015.

It feels weird. 

Calling myself a survivor of childhood sexual abuse. 
I think it's because for 20+ years of my life, I had no idea. I used to navigate this world thinking I was so incredibly blessed to not have experienced major heartache (until my adult sexual assault). I had become so attune to the injustices of the world. All the violence. All the hatred. All the oppression. I couldn't imagine living a life that was filled with shame, sadness, turmoil. 

Yet here I was, living in denial. My brain had done a superb job hiding the truth. I lived 20+ years thinking life was great. Until I was confronted with the truth. Until memories finally caught up with themselves. 

I acknowledge that something happened. That I was sexually abused as a very young child. 
But damn, does it feel fucking out of this world. 
I can't explain it, but I'll try. 

It feels as if everything you have been taught is a complete lie. It feels like you are an alien on their first day on a new planet. It feels like your entire being and soul as been placed inside a different body. It feels like no matter how many showers you take, you'll never be able to wash off the layer of dirt covering ever inch of your skin. It feels like you've just woken in a hospital bed and the only memory you have is from 20 years ago. 

I am trying to learn about the person I am. I'm trying to accept and love the woman I am. But it's fucking hard. It's hard to distinguish who I really am from who I've become because of what happened to me. 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

009.

There are times that I just want to be me.  And not what happened to me.  I want to be me without the big Ts and little ts of trauma. I want to be the me that you think you know before I tell you what I've been through.  But I can't. Because what happened to me is not all of me but has become a part of me. It's formed my sense of self, my world view, my fears, my insecurities, my behaviors, even my passion.  It came up again. Today, actually.  Me feeling as if someone I hold dear to my heart could potentially see me differently because they know what has happened. And that frightens me. Because as much as it has formed parts of me, it does not and will never become the totality of me.  I want an island that has mystical powers. Powers that allow me to remain the person that I am yet remove this thing that has happened. For I'm certain, had I not been touched as a child, I probably wouldn't have been forced as an adult. And I just want that gone.  I want to exist in
Read more

005.

Part of depression (or mine, I should say)  is that you don't take care of yourself.  I've seen myself as lacking lately.  Lacking in good decisions. Lacking in self-esteem. Lacking in efforts towards healthy decisions and behaviors.  Tonight, I took a shower.  Not out of necessity but out of want.  I usually take showers in the morning.  As I lathered up the shower poof with my favorite coconut body wash, I wondered what it would be like to wash myself of this. Instead of the dust, dirt, and oils of the day, what if I were washing off the acts done upon me?  I wish that I could rid myself of this.  Scrub every speck of the event off my skin.  Erasre every intuition that this truly occurred.  As I got out of the shower, I put an extra bit of moisturizer on my face, massaging instead of rubbing.  I coiled the cotton fabric around my coconut coated curls. Dipped my fingers into my favorite Palo Santo body lotion, and realized...I deserve to treat myself like a queen.  I don't
Read more

To: F.L.

You took from me something so rich, so divine.  Innocence. Naivety. Unadulterated bliss.  Safety. Assurance. Trust.  I plunge, wondering if this will be it. If this will be the moment I feel something worse that what you made me feel.  If this will be the moment I awake from the perpetual nightmare, running on a vicious loop.  The moment I'll be free of when remembering was just too much.  Forget? Living an eternal purgatory. Never able to shake the nausea your name evokes. How could I forget? I want to know what it feels like to not want to shed my skin for a thousand years before I feel rid of you. I want to know what it feels like to own every step that I take. I want to know what it feels like to shake the ground with a confidence this world has yet to embrace.  Instead, I yield. I curl my body so tight that I'm but a ball. A ball of insecurities. A ball of lose skin, measured by the amount of rolls that appear when I sit. A ball of veins filled with tequila laced blood, on
Read more