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Beginnings
Abandoned, alone, sad, lost, hate, neglect, unwanted, humiliated, painful, angry, leftout, worthless, embarassed, small, hurt, resentment, shameful, isolated, scared,
cold, empty...........
I feel all these things, to a greater or lesser degree in my life. I felt so abused as a child and yet, am unable to say I was abused. The sadness, hate, and anger eat at me everyday, still. Not allowed to express them, not having names for these things I felt inside, eating away at my heart and soul. The pain of being humiliated and embarassed because of my size. The shame of being fat, feeling worthless and unwanted. Resentful of the others, always looking out for them, for their needs, and never my own. The lack of fulfilling my need to be loved, cared about, needed, wanted. Oh how I wanted to feel like I belonged. To feel a part of the family.
How I wished I was skinny, and not fat. But knowing I needed the fat to protect my emotions, to protect the essence of me from the humiliation, the shame, the abandonment. Coating myself in 'lard' so to speak, to allow the feelings to stay, and the new hurts to stay at bay. If only I knew how to express what I was feeling, if only I could see the abuse and call it someone else's fault. I was so unworthy that I deserved it, I thought. I didnt like it, but resigned myself to it as a part of life. The tears of pain I cried nightly, the deep soul wrenching pain of hurt, abandonment, humiliation, of feeling so unworthy.
I felt so small in a great big world. Curled up in a cocoon, wrapped tightly in my pain......adding layer upon layer to the wrapping, not realizing I was trapping the pain in, and the goodness out. Afraid to verbalize what I was feeling. Not knowing the words for what I was feeling, yet striving to state it, always to be shutdown in mid sentence. My soul shrinking. or was it? Perhaps it is the pain filling it to overflowing, streching my heart and soul to keep out the rest of the pain, the hurts, the unacceptance. Sometimes, the pain was my only comfort. The only way to know I was truely alive. I could sense there was more, and yet, it was unreachable for me. Nothing to grab onto but more pain, and grab I did, for it was my life-hold. The one constant I could count on to know I was alive. Comforted by my own pain. The pain of needing and not receiving. The pain of being trudged on, day after day. Physically and emotionally.
I carry it with me still, perhaps to a lesser degree, but always there, always the constant, always the comforter. It seems sometimes as though I am afraid to feel the happiness, the being wanted and cared about. It is foreign. I speak of the craving of feeling loved, cared for, wanted, needed, comforted, and so many other good things, and then discard them as though I were not worthy. I cry out for the freedom from the pain, and then embrace it, with that same life-hold, I held as a child.
In my adulthood, I find comfort in the pain also. It is what I know, and have known. I see the light of happiness through a peekhole, and close my eyes tight, fleeing back inside myself....afraid....terrified of what it might feel like to be happy. My soul screaming out for it, then running away when it shines. I abandon myself to the pain. I hate it, yet embrace it. I crave, finding the tears to wash awaythe pain, and when they come, I dam them up, for it is not safe. The tears are a sign of weakness, the signs of a child in pain. No one must know of my pain. To know of my pain, is to have a road into who I really am. I must keep them at bay! I must not allow them to see me, for who I am. The rejection would be too much. So I stay, wrapped in my cocoon, the silence of pain wrapped around me, the shroud of sadness always close at hand.
Never feeling the joy, the pride, the happiness of who I am. Never allowing myself to know and to feel...I AM good. I AM special. I AM loved. Never rejoicing in ME.
I am done. I can write no more.
© 1998 indigo
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