I never cried ~ I was always happy, polite, funny, and energetic. I laughed a lot but I never cried. I had many friends, I excelled academically and participated in sports and theater, worked hard to ensure I “fit in”. I think back sometimes and wonder if I was really “happy”. I think there were times when I was happy, but even back then, I made decisions based my desire to *pretend* I was a normal kid. Even back then I was designed for public. I dated boys I didn’t like because they were popular, I hung out with friends I secretly despised because they were popular and had ‘normal’ families. I tucked it all away deep inside of the dark place and put all of my energy toward getting out, fitting in, being successful and pretending like nothing ever happened, nothing was wrong.
When I was 7 years old I used to take pencil erasers and try to erase my skin just as a child will erase a mistake made on paper~ I was a mistake and I tried to erase myself with the erasers at the end of my #2 pencils. Yet I could not erase my skin, I could not erase what happened ~ it’s all still here…my skin, my past and that horribly scared little girl.
What if I had been honest with my grandma when I was 12 and she asked me if the evil SF ever touched me? What if I would have said YES and buried my head in her lap instead of saying no and thinking, why would she even ask me such a thing - does she think I’m a whore? What would he do to me if I did tell?
What if I would have just fallen apart then ~ would someone have taken notice? But I didn’t fall apart...I sailed through all of it with flying colors. Successful Grace, Smart Grace, Funny Grace, Hardworking Grace…
I have fallen once again into that Grace. I look at my life from the outside and so much of it is good…but it feels like that’s someone else’s life. I see it but I can’t feel it.
I still don’t know how to let the therapist back in. Once again I cannot believe that she wants to know what my feelings were then, what they are now….once again I ask the question: how could she possibly understand, how could she ever get what it was like for me, you know? Two years ago I wanted her to be there for me, to protect me in the ways my own mother never did because I could not protect myself at the time. That little girl still needs the therapist's help, but the others – the angry rebellious teenager, the sarcastic girl, PAG? They all just want her to f-off and go away.
And the "what ifs" are indefatigable now...
What if we let her back in and she hurts us again?
What if the 5 year old never stops crying?
What if her life changes again and she has no room for us?
What if we screw up again and she over-reacts?
What if we walk away right now?
What if she walks away?
What if we fall apart?