Healing from the pains I've endured for ten years was not something that I thought I'd ever have to encounter. So as I walk down this rocky road, I've learned that I have to celebrate little victories, as miniscule as they may be.
I doubt anyone comes across my blog as I don't make it a priority to point it out, but I wanted to share something here. Deep in my veins is a talented writer. So as I deal with my pain, I've filled up pages upon pages with my thoughts. Tonight was one of those nights. I want to share tonight's entry out of my personal and private journal. I'm proud of the words written on these pages. More proud than some of the most beautiful and gut wrenching poetry I've written. The following entry is raw and contains the most accurate representation of my feelings. Even if it's just for me, the following excerpt reminds me, even in my darkest places, there is beauty from pain.
"February 18, 2012
I'm not sure exactly how I'm feeling tonight, but I thought I should write. I can't believe that I'm almost out of space in this book. It seems like I just started writing in here. Kind of hard to believe that I started this back in August. Weird...I wish I could just make myself cry and cry hard. I'm so overwhelmed by everything in my head that I'm honestly not sure what to do. It's frustrating. I feel like everything that happened separates me from everyone. Every thought, every feeling, every process...no one understands. I am always going to be the one hiding. Always going to feel like the broken one. Burdened by something that I couldn't choose for myself. It's so hard to convince myself that I didn't do this. I know what the truth is...I know I wasn't old enough physically or cognitively to say that I wanted what was going on. But sometimes, it feels that way. All too often I go back and think about the things that happened. I think about how confused I was subconsciously. It's not that I felt the need to be loved or wanted because mom or dad didn't, it was that he was my brother. Older, "cooler", got to do more, learn more. I don't remember now, but I'm sure the child I was really wanted to be loved and needed by him. I understand now why it has me so messed up. Other than the obvious of course. An irreversible amount of damage was done. I didn't understand it then. I thought I did, but I don't think I could honestly say I truly "got" what was done to me. The problem lies in this...I was used. In the most physically literal way possible. How does someone get away with that? How did he use use me and make me feel pleasure by him trying to please himself? How did he get away with making me feel wanted and needed and then turning around and treating me like trash, denying me in every aspect? Hitting me, abusing me, making me feel like a piece of dirt until he needed something from me. How did he get away with taking everything from me? And how didn't anyone see? Maybe that's what eats me up. I was his secret. His go to. I was nothing more than convenience for him. I hated what would happen afterwards. He got as far as luring me downstairs and then getting my clothes off. Then using me, manipulating me for his wants and desires. After everything was through, and I felt dirty and was left thinking I had done something wrong, he put things away and went to bed. He just left me. I was scared of the dark. Scared of the light on the fire detector that I had to go past to get upstairs. He used me and then abandoned me. Left me to fend for myself. I died over and over. I'm still dead. Still broken. Still dirty. Such an evil war going on. I feel bad for the child I was...No. I hurt endlessly for the child I was. Having no one to tell the truth to. No one to tell her that she wasn't as guilty and dead as she felt. She was unable to truly feel special and wanted in this world. No one helped her and everyone watched blindly as she suffered and died as she barely even lived. And she was perfect. She was beautiful and loved God. Loved her family. Sweet and giving and caring. She was a gift from God, unwrapped too soon. Used and broken. Left for dead. If I could separate that child from my adult self, I'd hug her and hold her. Promise to her that she is being heard. Assure her that someone honestly hurts for her."
I doubt anyone comes across my blog as I don't make it a priority to point it out, but I wanted to share something here. Deep in my veins is a talented writer. So as I deal with my pain, I've filled up pages upon pages with my thoughts. Tonight was one of those nights. I want to share tonight's entry out of my personal and private journal. I'm proud of the words written on these pages. More proud than some of the most beautiful and gut wrenching poetry I've written. The following entry is raw and contains the most accurate representation of my feelings. Even if it's just for me, the following excerpt reminds me, even in my darkest places, there is beauty from pain.
"February 18, 2012
I'm not sure exactly how I'm feeling tonight, but I thought I should write. I can't believe that I'm almost out of space in this book. It seems like I just started writing in here. Kind of hard to believe that I started this back in August. Weird...I wish I could just make myself cry and cry hard. I'm so overwhelmed by everything in my head that I'm honestly not sure what to do. It's frustrating. I feel like everything that happened separates me from everyone. Every thought, every feeling, every process...no one understands. I am always going to be the one hiding. Always going to feel like the broken one. Burdened by something that I couldn't choose for myself. It's so hard to convince myself that I didn't do this. I know what the truth is...I know I wasn't old enough physically or cognitively to say that I wanted what was going on. But sometimes, it feels that way. All too often I go back and think about the things that happened. I think about how confused I was subconsciously. It's not that I felt the need to be loved or wanted because mom or dad didn't, it was that he was my brother. Older, "cooler", got to do more, learn more. I don't remember now, but I'm sure the child I was really wanted to be loved and needed by him. I understand now why it has me so messed up. Other than the obvious of course. An irreversible amount of damage was done. I didn't understand it then. I thought I did, but I don't think I could honestly say I truly "got" what was done to me. The problem lies in this...I was used. In the most physically literal way possible. How does someone get away with that? How did he use use me and make me feel pleasure by him trying to please himself? How did he get away with making me feel wanted and needed and then turning around and treating me like trash, denying me in every aspect? Hitting me, abusing me, making me feel like a piece of dirt until he needed something from me. How did he get away with taking everything from me? And how didn't anyone see? Maybe that's what eats me up. I was his secret. His go to. I was nothing more than convenience for him. I hated what would happen afterwards. He got as far as luring me downstairs and then getting my clothes off. Then using me, manipulating me for his wants and desires. After everything was through, and I felt dirty and was left thinking I had done something wrong, he put things away and went to bed. He just left me. I was scared of the dark. Scared of the light on the fire detector that I had to go past to get upstairs. He used me and then abandoned me. Left me to fend for myself. I died over and over. I'm still dead. Still broken. Still dirty. Such an evil war going on. I feel bad for the child I was...No. I hurt endlessly for the child I was. Having no one to tell the truth to. No one to tell her that she wasn't as guilty and dead as she felt. She was unable to truly feel special and wanted in this world. No one helped her and everyone watched blindly as she suffered and died as she barely even lived. And she was perfect. She was beautiful and loved God. Loved her family. Sweet and giving and caring. She was a gift from God, unwrapped too soon. Used and broken. Left for dead. If I could separate that child from my adult self, I'd hug her and hold her. Promise to her that she is being heard. Assure her that someone honestly hurts for her."
