* I used to......
I used to bury any strong emotion for fear that it would overwhelm me. I used to deny that I felt it at all.
I used to think it was more 'mature' - more important, more safe - to maintain a facade of calm and composure, no matter what the resulting pain was in my head and heart.
I used to have large impenetrable walls in my mind, behind which I had stored the memories of past experiences that were simply too much to bear.
I used to be afraid that if anyone found out about the discrepancy between how I portrayed myself and the weak, vulnerable person that I really was inside, they would despise me, and reject me - that I would end up alone and unloved, and that was what I 'really' deserved.
I used to feel like I would never be able to work out how to be a grown-up - how to feel like one - to feel confident on the inside - to have integrity. It was a mystery to me. (It's interesting that as I came to understand the word, I also understood that I was lacking in it - lacking 'integration').
I used to feel like everyone else's opinion and feelings were naturally more important than my own.
I used to blame myself for the bad experiences of my past (the ones that I could remember) and I would repeatedly and viciously berate myself for my perceived stupidity and gullibility.
I used to think that there was something about me that attracted the sort of attention from others that would ultimately result in more and more pain - for me.
And that perhaps there was some of God's will in this.
I used to believe it was my lot in life never to feel true happiness. I used to think it was better to never have hopes and wishes and dreams, because in the forming of these things, unseen forces would gather to ensure they could never come true.
I used to believe I did not deserve to have good things come to me. I used to believe that it was better to never want, than to want and then be devastatingly disappointed, over and over and over again.
* I feel.....
I feel so incredibly fortunate to have had the experiencs I have had over the last five years. I feel awestruck at the number of fine, caring, helpful, tender people who have come into my life and who have have provided their own individual insights, graciously supporting me as I have continued - and occasionally gotten stuck - on my healing journey.
I feel hope for myself where there simply was none before. I feel, more and more, a sense of
'internal' safety where I can feel free to 'let go', accept myself, and genuinely and authentically 'be myself'. I feel relief, after a lifetime of internally flinching, and clenching and bracing and enduring endless episodes of paralysing fear.
* The games I play.....
The games I play alert me to the knowledge that there is still work to be done. They are signals of my yet unrealized and unmet needs. They are, at times, unfair manipulations to get other people to provide for me the things that I am still learning to provide for myself.
And I play scrabble.
* My body tells me....
My body tells me there was once a lot of pain - more than I could consciously bear. It sends messages and shadows and echoes of past hurts - perhaps so that I will not forget or continue to over-ride the needs of the desolate, miserable child that I once was.
My body tells me that there is yet much work to do. And that it will not last forever. My body tells me though, that it is still capable of many wonderful sensations, and can still support me through many life experiences yet to come.
* I hate....
I hate the insidiously infectious damage caused by lies and deceit self-interest and indifference.
I hate the chasm that I sense between myself and those who can neither comprehend the vastness of my condition, nor the immense effort it requires to endure or to explain.
I hate that I feel that need for other people to understand.
I hate that I cannot yet balance the need to connect with others, ask for and accept help - and the need to be independent and meet my own needs.
I hate unspoken questions, erroneous assumptions, and ignorant dismissals.
I hate the stagnancy and despair of isolation.
I hate that in childhood I suffered in so much silence, and now in the process of healing, society at large still wishes the victim to remain silent - because otherwise, someone must listen - and who will volunteer?
I hate that there are so, so many people who suffer with similar histories, or even worse.
I hate that so many of us are in so much pain that we unable to think of reaching out to lift someone else. I hate that pain interferes with our freedom to make choices.
I hate the fear associated with saying too much and possibly 'blowing somebody out of the water' - and the constant need to monitor my own and my audience's/friends' responses for fear that I might horrify them, or disgust them, or alienate them forever.
I am deeply moved when I find someone who is willing to put their own pain aside (and sometimes that pain is greater than I can imagine myself) to willingly listen to mine.
I hate that listening to the unspeakable and the unbearable is - unspeakable and unbearable.
But if we do not all listen, hear the stories - how can we comfort each other, bear one another's burdens, make a difference, influence change in society, and communities, and families - and individuals - who perpetuate the twisted sort of thinking and desires that cause such suffering in the first place?
