Tag Archive: damaged goods


The Quiet One


She sat quietly in class

Never hearing a word-

Her mind screaming,

Racing, ravaging her thoughts…

She sat calmly, pen in hand;

Honor student….horror filled

And anguished.

Automatically, she made conversation…

She passed tests

She chatted with friends

And longed to die

To escape this pain…

She sat quietly in church

Longing for salvation

Imprisoned by religion

Preached at by her tormentors

Looking for horns

Disguised as halos.

She sat quietly at home

And smiled at the monsters

While cutting the pain 

Of her soul out of her skin…

Watching the blood ooze and

Drip…with dry eyes

And emotionless face

Hiding the raging terror

In her heart.

She sat quietly in the therapist’s chair

Giving reassurances to the one

Who was supposed to help – 

Praying they see 

Behind her stillness

To the utter turmoil within

Not trusting anyone or anything…

Somehow comforting them

For her pain

And living with the hopelessness

That almost felt like a friend.

She stood quietly in the bathroom…

Staring at her calm face

Unwilling to meet her own gaze,

Unable to keep avoiding the horror…

The pain ravaging her from inside

And without warning-

Almost in slow motion

The avalanche began…

All the silence broke

The tears came in a torrent,

The rage, the pain…

The still, quiet girl is gone

Replaced with a woman

With a face full of anguish

Unable to sit quietly any longer – 

Not willing to still her face

For the comfort of strangers

Haunted and crumbling

Shattered

Shuttering violently with each 

Invasive

Intrusive

Memory.

Stumbling and falling

All along the path

To be whole.

The Death of a Tyrant


Who mourns the death of a tyrant? Do you mourn the loss of the person who caused you unimaginable pain? I recently found out that my mother died. Apparently she died back in May. I didn’t know how to feel… mostly because I kept waiting to feel all the things you are supposed to feel when your mother dies… I kept waiting for tears, for mourning, for pain, for confusion… What I mostly felt was … relief. The world felt a little safer to me… Don’t get me wrong, I felt pain… but it was largely the pain of my life…of every time I was abused, neglected, insulted, criticized, misunderstood, raped, hit… The pain of everything she could have been but wasn’t.

It feels scandalous to say out loud that I was relieved when I found out my mother died…but that is the ugly truth of it. I wonder if everyone that is abused feels the same… is this a truth that we all just don’t say out loud? We face polite society and cower in the face of judgement from others. I did. Honestly, I have been judged my entire life. I have lived in pain all my life and been judged for saying I hurt… been judged harshly for saying what you did hurt me… I have been flat out told that I had no reason to hurt. When I confronted my parents with the truth of my pain I was ignored, told that there was nothing wrong with me… when I asked for therapy I was told I don’t need it… I was told over and over that in so many ways that I was crazy…. So now…when I know she is gone – I feel relieved…. I feel like there is one less person trying to gaslight me. One less narcissist to go around pretending like we had this perfect little family.

I will not remain silent… I have been quiet for years – I backed into the shadows… This has brought me back into the light… this had made me feel a little safer in the world, a little more at home. The world with one less monster in it feels like a better world to live in… a safer place for my heart, my memories, my thoughts, my anger, fear, pain, triumph, hope…. safer for me.

I felt for the last several years like I just wanted to hide from everyone, from my past, from the world at large… learning about my mother’s death makes me feel invited back out into the sun…. I belong here. I am not going anywhere and just because the truth makes people uncomfortable doesn’t mean that I will ever stop speaking it and putting it out there. I realized that me shutting up doesn’t protect me – it just makes the monsters more comfortable and that is not the way I want to live anymore.

So…. I am accepting the invitation. I am going to walk in the sun and tell the truth and put my heart back out there… hiding it was not protecting my heart – it was only protecting their reputation… So here I am. In pain, broken, hurt, angry – but full of hope and enjoying the sunlight and not afraid of my own heart anymore.

Not okay


I am so not okay… I am not going to be okay any time soon.  I am broken and lost and hurt and angry… I am lost and confused… I am so very tired… Did I say “fine” when you asked how I was… ?  Don’t worry… I just don’t know how to say how I am.  I am… not okay.  I am… so very… so profoundly broken.  

Feelings


I find it so hard to stay in my heart – to stay in my feelings… My default setting seems to be numb.  I feel so awkward most of the time.  I feel so much – but it is buried so deep I appear vacant.  My heart hurts.   I am so tired and so broken.  I carry this horrible weight that threatens to suffocate me at times.  I feel at war.  At war with my pain, at war with my heart, at war with the terrible pull of numbness, addiction, alcohol…. at war with my faith and my anger… at war with my passion and my passivity.  I can feel in one moment like a giant, like a force to be reckoned with and in the next moment I feel like I am not even real and I give in to my despair.  I fear I will drown in it.  I know I am all over the place and this may not even make any sense… but there you are.  Pieces of me.  Broken, fearful, lost, anguished, angry, confused, passionate, apathetic… My heart is a patchwork of pain and pleasure….but honestly, mostly pain.  I ache.  I feel heavy with the weight of my broken heart…  

Giving Up


I am giving up on you.  Every time I think of you I feel this overwhelming rush of disappointment.  I wonder (sometimes) why I ever bothered.  It’s not like you felt my love anyway.  I tried so hard to love you.  I cooked special dinners (which you criticized) I came to visit (which you took for granted) I doted on you and tried so hard to please you… but I give up… You never wanted to know me.  You never liked anything that had to do with me.  I feel like every time my heart was brought out for you to see it was criticized, judged, not good enough, too emotional, too much of a bleeding heart, not loving enough, not affectionate enough… too depressed, too dark… too sad… too silly…  I am tired of it all.  I give up…

 

I am enough.  I am enough for me.  I am good enough, smart enough, kind enough, loving enough… I am enough. I can do this.

The Bees


I’ve got that feeling again… the buzzing of angry bees in my chest.  I wonder sometimes how long this struggle with anxiety will last?  Will I carry this with me always?  Will I ever get to the place where I can feel safe and at home in my own skin?  What battle am I fighting today that I feel this way?  When do I get to rest?  I feel like I have been fighting one battle or another since the day I was born.  I guess we all are in some form or fashion.  I long for peace.  I long for comfort… I long to feel.  I have been numb for far too long.  I guess I am finally learning where the bees come from… those angry bees that swarm in my chest and make it hard to breathe. I think they are all the emotions I have refused to let myself feel.  Now to loose the bees and regain some measure of peace I am choosing to feel all the painful things that I would not (or could not) feel.  I am crying and raging and curling up in a ball and allowing myself to feel small and vulnerable… I am fighting for me.  I will win.

Open Letter


***WARNING: This may be triggering***

You know who you are.  I knew you thought I wouldn’t remember… or maybe you thought I was too afraid to say anything… Maybe you are so supremely arrogant that you have yourself convinced that you did not do anything wrong…  I do not pretend to know your motivations… I do not pretend to know what was on your sick mind.  You know what I remember?  I remember being held face down bent over a bed with my face pressed into the suffocating softness and thinking that this was how I would die.  I remember the pain as you ripped into me – penetrating me harshly – feeling like a knife…  I remember rough hands and a harsh voice.  I remember longing for death that day and many, many days afterward.  I vowed to never be vulnerable again… I vowed to never let you see me hurt… do you remember calling me a touch-me-not?  Did you ever wonder why touch made me recoil?  Why touch made me feel sick inside?  I doubt it… everything was about you, wasn’t it?  It was about your needs, your feelings, your ‘right’…  I am tired of feeling like this.  I am tired of feeling like I am not allowed to feel.  Yes, I have a lot of pain – but I am strong enough to feel it.  I am strong enough to survive you – I am strong enough to survive anything.  I revoke my vow.  I can be vulnerable.  You will never touch me again, but I will love being touched again. I will not live locked in my solitude.  I will feel again and I will make a new life.  I will survive you yet…

 

Grief


Some days I am afraid that my grief will consume me.  I fear that I may never recover from this pain.  I keep trying to be normal… (whatever that means) but all I manage to do is to kill my heart – and hurt the heart I most desire to bring pleasure to.  I keep striving for some sense of … what?… peace? healing? wholeness? normalcy?  I don’t know.  I just know I am in so much pain… every day… My heart feels like it is a mangled, half-dead thing, barely beating in my breast.  I don’t know exactly how to feel all of this.  I don’t know how to be in this much pain.  I don’t know how to be this broken.  I do know that I am tired of trying to be whole.  I am tired of trying to be a girl who knows happiness.  I was raped.  I was abused.  I was ignored.  I was hurt.  I was molested.  I was made to feel as though I was garbage and that I did not matter at all.  This does not define me.  It was not my fault.  I do not need to apologize for these things, and I deserve to feel.  I deserve to feel the weight of my past without feeling like I am making the people around me uncomfortable.  My  pain does not make me a bad person.  My flash-backs do not make me crazy.  My fear does not have to consume me.  I am not what I survived.  My past matters.  The defense mechanisms that I developed to survive deserve to be honored – but they are no longer needed.  I am safe now and I will never be back where I was.  I am worth grieving.  This will not last forever.  One day I will breathe again.

How do we….?


How do we cope?  How do we deal?  How do we ‘get over it?’  How do we get through this?  When you’ve been raped how do you get on with life?  What does ‘getting on with life’ even look like?  We study, we read, we become experts in body language, we become invisible, we become smarter, harder, distant… some see us as cold…

I studied… I studied psychology, psychopathology, maladaptive coping mechanisms, anxiety, depression… I watched people, studied body language, facial expressions… I got to the point when I was aware of my surroundings at all times… I kept my back to the wall, knew where the exits were, listened to everyone in the room.

After many years I am finding my peace again, finding my center, leaning on God, learning to pray & trust and that it is ok to hope again.  I want to help others now.  I want to reach out and share my story… I want it to matter.  I want the things I’ve seen & survived to make a difference… desperate to make a difference.  I am desperate to have my pain mean something…

Haunted


Haunted by memories I grasp for you and quickly push you away.

I cannot stomach this closeness yet I desire your touch – crave it –  NEED it…

Fear arises as the brush of your hand resurrects ghosts thought long exorcised…

My body trembles, haunted by the abuse that still lives in my skin and in my breast, beating like a second heart.

It is chaos here… shouts, whispers, whimpers, cries…

Locked in the asylum of my mind.

July 23 2014 (120)