All pictures are mine; from travel abroad and from the U.S. I've searched around the globe for the answers, and the entire time -- it was inside of me. She was inside of me; attempting to be heard.
I realized today that I needed closure and that I have yet to obtain this experience. “Getting sent away” was such a pivotal moment for me; and one that I have not moved on from, yet. It's like it glitched and has been on repeat for 13 years. I am ready to heal, so I looked inside to find out how. I was very attached to my things; not large materialistic thingy-ma-bob’s but small do-dads. Such as, my first tampon wrapper. Or tiny pebbles from a swim meet that I really had a ton of fun at -- I like collecting memories. I liked collecting memories in both words and things. And that one early morning all those things were ripped away; and mostly thrown out. I have yet to come across my first tampon wrapper. That was an important moment in my womanhood I hoped to burn at the correct timing -- as burning some of these things -- was ceremonial. Before I left for Chiropractic College, I burned a lot of my past. Not all of it.
There were still things left at my dad’s house. There were still things left at my mother’s house. I need to gather them up. Today, I happened to be inside my father’s house all day. I spent the entire afternoon going through boxes. I found every piece of buried item I had left; I went through every box. And I cried at the pictures of me and my grandmother. I cried at the pictures of my grandfather playing with me as a child. At this exact moment of writing this, I am wearing my old gymnastic warm-up jacket; it still fits perfectly -- as if it was always meant for me now. I found that in a box of my things. I felt like a child, I felt like a teen, I felt as if I was giving a proper goodbye to the girl that I once was; I was integrating her. Rather than burying her deep inside some box. I needed to gather my stuff together. I needed to move out of my father’s house.
I can’t keep talking about this subject. I am really over it myself -- the story, the pain, the deep wounds it has caused; it must heal. My childhood was not my fault, my future is my responsibility. And in order to move on, I must go back first. I must cry the tears that I stuff inside. I must express the anger that I felt kept me in a chokehold. I must defrost the numbness. I must dig it back up, clean it off and thus watch it disintegrate naturally. And after it is all said and done. And after I listen to that little child inside, once I believe her; her body can return to the element in which she came. I do not have to drag her behind me any longer.
I am emotionally healing so that my son will not have to deal with the generational curse; it is bad enough for one of us to go through it. You see, it’s not easier to suppress. Maybe in the illusion; but how long does that last? I can see through myself, I do not believe my lies. I know that little girl inside is telling the truth when she said she felt unheard. I know that little girl is telling the truth when she said she did not feel loved, or valued. I know that little girl is telling the truth when she said she felt betrayed and abandoned. My parents may say I am a bad historian; that doesn’t matter any longer. I believe in her -- not in order to convince them -- because I know her. I am the only one that really knows her; I am the only one who remembers her memories, her thoughts, her feelings, her sadness. I’ve carried them everywhere I went; I could not escape.
I can only be authentic.
I can only live this existence once.
I must listen to myself.
I must trust myself.
I must obey myself.
I must learn how I operate.
I must only be me; even when I am told not to be.
Little @laurabell -- I hear you. I believe you. And I will follow the dreams you laid out.
I will do this, because I love you.
I will do this, because I heard you.
You are heard, little @laurabell
The first image is gorgeous!
Thank you! I took it in New Zealand!