As adults we have this tendency to look at childhood like a fairytale. We convince ourselves that those people, events, and places were merely 'story' real. All these things existed just not the way we remember them. We rationalize and sanitize our past, "that hurt only seemed big because I was so little." Maybe not. We rush to make excuses for ourselves, "I didn't have the accurate vocabulary to correctly describe what happened." You did. We did. yelling.poor.alone.sad.drugs.fear. These were real things, refusing to acknowledge them doesn't unmake them. I'm done passing around the easy lie of "my childhood wasn't that bad." It was and that is ok because I am still here.
I will never outrun my past I will always carry these events with me. I will always be wary of men. They were animals to me. Inscrutable, impressive mimics and they look silly in clothes. I have such a great boyfriend but I will never be able to fully trust him. Even when I'm at my worst just anxiety and depression have completely consumed me he just holds tight. We generally can't sleep in the same bed because of my night flails but last night was impossibly bad so he settled in. It was actually nice he just curved himself around me and let me cry didn't ask any questions and it was the first time I felt safe all day.
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