This past week has not been an easy one. Not that most of my weeks are easy but this one was a greater struggle.
Part of my healing process involves the integrating of my various personalities or "parts". The easiest way to describe it is in watching a certain part step behind the shadows in my mind; no longer distinguished by a look or a voice. Ever present and audible but as me instead of them. Small fingers lace between my grownup fingers. I squeeze a fragile hand and watch it melt into my own.
As the parts converge I often see a blending of colors. My color is blue. Other times I see numbers and the sum of the parts come together to equal a new whole. But along with these hues and figures also come the tactile memories. Worn and aching to them; fresh and raw to me.
I am flooded with these thoughts of the past and they become my present. Feel the floor beneath my feet. Touch the couch that I am sinking in. I only wish these things beneath me would pull me in and past the hurting surface. A crying child is in the corner. A broken baby alone on the floor. A dirty face is frozen with terror. And he is pulling at my legs as he creeps up to control me.
These desperate children slide behind me as their pain is lifted away. Their stories become my own; a painful anthem no one wants to hear.
Feel the couch and focus on a familiar face. It is not real. Just a memory. But it is real.
Sisters With Voices #UNITE Linky
13 hours ago