My hard truth

I don't write much about my life, so today I feel brave to share the darkness that is rumble around my soul. For some of you what I am about to write is difficult to read, but the cracks it has left me in, as made it easier for me to shine.

I almost can't write this. As, I type I wonder if I should. I guess I have started. I was sold out for sex as a child. This was my earthquake of knowledge that shook my world. This event had multiple after shocks. I was given up again after being in the same family for seven years. They kept my brother, they knew something was deadly wrong with me, I had a plague of circumstances that crippled my behaviour, like a house on a fault line. I could never feel normal, because deep down, there was nothing normal about the first four years of my life.

I found this ugly truth out at the age of 22. It rocked me like a mountain under the weight of a tsunami. I was so angry I could not think or exist. How could this be done?

I felt betrayed the beauty surrounding me, was now a living nightmare. There was nothing I could do my walls were shattered. This was my shame.

There was no EMT's to rescue me from myself, I had to face the fault on my own. Nothing was stable any more. I was really a victim. The flashbacks crumbled me to my knees, I guess when everything falls all you can do is rebuild, and hope tomorrow there is a new beginning.

It took me nine years to look in the reflection of broken glass shattered down by my feet, I realized the earthquake of my circumstances was not my fault, it was the hands of others, I met my fall. I slowly rebuilt by understanding shame has no place in my "better tomorrow".

I waded in pools of thick mire listening to the voices of therapists trying to lure me out, like a cow stuck in quicksand. After years of hearing it was not my fault, the gods were not angry with me, I slowly started to believe.

This was my EMT the voice that said I was a survivor, though it was a hard thing to accept. It is hard to accept help, when sometimes you feel like dying would have been better, because the bleeding of emotional tissue is harder to fix than the broken bones being torn by rebarb that sunk in from a fallen building.

The aftermath of shame is no longer a part of who I am. I have healed for the most part completely and my life is back on track. It took ten years for me to forgive, to understand, to regrow. This was my earthquake.