It’s difficult for me to own my past. To accept and hold it within me, let alone release it to others, is a brutal living. Putting words to experiences feels an unneeded reminder, but it is. Reliving my life on my own terms is an act of power I must fight for. Others have taken my trauma and used it against me, words spoken in confidence have been broadcast to hurt me. In highschool and adulthood, my vulnerability has been taken advantage of in this way.
In of itself, being open and honest is a trial. To split yourself open and let others peek at your guts is a brave surrender of trust. This is how others help you and how they hurt you. Being able to recognize who in your life capable of knowing you fully and is safe to be bare with is onerous, punishing even in its practice of trial and error. Do they keep their word with yourself and others? Do they know how to make promises they can keep? Are they compassionate? Are they themselves open and honest with you about their emotions and past?
I habitually attached myself to people who mistreated me so whenever it inevitably backfired, a new wall built around myself. We all know the metaphor of the bricked up emotions and memory. Now I’m safe with someone I trust on a psychospiritual level beyond atoms or thoughts but that wall is still being chipped at every day. Within me is the potential to reconcile with my trauma and share the weight of my past with someone else but I’ve trained myself into stagnant restraint, now I must work to undo the damage.
Being complacent to my insecurities causes me to miss out on life. I’m not meant to exist isolated in an alternate time loop reality, I’m to be a part of the convoluted whole of input output energy. My memories don’t just belong to me. They are a consistent facet of humanity that has date back as far as we do, shared experiences helping us heal and learn from each other. Being able to say, “I went through that too”, reflecting together, we can grow and validate each other. Even when people have had entirely opposing lives there will always be something to exchange in the act of opening up. Feeling rewarded by vulnerability is key to maintaining your motivation, whether it’s being better understood, comforted, creating kinship, or learning about yourself.
You must be able to also accept the vulnerability of others. A relationship, be that romantic, platonic, familial, built with honesty must consist of mutual exchange. Further writings on empathy and interpersonal skills can be found here: https://wehverum.wordpress.com/category/interpersonal-skills/
Recovery from trauma and mental illness is filled with expectation and assumption, be rid of these. We are doing our best. Dejection often overpowers me when I hyperfocus on shame and fear, I fight by lensing with love and hope. I experience life more fully when I trust myself and try to trust the world around me that I’ve been building. I am not completely controlled by external forces, helpless.
I will tear myself open. I’m tired. For years I’ve been telling myself that I’m rotting inside out, that my body can’t contain these terrible things without an outlet. I’ve been smothering my trauma with wool blankets but the energy it takes to keep knitting its worth it considering how quickly these memories can rip through me. I can’t keep up.
Still young, I have time to clean up this mess of fabric and thread, tend to my wounds and process my trauma. I’m with someone who has dedicated their life to me as I have theirs, and they want to hear my full story. I’ve given them bits and piece, vague notions and short, blunt statements, but they want to know me as I truly am. They want to know what’s happening in my mind as I panic. They want to hear the unabridged stories. They love me and I love them, and we can restitch these blankets into something loving and healing,