I Know It, But I Don’t Feel It

I learned a long time ago, to shut off my feelings, and to shut down the memories.┬áIt was just too painful, and besides, what would others think? That’s what my life revolved around, what would others think.

Suleiman Kova and media, 2013 DSM Building Collapse.jpg
via Wikimedia Commons.

Now that I’ve begun to heal the wounds, remember the memories, and feel the feelings, it still doesn’t feel right. I am still in fear of what others will think, especially those in my family who are following me on Facebook, maybe especially them.

I don’t know what my family knows, or suspects, even those that are the closest to me, and I fear to bring up those memories, speak freely about what happened to me, and not fear shame or disbelief.

I know that talking it out with them is also a part of the healing process, so, for those of you out there who know me, it IS real, it DID happen, and that is the reason I am the way I am.

I did get a positive response from someone who had been married to my cousin, and I found that very comforting, being that this person was one I went to school with, only a couple years ahead of me.

I am still going through the healing process, but last week, with my therapist, she would say something, and out of the blue, I would burst out with something of a totally different subject. This happened enough times, that even I noticed I was doing it.

If I want to continue to heal, which is going to be a life-long process, I have to be able to speak freely, without fear of what others might think. I do this anonymously with most of my posts, but yet there are some who do know me personally.

And yet I speak freely on the computer screen, for everyone in the world to see. I don’t fear that. After all, how do I know what others are going to think? I’ve already heard from one person that knows me, what they thought, and it felt so good to be understood. Thank you Leigh.

Did you notice that all through this post, I never once said what IT was?

No One Is Supposed To Know

Life growing up was never easy for me,
Things happening that no one could see,
Sometimes I just want to shout,
And get all the bad stuff out.

First GradeBut life doesn’t always work that way,
Told what to think, and what to say,
If you stepped outside this boundary,
You’d find yourself in quite a quandary.

So, I kept it all inside,
All the things I had to hide,
I was picked on all through school,
But still the home life had to rule.

Don’t say a word, he would say,
Don’t behave in such a way,
A way where someone else might see,
What was hidden inside of me.

Things a child shouldn’t have to bear,
A life where no one seemed to care,
They all thought that I was just bad,
They didn’t know the life I had.

That was nearly forty years ago,
And still it’s hard to let someone know,
Talk with those who can help me feel,
Talk with those who can help me heal.

– van –

Why Do I Blog? – Dungeon Prompts

I cannot remember very well how I started, although I still remember that first post. I don’t think that before I started, I really knew anything about blogging at all.

Over the past few years, my blog has morphed into something entirely unexpected. Through poetry and prose, I started typing out feelings, explanations, questions about the abuse I suffered as a child, and the continued abuse I put myself through as a young adult.

I know that I am nowhere near ‘finishing’ my original blog, for as long as I struggle with the effects of the abuse, and how it is affecting me today, I will continue to be a blogger.

I have ‘met’ a lot of people over the last few years, some closer than others, but all held in high esteem. I have to thank those who are always there with the right words that I need at that moment.

But lastly, I blog in order to share my experiences with others who have similar circumstances, and hopefully help them with something I have said.

I do not think that I will stop blogging for a very long time, when the arthritis has made my fingers too sore to function, or the MS has taken away all my coordination, memory and words.