Skeletons

Two steps forward.  One step back.  Slam the door on the weeping skeleton.

My last post was horrible to write.  I still cringe when I attempt to read it.  I have wanted to delete it but I know that wouldn't do much good.  It still happened.  It still hurts.  I am still deeply ashamed.

Shame is a funny thing.  Sometimes I can push it to a corner of my mind.  Other times I cannot even wrap my mind around it to find a place for it to rest.

Sometimes I wonder if processing and grappling with every memory is meant to be.  What would be the harm of burying the horror if a larger amount has been handled?

Everyone has skeletons.  So what if mine are a little more fucked than usual.

Forbidden

There are things I shouldn't talk about.  Because most love animals with whole hearts.

There are things I shouldn't tell.  Because dirty can be silently detected.

There are things I should never do.  Because in doing I am searing a piece of soul.

A single quiver of fear escapes through my fingers.  I pet the dog in front of me and he licks my trembling fear away.  Such a reassuring wiggle as his tail paints the air with a smile.  I find a tiny smile of my own to give in exchange for hope.

A cold fist pushes me on my back and my pink shame is exposed.  I reach for my new found comfort but then he pulls him back.  I cry for his wagging smile.  Instead a furry paw is placed in my tiny hand. 

Move your hand... he growls as his rigid fingers are tightly curled around my wrist.  Forward and backward.  He moves my hand to pet the paw.  I open my my smashed shut eyes to see the dog standing nearly next to me. 

One.  Two.  Three.  Four.  I am not petting a paw at all.

There are things I shouldn't write about.  Because this pain is more than forbidden.

Shame

I take it all back.  The part about not being bad.  The part about not being dirty.  The part about them being bad.

It's all me.

I wanted to believe that I'm none of the horrible things they said I was but the actions do not lie.  I can normally write about what hurts but I'm too ashamed to even do that.  When it appears in black and white it is real and ripe to be judged.

If I lock it in my head then it happened to the others.  Not me.

I used to believe that anger was the worst emotion.  I was wrong about that too. 

It's shame.  And it makes you feel less than human.