING DING* everyone starts cheering and yelling while the two fighters are sizing each other up. I don’t really know what happened but I started feeling really panicky as the fists were flying but it got really bad when one fighter was on the ground and not doing so good. An elbow from his opponent came crashing into his face and he looked like he was no longer on this planet after that. BOOM! I’m on the boulevard and they are pulling me to the curb. I’m fighting for my life. The fighter has to be sure and wait for the ref to call a K.O and hits his opponent again in the face with his fist this time and blood spews everywhere. BOOM! I made it away from the curb but realize I’m on the sidewalk now with my cheek pressed against it (my thoughts: I’m going to die) here comes the foot… *Bright lights* I look around me seeing everyone yelling in excitement that their fighter of choice had won. *Gasp for air* realizing I was having a flash back and stopped breathing for a moment I try to regain my composure but I can’t. My hands are not only shaking but are cold and clammy. My chest is so tight and I can’t help but feel the tears sting the back of my eyes in complete embarrassment.
As I left to use the washroom my legs felt like jello and cement all at the same time. The second I was alone with the door shut behind me, I broke down alone on the floor. I didn’t understand why I was feeling this way. I mean, I know what happened was devastating to me but that was over 5 years ago now! I have watched fights since then, heck I’d even been in fights since then. I don’t think anyone even noticed my reaction to the fight, but i still felt so embarrassed with myself. I felt silly and weak. This wasn’t me, this isn’t me! I’m strong! What the hell! I stopped watching the fights after that night. I never wanted to feel that way (vulnerable) ever again or have anymore flashbacks. The flashbacks feel like dreams/deja vu for me because I know after the incident happened I can remember most of what had happened and then it just sort of goes away, like erased from my memory and then when a trigger arises the BOOM happens and I remember it all over again.
Until next time…