The Color of Melancholy

They say that the eyes are a window into a person's soul. When I look into my own eyes I see complication, I see restraint. Have you ever watched your eyes as they cry? There is mysterious beauty in their work. Watching my own eyes as I cry is cathartic in a very simple way. My chest pulls like the strings on a guitar with the deep breaths I force into my lungs. I hear a voice in my head narrating haunting poetry..."her eyes, the color of melancholy"...and I just nod in agreement. Gray. The color of the ocean beneath heavy clouds, moments before a storm.

Another trip around the sun

It seems that it's everyday now, that I put another piece of the puzzle into place. New memories emerge and connections are being made more often. Now the image of my pink bike with white and purple polka-dot banana seat makes sense. I couldn't sit down on it and had to ride home standing up after being sexually abused  by my neighbor while playing hide-and-seek-in-the-dark in his basement. Now I know why falling and splitting the beam in gymnastics practices hurt me so much more than the other gymnasts. I insisted on an icepack ...and would sit on it in a dark room on the couch icing myself...and would eventually fall asleep. That was my escape every time to fall asleep. My coaches and teammates thought I was such a baby...they would get so irritated with me. I had no idea how to communicate to anyone though...I lived my life believing I was "silly" "sensitive" a "cry-baby"...until I shut down...
Anyway, I've been working really hard in counseling the past few months too. It's amazing how quickly things start moving once I'm in the right place and I allow everything to flow from those dark places. I still resist a lot...and censor at times. There are somethings that I don't think I will ever be able to say out loud. But that's okay for now....I have made a lot of progress. Haha! I said it!

The real reason for this post is....tomorrow is my birthday. I've been working toward my own "Growth" in 2012 as a goal I've set for myself in place of a Resolution. In this upcoming odd-numbered year of my twenties, I think I want to focus on something else as well. I'm not really sure what. I have made so many wishes on my birthday each year. I think I've stopped making them, because...well, hoping for my future didn't seem to be worth it. But now, I'm willing to try again....



This song makes me cry every time I hear it. Not in sadness, though. There is so much hope within the words; so much love. Those are two things that I rarely experience. I think that's what I'll wish for...Hope and love in my life this year, and for all of my years to come.

Happy Birthday to me :)

~SS

Mirror, mirror...

Disgust: to cause loathing or nausea in. 

Synonyms: 1.  sicken, nauseate. 2.  repel, revolt. 4.  abhorrence

When I look at myself that is what I feel. When I put on my makeup in the morning or do my hair, brush my teeth...anything that requires a mirror, I do not "look" at me. I look at what I'm doing. My eyelid, my tooth, the section of hair I'm working with...but not the whole thing; not me. I use a small round mirror to make that easier. I only look at what I need. The full length mirror I have is on the floor, not mounted so I can never see the entire thing. There will always be a disconnect from my body....I never have to look at the face that is attached to the body that reflects back. Every now and then I'll be sitting at my desk/computer and I'll catch a glimpse of my entire face in the mirror where I do put on my makeup. I will literally turn away with disgust and push the mirror back or shift the angle so that I cannot see my own reflection. 

One of her favorite things to say to me was, "Mirror, mirror on the wall...I've turned into my mother after all." 

I look like her; everybody says it but that's exactly what I'm afraid of.

Love

“Abused children receive confusing messages about sex and love, trust and betrayal. The abuser often says, “I’m doing this because I love you,” and then proceeds to hurt the child. The child learns she can’t trust the people she loves, and that she doesn’t have a choice about being close to someone else; people take what they want, regardless. Love becomes a dangerous force, wrought with confusion, pain, and violation.” Allies in Healing by Laura Davis

These are some random compilations of a "journal" entry I made just about a year ago...some of the feelings are the same, some have changed and improved.

Is it really that hard to believe that I am alive right now? I am not fully alive. I feel dead. I feel so fragmented. I feel empty...but not all the time. I've said it before, though, that the "sometimes feeling okay" is worse. It's a tease. "I know why the caged bird sings"..."Just as a bird that flies about and beats itself against the cage, finding at last no passage out it sits and sings and so overcomes its rage." ....I touch no one and no one touches me. I am a rock. I am an island. A rock feels no pain, and an island never cries....In order for me to be "normal" I would have to do things to people that I don't want to do and it's all just a vicious cycle. Because it's "normal" and "healthy" and that's what makes me a waste. Because I chose not to be promiscuous...I was told I was a waste of a vagina... as if that was my only use, my only purpose was for other people's use. Kindness and gentleness is an illusion. Fairytale love is a lie. Love is dirty. Love is painful. Love is shame. Love makes you cry. Love makes you feel worthless. Love makes you feel scared and confused. Love is forced. Love is meaningless. Love makes you want to hide. Love makes you want to be alone. Love makes you feel sick. Nobody will ever "love" me again....

Nobody has shown me what love really means.

Poems

"Incested.

She learned real young in life, in order to get by she must do what is expected and never question why...
It didn't seem to matter how she felt- or why she cried... Each time she was Incested more child-likeness died...
Too young to understand why she deserved the thing-she buried her emotions and the torture it would bring.
He said that she must never tell another living soul- too small to know the reason, yet...she knew...she wasn't whole.
She felt it was imprinted for all the world to see- I am dirty, I am ugly, please.. Don't look at me.
She'd never heard of incest yet she knew its symptoms well... The harder that she tried, it seemed, the harder then she fell...
She knew she was responsible for everybody's pain- so she tried hard to fix it over... And over...again."

