I feel like I should say something about it. I just really don’t want to do that. If anything I would rather forget about it. Pretend it was something that never happened. Just hard to do that when I reminded about it every night.
I am just going to list the reasons why I don’t want to talk about it. One is that the way I was raised. Especially with my mom everything was about appearances. Always present ourselves as being in control and there was no problems. One of the reasons I keep things to myself even now, that idea of appearances was everything.
Also I am afraid of what people will think and say about me if I do talk about it. There was a time when I did talk about it, but often I was viewed in a negative way or I was to blame for it. If I just be a good person then it wouldn’t be a problem. I slowly came to the conclusion that talking to people about it didn’t help. If anything it made it worse for me. Better to handle it on my own. Even if I didn’t know what to do, that was best. Do the best I can on my own.
But I think the most important reason not to talk about it is that I can continue to live in denial. That what happen to me when I was younger happen to someone else. When I write about it then I can no longer live in denial. I am admitting in my writing that it was me not someone else.
It is for that last reason that leads me to write about it. What happen didn’t happen to someone else but to me. If I am going to accept myself then I have to write about it. To come to terms with that part of my life and no longer hide it. But embrace it like the rest of me.
Even writing this little bit makes me feel a little bit more at peace with myself. I am looking forward now to writing about it and reclaiming who I am as a person. A person that is human and themselves instead of someone trying to be perfect and what other people expect.
