“Afraid of nothing, as though I had wings.”
“I keep thinking of some points of discussion made with my therapist. We were touching upon my childhood, the various points of neglect/horror/hardship etc. He made this wonderful point that children do not understand neglect at a young age, that we are incapable of understanding how family ties not rooted in genuine care or love are not a reflection of us. How, given abuse afforded to me via parents (particularly father, grandmother and two sisters), we internalize that shit and view ourselves as “bad.” Love is supposed to be good and kind and when it is not offered as such by the people that should give it freely and naturally, we blame ourselves. This is sort of an obvious sentiment, and as a cognitive adult I’m able to recognize that many portions (hell, all portions) of my childhood were beyond my control and not about me. But that shit lingers. I still feel myself cringe in disbelief anytime someone offers a compliment to me. When the therapist shook my hand and said “it was nice to meet you” I retorted with “You’re lying, I’m crazy!” and I kind of sort of meant it. That’s what it is. This internalized self-hatred that doesn’t go away, even when you’re twenty six and you know what happened when you were six wasn’t about you; it was bigger.
But I am so incredibly proud of myself. To speak to that man with open-book honest about every point of contention and concern with such candidness and openness is not something I ever could have imagined doing. There is so much work to do, and it’s starting.
I have nothing but hope.”