Does it make a difference?

How can one move on from their past, when it is always there, whispering in your ears?

 

Things change, but does it really make a difference?

 

At the root, does everything still stay the same, never really letting you move on from your past?

 

All these changes over the years, but yet here we are, still traumatized by the past.

 

We can get sent back there in the blink of an eye, to the point of trauma, as if nothing has changed.

 

As if all the years of healing never happened…

 

As if all the sweat and tears put into becoming someone stronger, never happened.

 

Things change, but does it really make a difference?

 

Can we really change who we are, who they created from the trauma of what they put us through?

 

Can we really change who we are, after the trauma of what they did to us?

 

We are all covered in the filth of what we have had to do in the name of survival.

 

Things change, but does it really make a difference?

 

Consider where you started.

 

Consider where you are now.

 

Consider all the things you have survived, all the trauma you have outlived.

 

Things change, but does it really make a difference?

 

It does, despite the lies your past whispers into your ears.

 

Things change, and it does make a difference.

 

We make a difference every day that we make ourselves get out of bed, when we would much rather sleep through the hard times.

 

We make a difference every day that we fight through the panic attacks that try to drag us back into our pasts.

 

We make a difference when we refuse to sink into the mire of our dark thoughts.

 

We make a difference, and that changes everything.

It’s not ok

“It’s ok, it’s fine”, you said over my protests.

“It’s ok, it’s fine”, you said despite my struggles.

“It’s ok, it’s fine”, you said as you pulled me down while I tried to get back up.

“It’s ok, it’s fine”, you said as you pushed me against the wall.

“It’s ok, it’s fine”, you said as I tried to escape the cage you made with your arms.

But it’s not ok.

It’s not ok.

Not ok.

It’s not ok that you tried to forcefully take my first kiss.

It’s not ok that you tried to take my self worth.

It’s not ok that you tried to take my identity.

It’s not ok that you wouldn’t listen.

It’s not ok that you put me down and made it seem like you were doing me a favor because you put up with me.

“It’s ok, it’s fine”, you said about how I wasn’t as pretty as my friends.

“It’s ok, it’s fine”, you said as you professed your love for my friend but then put your hands on me.

“It’s ok, it’s fine”, you said as I tried to walk away.

“It’s ok, it’s fine”, you said as I fought back against your touch.

“It’s ok, it’s fine.”

No.

It’s not ok.

And it never was.

And she said to him…

And She said to him, “Don’t make any more promises that you won’t keep.”

She carved out her love for you as if she carved out a piece of her own heart.

You said you chose her. You said She was beautiful. You said it was always meant to be you two, together forever.

And She said to him, “Don’t make anymore promises that you won’t keep. Not to me, and not to your new love.”

You talked to her so sweetly, of love and marriage, of life and children.

Did you ever think of what those sweet whispered words would do to her, when you walked away for someone else?

You didn’t, did you?

Because She was just a game for you, wasn’t she? 

She was merely a toy to pass the time with, a ‘test run’, so to speak. 

But you never meant a word you spoke to her, did you?

Her heart was given so freely to you, that now She doesn’t know what to do with it since it’s been discarded so carelessly. 

But even after all the pain you’ve put her through, she still yearns for what was promised, but can never be fulfilled.

And She said to him, “Don’t make anymore promises that you won’t keep.”

Connected…

Hands, grasping and pulling.

Hands that grab, hands that tear.

Hands that do not belong.

Hands that have no right to touch.

Hands that touch, pull, shove.

Hands connected to arms that wrap, constrict, restrain, and forcefully carry away.

Hands connected to arms, arms connected to a body that throws its weight around.

A body that has no respect for personal space, a body that suffocates, smothers, refuses to get off.

Hands connected to arms, connected to a body, compiled into one person.

A person that manipulates, speaks lies, ruins lives.

It’s Time…

It’s time to move on.

You’ve shed enough tears over him, crying in the dark.

Staring at his picture, holding gifts given long ago.

It’s time to move on.

Don’t cry any more tears.

You’ve shed enough over him, now take a breath.

Dry your tears.

And don’t waste anymore on him when he won’t shed a single one for you.

Tears

It’s time to move on.

You’ve shed enough tears over him, crying in the dark.

Staring at his picture, holding gifts given long ago.

It’s time to move on.

Don’t cry anymore tears.

You’ve shed enough over him, now take a breath.

Dry your tears.

And don’t waste anymore on him when he won’t shed a single one for you.

I know what it’s like.

