“You’ll live to be a hundred if you give up all the things that make you want to”
Where does the mind go when our brains are busy pursuing a hedonism so vile and sweet that the only escape is autopilot?
Does it venture back into the heart to protect it from its own transgressions? Does it look for solace in that pumping vesicle…
As we try and seek excitement with drowning and drifting, and lifting our hands in the air, swaying our hips to the tune of “what is good enough?”
We are obsessed with the sound of the chop, chop, chop. Breathe.
We wish we knew where we were needed when we are not needed here. When do we go when its apparent that we aren’t needed now? How do we go? How?
“I raise up my voice—not so I can shout, but so that those without a voice can be heard…we cannot succeed when half of us are held back.”
Another one bites the dust. A potential companion swept under the rug by their own hand and their own broom.
What do I do?
What do I say?
What do I radiate that makes me not fit?
Some may say I am not pretty enough. At least not under this makeup.
Some may say I am not thin enough. At least not under these clothes.
Some may say I am too intense. When I haven’t taken my meds
Some may say I am too strong-willed. When I speak unashamedly.
Perhaps I am simply too loud.
How long have I been numb to my own insecurities? How long have I been bowing down to the pressure of ‘not good enough?’
Too long. Too long.
I am here. I am breathing.
My body is unique. It has marks, and bumps, and bruises, but there is no ONE like mine. My gift.
My voice is strong. My laughter fills up the room and reminds those around me that I choose happiness. My gift.
My emotions bring me colour. I have looked in the mirror and asked myself if I feel too much. I feel just the right amount. The question becomes acceptance, becomes love. My gift.
From this day forth I don’t apologize for the gifts I have been given, not even to myself.
I simply pass my gifts to others.
“The whole thing becomes like this evil enchantment from a fairy tale, but you’re made to believe the spell can never be broken.”
― Jess C. Scott, Heart’s Blood
What a powerful tool. Speculation and controversy put aside. If it can empower even a handful of indivuals then it has done its job.
The following day comprises of 2 day. 2 days spread about a year apart. 2 days that will alter my perception of a great many things. Incredibly brave individuals have shared their stories. With that inspiration I share mine. Finally.
The first time I experienced sexual abuse was at the oh so tender age of 16. A time of life where one is on the brink of partial innocence and new discovery. I made a friend. He fascinated me, and he was charming, and he was in his 20s. I started seeing him regularly. He would come over to my house when my parents weren’t home and we would kiss and cuddle, and it was sweet. Until he decided his patience was running thin. I had told him I was a virgin and was not ready. He said he understood. He didn’t. He didn’t understand that it would be wrong to climb on top of me and try and steal my power. No ‘actual rape’ occurred but for a solid 20 minutes he rough housed me like a plaything. I didn’t know if he ever intended to commit the act but I do know he meant to frighten me. Frighten me he did. I spent a long time analyzing this event. Wondering if it was even serious enough to be considered sexual abuse. You see – this is what the current paradigm teaches. Uncertainty.
The second and final time I experienced sexual abuse was a year later. I had made another friend. He was sweet and boyish, and seemed innocent enough. I was at a stage of exploration in my life sexually, and otherwise. But still I was not ready for that ‘sexual finale’ as it were. He seemed to think I was ready. He raped me.
The event only lasted briefly but the effect was lasting. When he was done he rolled over and went to sleep. I could not even begin to explain fully the sensations after. I sat at the edge of the bed. I wanted to weep, instead I felt nothing. Absolutely nothing. Empty. A shell. Again someone had taken my power away from me. I don’t know how long I sat like this. But it felt like hours.
Again I questioned the seriousness of the act. I asked myself whether I asked for it. The paradigm rears its ugly head again.
It was not my fault and it was serious. And now my story is told, and my healing continues. Time to regain the power.
But this is not about me. This about us. US TOO!