So here we are again. Friday. I hate Friday. I'm usually alone. I'm remembering. I hate feelings. I hate memories. I tried so hard to forget. They refuse to stay buried.
I had an experience this last month with members of my family telling me that my mind is playing tricks on me. I hope. It would be so nice to be able to say I made this all up. That I do not remember being raped. I don't remember being tied down and violated. I made it all up. That my family was there at all times protecting me. I am so relieved to know that I was safe. I'm super grateful that the feelings of self hate, disgust and shame are all pretend. That all the times I was cut myself up. That whenever I shove my fingers down my gullet, or fast for days on end. That really that was all in vain. What a crock of shit. They were not there. They did not come when I screamed. They did not protect me. I do Hate myself. I feel disgust and shame. Huge amounts of it. The physical scars, not just my self inflicted ones. They are real. I taught myself to forget. I taught myself to be nothing. Nothing.
I want to disappear. I want to fade away.
I just grew layers of shame. I grew inches of solid black around my heart. I locked up my childhood in a prison of filth. I forced that small child to carry all of her pain in silence. I hated her too. She never ran fast enough. She was never quiet enough. I am still doing it. I'm supposed to be an adult. I would never hurt a child. I would never force a little girl to carry a heart full of pain and abuse alone. I would never starve a child. How could they make me. Why didn't they see? Where were they? They still want me to carry it alone. How? How do I carry something that almost killed me the first time? I'm so full of doubt. I'm still here somewhere right?????