I left my childhood and abuse behind me all those years ago. I thought the girl who left was gone, but today as I look in the mirror her face looks back at me. The eyes to her soul speak volumes. She still has a naive, sad look. One I am certain I hid behind rum and coke for breakfast. Hidden so well that no one had a clue who she really was. To live with the secrets ate away at her soul. Her diary was the only one she spoke the unspeakable to.The memories seemed to have faded like a dress in the bright sun. Unlike the dress you take it out of the sun and they come back just as bright.
She became the image she wanted people to see.The person of strength and happiness appeared in a different mirror and who could say she wasn't real. Anyone who knew her true self was banished from her life because the truth was too painful. In fact at times it became so blurry she wondered if it was even real. The doubt pushed those thoughts to crevices unknown.
To look at her was to see what she allowed behind the gates of her heart. Each person was allowed only certain aspects.They were kept nicely in a perfect box, so fragile the box could shatter in wind. Pain was never visible, not even when alone. Memories shoved aside were let go as far as she knew.
Why would she not go home? The facade she created would not hold up.The memories of only the happiness had been allowed. To go home is to see where the things happened. The past had been closed away so long she had tricked her own self into believing it was gone. This meant cutting all ties to people who remind her of who she was all those years ago. Now facing the past means telling the truth to the face in the mirror. It means saying out loud the most unspeakable things. It means the first step is stopping the dissociation and admitting she is me. She bleeds, cries and feels. Her emotions had been completely turned off for the last decade, and now feelings rush upon her like waves that won't stop. How do you face the bad to find the good? She now has proof that her memories are real. They were not nightmares, they were her life. For more information see: www.voices-amplified.com