We were never allowed to talk about what happened…”or else.” And we all knew what “or else” meant because every once in a while someone would break the rule and tell someone in some wild hope that things would change.
They never did.
Every time I talk about those days, even now, I hear their voices, I hear “don’t talk, or else.”
It’s a prison. Shame is a bully, imprisoning those it encompasses.
But still, I’m beginning to talk, to tentatively share in hope it will get better.
Some days are a wild roller-coaster ride of feelings that were unthinkable of expressing back then…”or else.” They were swallowed in silent screams to avoid more pain, to avoid more shame.
Yesterday was one of those roller coaster days. I found myself responding differently than I normally do, and I actually “mouthed off” to someone after a figurative punch in the gut over my sharing feelings.
My doctor will tell me it’s all a good sign, the feelings and the roller coaster and the response.
I don’t know if it really is or not.
I just hope today is calmer, and quieter.