Once upon a time- many years ago- I had a very dodgy and glamorous life, quite by accident.
It was the early 2000s and I was in an unhappy marriage, my sons were still young.
I traveled all over the globe for work and met a Dutch man who changed me, even though at the time it was god awful abusive (on both sides) and painful.
This is from my journals during this time that I just accidentally rediscovered online. I will be editing out names for privacy.
I am glad I am no longer this person. I was a fucking MESS.
This will be out of order, because I am just copying and pasting…
Sometimes I feel like life is a dove, its fragile wings gently beating against my face making me aware of the realities each day brings…other times it is like a snake, a constrictor that encircles my throat and squeezes me until I can no longer breathe, gasping for air while the rest of the audience looks on, unimpressed.
Truthfully, I am my only audience, no one else exists…except as a catalyst. The world in a lonely village of our own makings, a tenuous thread to what we perceive to be real. I dance naked under the gray skies, hoping for sun and somehow imagining the rays beating over my cold and weary body. I can envision the warmth, the feeling of utter safety and well being…so much so, that the genuine article pales in comparison.
I am strong, stronger than most…still I can feel the whimpers of the child who dwells inside me, a child long dead and buried. I cry for no one, to no one…a bloody, sodden despair even I do not understand. I tremble in my sleep and try to hide the thoughts that rage within me. I dream of nothing and everything, I dwell in pain and light. I live two, three, four different personas at all times and I am truly in touch with none of them. I am fragmented, like my loves are, my life is. I am whole and wholly cracked. I continually catch myself spiraling and grab myself by the scruff of my collar, lest I truly fall into the abyss.
Self centered my introspective meandering is, I am self absorbed and selfless. Selfish and utterly without sense of who I am. I am lonely. It is a loneliness I impose upon myself willingly. It is a protective barrier from me and the hurts of the world, the self-inflicted hurts I do to myself.
Once, I would saw into my arm with knives, take pills to kill myself, attempt to hang myself from my closet in my room. I was a child with a wish for oblivion that never came. The only things that were certain were belt beatings in my sleep, my legs running red with my own blood as she punished me over and over. I can recall flinching constantly, warding off smacks, stabs, hits…constant screaming, yelling. I remember what it feels like to have my head beaten into the cement floor until I passed out, to watch my sister’s legs and arms being broken with fireplace pokers, with feeling no safety whatsoever. I would escape into books, the forest, or into me and hope either death or some fairy prince would rescue me.
No one came, I saved myself ultimately. Yet, in my head, I created the fairy prince—a fantasy so real in my mind, that nothing real could even compare to. I created the beauty I could not see in my day to day world, happily immersing myself in a realm of unreality. This alone saved me, nurtured me. I created loving parents, friends, all the things I never and did not have. I traveled the globe at an early age, swallowing other’s beliefs and cultures in one mad gulp, trying to find a niche to no avail, yet learning wonderful things along the way.
Wings of despair, wings of hope…all these gentle things flutter deep within me. I cannot cry constantly, as I am always seeing beauty and longing for more, seeing love and good and truth, though it just seems past my fingertips. I reach and am happy just to brush these emotions briefly against my skin, like a drug. I am lonely today. I will be lonely tomorrow. I will always love and hope and pray for the dreams of my childhood to become real. I am my own prince, my own savior, my own companion and I must first learn to love myself.