I’m at a loss of words. I can’t describe where I’m at in my journey. Some things have changed in the way I think. Some of the sadness seems to have disappeared.
In some ways, I have been avoiding putting my feelings into words. There are still memories to share. There are still skeletons. But it’s so much easier not to name them.
It’s easier to leave the skeletons in the closet. If I can’t see or feel them then they don’t exist, right?
A few nights this week have been pretty rough. In spite of that, I have managed to maintain a relatively ok daytime attitude.
I remember as a teenager, after several nights of abuse, I would be so tired and irritable. By Monday, I would go to school totally dissociated and longing for the freedom and peace that I had at school. At least there, no one expected a physical sacrifice.
The teachers seemed to love me. In retrospect, they felt sorry for me. They knew I was sad but didn’t know why. Most would always give me extra attention which I craved so badly.
It truly was two different lives. I got so used to wearing the mask during the day. At night there was no hiding. Much like my days now.
The sunrise is such a relief to the terrors of the night.
I can walk out, leave my bedroom and skeletons behind and the night has no power over me.
But when the sun sets, all I can think is, here we go again.
There is still much to share with Mrs. A. I’m starting to crave the release. But I still have such a hard time telling about the actual abuse. I can talk all around it. I still feel shame with every disclosure.
Next week, I’m going on a business trip. In one way, I’m looking forward to the break from therapy. But at the same time, I’m panicked. What if I need to talk? I’m pretty sure Mrs. A could use a break from me. She has to be tired of hearing my pain.
I’m hoping to come back ready to push forward and continue to take the skeletons out of the huge closet I’ve built over the years.
What I want to share and what I actually am able to share are worlds apart. It’s like carrying a tractor tire on your back. You’re slumped over and in pain, but dropping the tire is not an option.
A literal strong man competition with myself. My strength is keeping the secrets. My weakness is dropping the 1000 pounds and admitting that I can’t carry it anymore. It feels like I have to lose myself to find myself.
I can’t put the memories part of this journey into words. The memories snowball if you allow even one to come to the surface. It’s a flood of heart pain that suffocates you.
So for tonight, I have no words. But my skeletons want to talk. They want to be known. They want to be a part of me and no longer locked away.
God help me find the words to unlock the secrets.
Until next time – I am being MJ every day.