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.
Tag Archive: longing
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.
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 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 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.
captivatingbitter 