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I find myself at times completely unmotivated, completely unable to do what it is I need to do. I find myself forgetting things, I struggle with keeping track of the simplest of things. I am completely overwhelmed, which is my own doing, I heap upon myself so much, and then I freeze. Or bury myself in the chaos. I have become a master at avoidance, so good that I am unconscious of that it is exactly that I am avoiding
No, I know what it is I am avoiding. It is what I am avoiding becoming. It is the real work I am avoiding because I am afraid. I am terrified of what it means, of what it says. I see it as a negative. I see it as a place I do not really want to go to. I do not really want to go there. Right now, where I am is comfortable in its own way, it is what I have always known. I am accustomed to depression, used to the anxiety, the body memories, the feelings of wanting to die. As terrible as it is, it is what I know. I have learned ways to cope with it. It has been my entire life. Except if that were really true, this would not be such a struggle.
I started writing out my story the other day, everything. I started with birth, with my trauma there. I realized I had never written out my entire story, I had told much of it here, but I have never handwritten from start to finish. My therapist wants me to find a way to draw it, but to do that, I feel I need to write it out too. Express it and get it out
I am attempting to do it from a place of reality. In otherwords without blaming myself, hating myself, putting the shame on myself etc. Seeing things as they really were, what my reality really was. Not trying to justify what others did, or did not do, not trying to make excuses, not trying to make sense of it. Just saying it.
I think for awhile I was trying to figure it out so I could understand it, and I thought if I could understand it, then I could heal. I think the problem is that there are things that happen that have no understanding.
I am done trying to justify it, I am done pretending I had a happy childhood. I am done denying the reality of all that has happened to me. I am done convincing myself that what happened to be was not terrible, telling myself it was not that bad. Saying is easier then doing, but I need to, because it is getting in the way of me being me. Part of the reason I am in this place is because I have allowed others to define me, I have allowed others to define my story, tell me who I am etc. I have not been me. I don't even know who me is, because I have not allowed myself to really look and see.
It is funny, I am avoiding writing about the things I see growing inside of me, things that are starting to form. I cannot even name them here, put them out there publicly. Right now they feel safe within the therapeutic container, it is between me and my therapist what is happening. I am terrified of the consequences if I were to share, even though in reality it is no big deal, and I know that. They are small normal things that people with normal childhoods just have. For me they are enormous.
My dreams and my art have been all about these things, I have dreamed about giving birth, I have dreamed about protecting myself, I have dreamed about standing up for me and being me. And strangely I have been in the position recently where I have had to stand up for myself, where I have had to stay centered in who I am, and I have done that.
I can feel the process happening, but I cannot see the end, I cannot see what is coming, or how. All I can do is trust that it is happening in the way it is supposed to.
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