Thirty minutes ago I managed to trigger a full on PTSD attack in the supermarket with my own voice… and I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner.

I spent the day yesterday with my X-Wife, happily doing her a favor but also selfishly spending a day with a grownup with a brain for the first time in quite a while. It was a several hour drive, with 90% pleasant chatting that was reminiscent of the GOOD OL’ DAYS and 10% regrets, parental fails, and general piss poor decisions. But I’ll take a 90% good anything at the moment, even if it involves eight hours at the wheel.

After an adequate nights sleep, which also is a rare blessing these days, I woke up fairly exhausted from the previous day, but cracking on with the mundane nonsense that keeps a household functioning, dishes, laundry, shopping lists. Even the lack of milk for my morning coffee wasn’t much of drama, I just decided a walk to corner store would be a nice little break. I slipped on my shoes, grabbed my wallet, and opened the door… only to see the postie coming up the path.

Now I order a lot of stuff online, because I live in a country town and have weird tastes, and all my bills arrive by internet, so I don’t have a fear response to envelopes as a rule. That is unless they are addressed to my late father, or from “the solicitor” as I refer to them. Today was from the later about the former, the final probate documents have finally arrived after almost 9 months. I think the limbo of the whole situation was playing into my denial quite nicely, if all the cars, property, accounts were still in my fathers name then obviously he wasn’t gone. These documents pulled that rug out from under me this morning before I had a coffee.

I sent the closest awake child to the shop for milk, as my legs weren’t as keen on a walk anymore. So with a coffee, double shot with double sugar, I signed the last of the executor documents to sign everything over to the only beneficiary, me. Then I went back to cleaning, before waking one child for work, and the other for some made up reason so I could grab a random hug. Delivered papers, washed the car, drank more coffee, and just generally indulged in some quality distractions.

Five o’clock rolls around, I’m a bit drained, so I decided it was a great time to go do some grocery shopping. See we are getting to the part where the story started, and definitely the reason for the title. I’m not a huge fan of grocery shopping at the best of times, which is normally why I take a child with me, to distract any moody spirals or spiteful outbursts, or to just make sure I keep my shit together as I tend to be in bodyguard mode with the kids around so I don’t focus on myself.

It was all going so swimmingly, trolley loaded with 90% good food and 10% things that taste good… and then I got to the checkout.

A quick explanation here: My father and I sound the same, indistinguishable to even close family on the phone. I also have quite a few of his conversational terms and affectations in social interactions.

I’m popping groceries on the conveyor, doing the whole “bags please” and “had a good day” bit. Then the cashier asked if I wanted to use my discount, and I heard my fathers voice answer in that pleasant voice he used for anyone that was serving him… and I was back at the his bedroom door looking at his body. I managed to get out of the supermarket and back to the car by jamming my keys into leg hard enough to bruise myself quite badly.

I’m home now, and I’m breathing normally again, even if I’ve managed to cry so much my eyes are stinging. I’m really hoping tomorrow I can just do nothing, or I’m hoping I can let myself do nothing, because I’m really not up to any more self inflicted damage this week.