-unknown

"A Choice"

She had no choice when she was little,
She thought she must obey
She wanted it all to stop
But she did not see a way

Like a lamb to the slaughter
Over and over again
She felt so very helpless--
When would it ever end?

Was life supposed to hurt so much?
What had she done wrong--
To deserve to be used like this?
She thought on it hard and long

If she could only figure out
The reason she was so "bad"
Maybe she could make it all stop
It was the only hope she had

But no matter how good she was,
No matter how hard she tried,
The nightmare went on and on--
And something in her died

"There is no hope for me," she thought
"I guess I'm just too bad"--
And so day followed weary day
For a child who was always sad

Eventually it did all end,
This killing of her soul--
But by then it hardly mattered
She would never be whole

She blocked it all from her mind
But it shaped her whole life
She grew up not understanding
This pain that cut like a knife

Then one day it all came flooding back
It was almost too much to take--
After trying to deny it, she had to admit,
There was no way it could be fake

But, accepting it and dealing with it
Are two very different things
And it would be years before she started
The journey that healing brings

This is, of course, MY story,
That little girl was me--
I was the one who had no choice,
Only the longing to be free

Now I struggle on day by day,
I have a worthy goal--
To overcome the abuse of my past
To someday, somehow, be whole

There are many obstacles to deal with
And the way grows very long,
But as I face each new step
I find I have grown strong

Hope wells up within me--
I believe this can be done
Standing tall, I take a deep breath
And turn my face in to the sun

No longer a child, now I have a choice
And no one can take that away--
I am no longer helplessly obedient
To healing, I am finding a way.

- Author Unknown...but I love it.

Little girl

Little girl with long blond hair
hides in her room again tonight.
Another long day has come to an end,
maybe this time she'll get it right.
Her desperate prayers have got to be wrong.
His answers shouldn't take this long.
She dials His number and recites the words,
...nobody ever seems to be home.
She looks out the window and checks the sky
...the lights are on but nobody answers the phone.
So she fixes her nightgown and crawls back into bed,
she straightens her blankets and lays down her head.
This little girl with long blond hair
will wait another night for someone to care.

Blond haired girl with eyes of gray
wakes up alone, just another day.
She goes through the motions like the day before
never thinking there might be something more.
This life of hers is as good as it gets
she "should be grateful and have no regrets."
But the pain inside just grows and grows
This poor girl hurts and nobody knows...

...it won't stop hurting. I can't make it go away. I can't stop crying on this miserable day. I keep on praying, but it doesn't help at all. I can't last much longer. Who will notice my fall? I'm screaming inside, but no one can hear. I'm dying inside, all I feel is fear. I'm so tired of always feeling cold. I'm sick of not having a hand to hold. I'm sick and tired of coming in second place. I hate closing my eyes and seeing your face. Everyone seems too busy to care. It's not like I expect them to notice or share, but why can't they look? Why don't they see that I am not who I am pretending to be. So many tears still roll down my face, leaving behind only but a trace, of many painful memories that can never be erased...

She writes these words in a desperate plea, hoping to God that someone might see.

Another tearful night but she doesn't muffle her cries
praying the Lord will take her soul when she dies.
The blond haired girl is little no more.
Looking back makes her sick, sick to her core.

...Sometimes the hurting subsides, but it never goes away. It only perpetuates the cycle that I believe will always stay. I'm so afraid to cry, to believe, admit, or even ask why. So I just doubt, second guess, and justify all of the confusion I feel inside...

In case you haven't noticed, if you don't see,
this poem is a story all about me.

...I have a secret that nobody knows
shhhh! Should I tell? This is how it goes:
Everything I am is a happy cliche--big smiles, endless laughter
but that's only today. What happens behind closed doors? When the world gets in the way?
There's no point in screaming...nobody hears you anyway.

Raindrops on my windshield are the tears I cannot cry.
Loneliness surrounds me while life passes by.
Dreaming comes so easily because it's all that I've known.
Truth is a fairytale. I'm scared and I'm alone.
My darkest days are behind me, still nothing seems quite right,
as I sort my lost emotions on this long and sleepless night.
I know it's not just me who feels horrible inside.
I'm exhausted from always trying to expose these things I hide.
Yet, it's all just temporary--these things I do and say.
Maybe soon I will be able to heal.
Starting today...

~SS
written September 2010

I'm learning...

After awhile you learn the subtle difference between holding a hand and chaining a soul. And you learn that love doesn't mean possession and company doesn't mean security. And you begin to learn that kisses aren't contracts, and presents aren't promises. And you begin to accept your defeats with your head up and your eyes ahead with the grace of an adult not the grief of a child. You learn to build your roads today because tomorrow's ground is too uncertain for plans, and that futures have ways of falling down in mid-flight. After awhile you learn that even sunshine burns if you get too much. So plant your own garden and decorate your own soul instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers. And you learn that you really can endure, that you really are strong, you really do have worth; and you learn.
   ©1971 Veronica A. Shoffstall