I thought writing about all the evil that happened when I was 14 would be therapeutic or cathartic, but it left me feeling horrible. All last night my brain was in a fog, I was on the verge of tears that wouldn’t come, and I felt like I wasn’t getting enough oxygen. I feel like I’ve lived through it all over again.
It’s not like I’ve never talked about it before. I’ve talked about it with my husband, with a couple of my friends, and of course my counselor had me go over all this ad nauseam, probably convinced that all my problems stemmed from it, when the fact is, I had issues long before it happened. I had already as a young child been labeled socially and emotionally immature, and I was prone to sensory overload and meltdowns. What happened when I was 14 didn’t cause it. What happened when I was 14 happened to someone who already had trouble coping with everyday life.
I’m trying to think of what I need now. What will help? I don’t even know.
We’ve all had a happy ending. I did end up furthering my education (albeit not to my potential). My parents are healed. Their relationship is healed. My relationship with them is healed. I have forgiven them. I have a healthy marriage with a man who loves me and we have a peaceful, quiet life. What more could I ask for?
Why is this still so raw?