Today I began with my writing group. I didn’t know that I wanted to be in a group but today’s output was something – and here it is:
The three prompts immediately brought to mind Halloween night 2014 but this is not the moment to discuss that. Instead let’s talk about why that was the first thing I thought of – PTSD/ The horrors oaf the life of Nicole are many. I’ve spent a fair amount of time these past 2 years telling myself what happened to me is not as bad as what’s happened to others. after all you’ve heard the stories, though one thing gets lost – me.
While the lessons learned at the Summer House were necessary along the way girl you – lost – you.
Give yourself permission to recall give yourself acceptance that what you’ve endured is a part of what created you. Find the balance between acknowledgment and wallowing and walk there. Your experiences are still you and valid and real. Telling yourself that others have it worse diminishes you and you girl made a promise to never again be small. You were never meant to be small and you must hold onto that moving into the next steps. Only the full frontal unedited version of you can make these moves so why would you suppress and stifle that which you the most?
Is it because you still question your worth or value? It is because you doubt?
DARKNESS WINTER YOU
Halloween technically is not winter. It is fall as the leaves die and the air cools and the blood in your veins thicken and prepare you for that which will come. I did not know what would come that night, and the nights after. I recall walking the 2 miles home.
The pain. The Rage. The Torture. The cries of the child echoing into my ears loud enough to almost deafen the commentary of the pedestrians as I walked….all fire and the sea of people parted like in that mythical bible story. As the house came within view I cooled as a winter night. The fire too, bright to all consuming to protect Bonnie and too wide to not destroy all I touched. There would be 1 more night before it was all gone and somehow I must survive that night. I write, so I did and this might be the first time question at what cost? I made it out of that dark night the sun eventually rose. As I struggled to open eyes jammed with the salt of my tears as arms reached out for the body not there what did it cost me?
Surviving is not always a victory lap sometimes it is a penalty box with no key no referee no retreat. The tears may cause you to worry about drowning when suddenly you realize there are worse things than drowning. There is the ache, the silence, the empty.
Fast forward days weeks years. While the damage is not categorized the alert from the phone reminds me that whatever the cost, it was paid. I know that it was paid because I am here doing this. I know that it was paid because the other darkness, the one I run to and crave is on the other side of that alert. Then I’m shown the photo of the yt woman with a guitar. I am reminded of all the days at Belmont and places like it. I do not see days like that in my future but my precognition switch is off today.
Maybe instead of a cold therapy room she is at a bar on the water and darkness and I are amused. Yes I worry about darkness mattering so much because with him there is a price to pay. 10/19 reminded me of that. The cost of him? Me.
Me of the past present and future.
Can I afford him?