childhood trauma.

life becoming more complicated daily as I sit in a shitty town filled with dull people leading dull lives and passing on this dullness to their kids and so on and so on.  but where does it lead?  where are the dreamers?  where are they?  factory workers and open garages filled with smoke and shitty beers are prevalent.  much more prevalent than wine and great discussions about life and loss.  loss happens and people mourn for a few days and then get back to the “grind” as they so gleefully call it.  knowing their lives are shit does nothing to change the behaviours of these dull, sad, and very lost individuals and groups of individuals.  while many in the world are surfing in oceans and hiking up and down beautiful mountains filled with beautiful people conversing about wonderful and beautiful things the sad peasants in this shitty town are drinking Coors Light while conversing about taxes and trucks.  the world falling apart amidst the greed of old rich white men who got their money from their old rich white Dad.  the rich staying rich and the poor staying poor.  a system rigged but a system severely broken.
I do what I can to survive the boredom of this town.  running.  cycling.  jerking off.  drinking.  reading.  then sleeping.  the routine returns the next day.  the next week.  the next month.  the next year.  another year off of my life.  another year closer to death.  sad and lonely.  is my Mom sad and lonely too?
do you ever really recover from traumatic events?  I mean really recover.  you cry.  you mourn.  you seek help.  you speak with psychiatrists and psychologists.  you meditate.  you do yoga.  you seek help from friends.  sometimes family members even try to help but most often not.  you then seek solace in booze and girls.  drinking and fucking as much as you can.  this leads to blackouts and fights and arrests.  more “help” on the way.  alcohol centres and aa meetings trying to “cure” the pain.  working temporarily but then back to the same routines.  booze.  girls.  arrests.  temporary guilt.  temporary girls.  temporary hope but then, as always, back to the routine.  the “cure” for the pain never seeming to work.  the booze and girls eventually lead to booze, girls, and DRUGS.  first marijuana then mushrooms then cocaine then acid then ecstasy and then BOOM.  crash.  crash.  crash.  wake up in someone else’s house not knowing how or why you are there and then walk home in SHAME wondering just what happened to your life.
you walk in the front door and go upstairs.  you pop pills.  you drink water.  you turn on the tv and jerk off.  temporary excitement.  temporary elation.  everything temporary including MY DAD.  MY NANA.  ALMOST MY MOM.
three months of pure terror at the age of ten and I sit here wondering if I have ever fully recovered?  has my Mom?  has my brother?
masks.  facades.  love.  lack of love.  lack of life.  wrinkles.  lack of hair.  lack of family.  lack of money.  everything lacking in an otherwise AMAZING life.
I…does…do people ever fully recover from childhood trauma???