Sunday Evenings
Life might be way more simple than how I think it is. It must be, I´m sure, but I´m not, not even close. I´m far from simple, my mind is far from simple and I don´t have any other option than to manage living with this head that I ´ve got, the intelligence and sensibility that I´ve got, which seems to make everything too complicated, too intense. Sometimes a nightmare, sometimes a gift. Always as it is.
My rational brain takes control as to minimize the emotions with which I feel the most vulnerable. There´s so much anger and helplessness, there´s harm that you can´t even begin to think of, there´s the constant feeling of strangessness within my own body, within the world around me. Wounded inner child hoping for approval. Wounded inner child full of shame.
I have this fear of starting to cry and not being able to stop, starting to feel, deeply, and not being able to come back to reality and not suffocate during the process. I have this fear of being entirely human in front of others, which is a shame. No. Actually, it´s not a shame, why should it be a shame? I was hurt, too many times in too cruel and insensitive ways. I was left behind, I was forced to be a certain way, I was forced and nothing else. I was threatened to not be myself and I lost me, I lost me and I haven´t found me entirely yet.
There´s a wound that I can´t pretend that doesn´t exist anymore, a wound that crushes your whole existence, that stays in a cabinet for years until you start to realize that the anger you feel as soon as you feel violated, touched or not seen, it´s beyond normal. There´s a wound with which I have to live, to learn to live. That simply honors me.