I know what it’s like to awake in a cold sweat, horrors still clinging to your mind.
I know what it’s like to go to sleep, dreading the monsters you face, night after night.
I know what it’s like to be afraid of every touch, no matter how harmless it may be.
Trust me, I know.
I know what it’s like to find nothing but flaws in yourself, because those flaws were first pointed out by those you thought loved you.
I know what it’s like to look in the mirror, and not recognize who you see.
I know what it’s like to lay in bed, tears streaming down your face, choking you of all hope.
Trust me, I know.
I know what it’s like to be taken advantage of, by those you once trusted.
I know what it’s like to blame yourself for it, because you were to trusting…to naïve…to blind to the truth.
I know what it’s like to feel dirty and used.
Trust me, I know.
I know what it’s like to hold it all in, not trusting the truth with those you love…afraid that they will never look at you the same way again.
I know what it’s like to shake from the memories, trapping you in the darkness, never letting you go.
I know what it’s like to believe those lies, that you’ll never be enough, never be wanted, never be loved.
Trust me, I know.
I know what it’s like to run from affection, from a gentle touch, because all its ever meant in the past is that they want something from you.
I know what it’s like to shake away when innocently touched by a loved one, because it brings you back to the time when someone else touched you…but it was with darker intent.
I know what it’s like to try to drown out the noises and voices in your head, because they are filled with nothing good, nothing true, nothing pure.
Trust me, I know.
I know what it’s like to have all this inside of you, but no one to notice.
I know.

 

(“I don’t tell anybody, I thought it was one of those things that you hide and don’t talk about it and you just forget , but I remember like it was yesterday.” – Spencer Reid/Criminal Minds)

I Refuse…

My past lies heavy on me.

What was done to me…

What was said…

It tries to drag me down, tearing at my soul.

What was done…

What was said…

Does it ever really go away?

It always seems to be there, lurking in the dark places of my mind, always waiting for an opportunity to strike.

Will it ever leave me alone?

It always whispers in my head, making the darkness heavier.

In the corner of my eye, I can see the past reaccuring.

Does it ever really go away?

Can we ever really break free?

Or is it something that we have to endure…

And ineviatably submit to…

No.

I refuse to be dragged down any longer.

I refuse to be left alone, living in the ashes of a world that they burned down around me.

I refuse to be left a shell of who I once was.

I refuse to live defeated, when I am the one who has survived their smoke and fire.

I refuse to let them break me down to the very dust they tread upon.

I refuse.

 

Haunted

Haunted.

My dreams…filled with fear and memories.

Haunted.

My thoughts…filled with guilt and pain.

Haunted.

My memories…filled with regret and the sharp bite of defeat.

Haunted.

Always clinging, always cloying, always close.

Haunted.

Why can I never have a moment of rest without a memory of what happened?

Haunted.

Why can I never sleep without dreaming about what you did, what you took?

Haunted.

Consumed by the past, never able to live in the present.

Haunted.

Why?

Haunted.

Why did you take my trust, and use it against me?

Haunted.

You manipulated my feelings – using them against me – all for your own gain.

Haunted.

I stood up against you, taking my stand, stepping out of the shadows of your lies and what you did.

Haunted.

We went against you, a united front, reliving our demons…all to take you down.

Haunted.

Over a year, the fight lasted, seeming like it would never end.

Haunted.

Finally, the end was in sight.

Haunted.

We won, but in the end…did it make a difference?

Haunted.

Here I am, left with scars unseen…but no less real.

Haunted.

We won, and you lost…so then why am I still haunted?

 

When I was a little girl…

When I was a little girl, Narnia was my escape.

It kept me away from the cold harsh reality that was my life.

When I was a little girl, Narnia kept me sane.

When the yelling and screaming reached its highest, Narnia was my sanity.

When I was a little girl, Narnia kept me soft and gentle.

When the shouting and swearing was the loudest, I thought of Aslan, and remembered the peace that he brings.

When I was a little girl, Narnia was my everything.

When there was no one to turn to, I thought of the Pevensies, and they brought me comfort.

When I was a little girl, Narnia was my home.

When life was filled with pain, my dreams were filled with Narnia, the fauns, the driads, the Pevensies…and Aslan.

When I was a little girl, Narnia was my life.

When everything was at its worst, I hid in my closet, and prayed that it would take me to Narnia.

When I was a little girl, my closet didn’t take me to Narnia.

When I was a little girl, the Pevensies didn’t show up.

When I was a little girl, Aslan didn’t come and take me away.

When I was a little girl, I grew up…

 

…and realized that Narnia might not be a real place.

…and the Pevensies might not be real.

…and Aslan isn’t really a Lion, although I did find Him by his other name.

…but they are real to me.
When I was a little girl, I grew up…and finally understood that though they might not be real…

they live in me,

they are real to me,

and in the end…

that is all that matters.