Saturday, September 10, 2011

rusted broken suffocating silence

Mrs. Lady came for dinner last night and it was a lovely evening - great food. Great wine. Great conversation. We were talking about trauma and moving past it, and I was shocked to realise that for some reason - even though my master's thesis uses trauma theory and bearing witness as it's theoretical model so really I should know this - I haven't been willing or able to tell my story. And I said to her, I wonder what it would be like to write what I really want and need to say instead of limiting myself to what won't piss people off. 

It's not a new theme. It's always been a better idea for me to round the edges off life's sharpness than to approach it straight on. I euphemise. I poeticise. I hide and  ambiguate. I lie, when it comes right down to it and I deem that it's in everyone's best interest. 

Only it's never in my best interest. Not really. I'm suffocating in words. Choking back the stories I can't tell. Buried under mountains of accusations and assumptions and fears and recriminations. And, nobody wants to hear it. Not really. People want me to suck it up. To move on. To stop taking things so personally. To not have my life be about me. They want me to focus on the positive. To share my happy shiny love story. To look forward instead of back.

Only none of the nightmare is in the past. It's in the corner of my living room. It's waiting in the dark when I turn out the light and lay in bed with my eyes wide open. It's in the garage rafters taunting me. It's wandering the street hungry waiting for the next time to strike. It's the squeaky voice of every lie, and the fearful ear of my believing them. It's the smile that never reaches my eyes. And while I'm busy protecting everyone from the truth, no one is protecting me - I can't escape it. It's the water I drown in. 
Change is coming. It has to come. I have to let the words out before my throat collapses from the strain of holding them in. If only I knew how. If only I had the lessons in honesty that I have in elocution. 


  1. Okay! Bring it on! I want the truth! I need the truth! YOU need the truth! You truly have a way with elocution and I was waiting with baited breath for the story! Where is it!?! Please don't drown. We need you and your words to speak what we can't seem to...B♪

  2. Thanks, Bobbi - looking at how to tell my story without denying anyone else their right to privacy. Will definitely let you know what I come up with :)

  3. Tell it. Tell it privately until it's out and then change what needs to be changed. Or tell it publicly and figure it out as you go. Just tell it. For your sake. For ours. There is no shiny-happy without shining the light into the dark, scary places. You know that. I'm not telling you anything new. Writing is medicine and the world is in need of great healing right now. Tell us your truth. Please.

  4. The struggle comes because it's not strictly my story to tell ... though letting out what I could has been helpful, knowing people who care are watching/listening/receiving it.


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