I wish I knew what it was. I wish I knew how to get it out.
Sometimes I think I just need to tell my story. Over and over and over, get it out, say every word, every detail, everything that happened. I wish I could figure out a way to draw it. But my inability to draw makes that seem daunting.
I am tired of the emptiness, I am tired of sitting in the feeling, then sitting down and nothing coming out. I am tired of not quite being able to get there. I am tired of this running my life. I am tired of it feeling overwhelming and yet nothing at the same time. How is that even possible?
I intellectualize, I rationalize, I think to much. Which is strange because it is not my nature. Which is probably why it does not work, why it feels so uncomfortable. It isn't me. I need to find a way to feel it.
I feel on some level there is still denial. Denial that any of this is really real. Denial that any of it really happened. I don't want it to have been real. I want to have had a normal childhood (Whatever that is) I want to not have this always there.
And it is always there. Constantly. It never goes away. It never eases up. It is always there in some way in some fashion. I can't just push it out of my mind, not just for a second.
I don't know if anyone else does this, but sometimes when I think about what happened, I can't imagine it happening to me the child, I imagine it as my adult self. I picture me, the adult. It feels disconnected and cut off. Like there is me, and there is her, and it did not happen to me, it happened to her. Its HER story, not mine.
When I talk about it in therapy I can feel the disconnect, I can feel the detachment, I can feel the lack of feeling. I can't let her speak, I can't let her in. I want to be able to, I want to be able to say everything I need to say. But I go blank and there is nothing. There is nothing to say
I would not even know where to start.