Laughs and Lobotomies

I’m less mad at this point about what those bastards have done and more mad about struggling to get them out of my headspace.

Finding peace is hard.

Spite is easier.  Frequently more satisfying.  Has a real mean rip-around when it does hit you though.

I thought changing my name would free me of them.

Maybe it would be a cleansing moment.

Maybe I would finally feel safe.

Trauma doesn’t have a damn barometer.

It comes in different flavors.  We all handle it differently and it isn’t a damn competition.

I think too often we make it one.  Because our abusers spend so much time telling us this is normal.  We are convincing ourselves we were abused as much as anyone else.

Just as we had spent many many years in denial about it.

I started talking to someone again, someone I lost trust in, as I lost trust in everyone.  Maybe I will always be that way- never fully trusting.

Their story is theirs – it is not mine to tell.

But I told them how I wanted to change my name, to be rid of them all.  And aside from the cost to do it, the reason I didn’t was because I would have to publish my name change in 2 papers of circulation.  And what is the point of changing my name if I can’t escape?  If they can just find me again? 

I felt a very long pause.  And I felt so damn sad.