This is for people who live in bodies they feel they don’t own, bodies that have betrayed them and bodies they have been forced to share against their will.
It is like watching a body being dragged through mud, lifeless. Only this time it is you watching parts of yourself you can never have again being taken from you in shreds, and you cannot even fight it because what you have in the moment is just memories of your helplessness.
Now your mind won’t even let you let it go, or even fade it into the background so you can forge ahead like you always do, saying everything is okay.
Today, your trauma wants centre stage and the spotlight. Well, can you blame it? You’ve spent most of your time asking where this shame that you carry constantly comes from. This deep sense not to get too close, to self-sabotage, to withdraw, to bleed into your sanity so much that it blurs. You trigger your trigger, and every time it is like you pulled a trigger.
You didn’t ask for this. How could you ask that your intimacy be dragged from you even before you understood what it meant? How could you ask to discover your body in a way that feels like betrayal? How could you ask for pain that you did not have vocabulary for when you started experiencing it? How could you ask to be mangled into a stage of your life you could have waited to discover all on your own time?
Hello, yes, you- why are you hiding from yourself? This is the body you get; this is the batteredness you work with. Somehow, you make a broken body seem whole.
Little patches of gold dust you pour into the hole so deep that it just won’t close, but you try; you keep pouring into an empty space that once hosted some parts of your soul. The part responsible for trusting. It’s funny, yeah, you didn’t even know you were being robbed of so many other things. All you saw was the present pain, where you were wishing you could be anywhere else but in the place in this action that was sure to ruin you for all time.
Nobody knows that sometimes, when you cry, you cry for the girl you never were. The girl you tried so hard to put back together, the girl you had to forgive over and over again because she was too young to defend herself, because she didn’t even know she was supposed to be defending herself. A girl who didn’t even know how to describe the pain that started to fester into numbness in some part of her missing soul.
The girl that now trusts in part. The girl that now defines safety differently. The girl that is too scared to surrender. The girl that never feels enough, the girl that fights to stay alone even when what she wants is a community of protectors, a safe space. The girl that learns to love her body again but keeps hurting.
In the end, it stops being about brokenness; it becomes what you do with it, and nobody will judge you as harshly as you judge yourself because you just can’t move past it. You carry it everywhere, somewhere in your consciousness, like a hand reaching into now, dragging you to the past. Well, the past cannot hurt you anymore; the pain has faded, but the shadow lingers. Turn on the light!
Xoxo,
Dcconoisseur.
