You could call me a romantic, and you would be good and right. Maybe it’s that my favorite color is a soft pink or that I like long hair with frizzy curls. I am never so inspired as when I see a photograph of a pretty woman dressed in pretty lace with pretty frills and a pretty face. To be feminine is to be soft and sweet like strawberries and feathers. It is warm and consistent and safe. So many try to destroy the foundation of what it is to be a body that is made to create. We are built beautifully and with purpose, and that makes us anything but weak. To indulge in those little fantasies of a better reality is a sign of our nurturing minds searching for answers in the hopes, someday, we can help the whole world to float. So, yes, you could call me a romantic and that is quite nice.
Beautiful and serene landscapes inspire me to think, and thus write. Having a calm environment is so surreal and important for a survivor of domestic abuse. Oh, were you expecting something else? Perhaps pretty words for pretty things. I’m sorry but my soul isn’t always so nice.
Take a beat.
Okay.
I mean, we’ll call a spade a spade. That’s what you taught me. That’s how it is. It was violence. Do not expect me to take pity on the girl you were before I was even born. She is not me and she is not you, and therefore she’s meaningless unless you never grew older. You are the one who is supposed to be here for me right now. The older I grow, though, the further I leave you behind. You cling and clutch and tear my soul into the ground. You burry me with your pretty memories of has been daydreams and bonds that don’t exist. At this point I could be numb to it. I’ve known you for that long. Yet, your approval seems to be the only thing I need. It’s also the only thing that I’ll never receive.
Breathe.
I love tranquil scenery.
Because it’s at times like this, when I felt the most isolated and yet so suffocated, that I ventured to the woods. They weren’t anything special, just a lot of trees and a plywood bench plopped up on some old tires. You wouldn’t know that it was so much more to me. For the little girl in my heart, that place was the only safety where I could go and truly be free. It was my relief, my safe haven. It kept me away from the yelling, the beating and the incessant name calling. There, in the constant steadiness of nature, I could actually find peace. A moment’s respite to catch my breath and just be. To exist and feel and cry and laugh and yell and scream and sink to my knees. There, in the shadow of the greenery, I found the inner voice in my head that told me my desire for love and belonging was more than make believe. That some day, some one was going to love me for just me.
Take a beat.
Okay.
I know that got carried away. I am so sorry I unburdened all of that on you. Yes, you’re right, I should care more about your feelings. After all, your existence did come before mine. No, no, the fault was all mine. I won’t talk about how I feel, I’ll just say what I like and we can move on from that because there are more important things in your life.
Perhaps, just maybe, you’re not a fraud. You’re actually pretty cool and you have a vision… even if you lack the skills to realize it yet. You can build those skills, though. It just takes practice and consistency.
Well, won’t they expect me to be perfect from the beginning? Shouldn’t I only share the good parts? Aren’t I too shameful to be shared?
Hide me. Hide me.HIDE ME.
Hide me so that they will not see the flaws, the pain, the scars. The hurt of being unwanted, unloved, undesirable. I am too much. I’m not enough.
Wait… who told you that you aren’t enough?
Who told me? Who… told me that I’m not enough. Well, I thought that came from me? Isn’t that what they say? You are your own worst enemy?
I’ll let you in on a little secret: NO. Those thoughts are not your own. They were learned, they were taught. They can be changed. What’s the opposite of worthless?
Valuable. I am valuable. I am loved. I am wanted. I am desirable. I am kind. I am delicate. I am strong. I am exactly enough, no more or less. Who am I?
I am not a name, a number, an address, a pretty face, a broken doll, or the thoughts inside my head. I am made of dust. So is everyone else. So where does that leave us?
We are all the same. We are enough. What we have learned was taught. It can be changed. What’s the opposite of dust?
Cleanliness? No. Nothingness? Wrong again.
You are not an object or a material thing to be tossed aside. You are made of matter but you are not matter. You are an essence, a soul. Similar to those before you, you may struggle to exist. You do exist, though. Feel your hair, your face, your heartbeat, your warmth.
You are a flame. The essence of life is sensation. You feel, so you are. Believe.
Believe. Don’t make it. Be it. Be alive. Be strong. Be brave. Have courage and faith.
Because when you believe in yourself and take the first step to extend your hand out to someone else…
They also start to see that they aren’t just dust. That we are the same. That honestly, being me is not so bad. I have a vision, and I don’t have the skills to see it through yet, but I can learn them. So can you. You’re not so bad.
