The Light at the End of the Tunnel

She said they'd never believe me.

She said they wouldn't even notice if she killed me.

She said they'd abandon me if I told.

And I believed every word.

Sometimes I still believe the lies. It's hard to let go of lies I've lived with for over 45 years. It's difficult to remember the words of my therapist, husband, and close friends. It's easier to remember her words. Especially when they were reinforced by disbelief and abandonment. 

It's easer to believe the bad stuff if that's what you've been trained to believe. 

And it filters over into everything else. If my husband and I have an argument, unconsciously I believe he will leave me, even though I know he never would. If I speak my feelings I believe that I will be hurt, even though I know that's not rational. 

Abuse that happened a long time ago. And yes it still bothers me. And I hate that question, "Aren't you over that yet?"

So I talk and I write, and I listen to the good stuff, and I really do try to snuff out the bad. Some days are better than others, but some days are worse. And when it's particularly bad, my head feels as if it will explode rather than let reality be revealed. But the revelation brings relief . . . after the pain, and only with help from others. From the compassionate witnesses.

I have my series of mantras:

The truth will set you free.

This too shall pass.

I survived it when it happened, I will survive working through it.

Time heals only those wounds that are shared and understood.

There is no right way to heal.

Healing is a process. Like recovery. Like faith. It has it's ups and downs. It's not a straight line. It's the light at the end of the tunnel. So I keep my eyes on the light.

linking up with imperfect prose