Today has been ... intense.
This blog is filled with mentions and allusions to the things I endured as a child, growing up in a horrific environment, bouncing from one hellish landscape of neglect and abuse to another. I spent part of this morning doing trauma therapy exercises, writing freehand with a purple pen on printer paper, about those chunks of experience.
There is something vividly heart-breaking about seeing the neat lettering of a 35 year old woman devolve into the half-inch-high, barely-legible scrawl of a terrified little girl.
To see my past and my pain take such a physically undeniable representation in ink is simultaneously mind-blowing and deeply healing.
It is the kind of experience that reminds me of why I started this blog to begin with - the blended desire to share for catharsis, and to share for providing solidarity. I know I am not alone, and I see others in the world around me every day whose stories carry gut-wrenching echoes of my own.
I'm not ready to share those handwritten letters, just yet. Someday.
But I do have a backlog of entries for this site, that I wrote over two years ago and never quite had the chance to publish.
Some just needed some privacy edits before making their way onto the internet. Some... I simply wasn't ready to admit to yet.
It's time to add them, now, to the project. I am well enough in heart, mind, and body to put these out there.
I've posted the following entries today, retroactively; they're grouped loosely by theme:
