Well, here goes. (Deep Breath)
As I was fighting my way through the usual mental garbage that I've never been able to permanently get off of the loop in my brain, I realized that it's the self talk that still binds me to my experience.
So I'll start there…
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“I carry my bag of bones everywhere… Hell; I drag the whole damned closet around with me; a monster on my back that society is all too happy to feed for me, should I ever forget. But I never forget. How can I ever forget? Please tell me, because I’ve spent a lifetime trying.”
“So now, I have made the unpopular decision to remember.”
Linda Kay GiffordSELF TALK - Chapter I
just a stupid filthy little girl
You’re a little piece of shit.
No one will ever love you.
Filthy Filthy Filthy little girl
What the hell is wrong with you
You’re a stupid little girl.
You’re just a stupid little girl.
stupid little girl… filthy stupid little piece of shit filthy girl
Stop it
STOP it
I hate you I hate you I HATE you
Make it stop make it stop make it STOP
God, I HATE you
I HATE YOU God
Get your shit together
GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER
Nobody cares
Get your shit together
I slap my face.
I slap it again; harder.
The sting brings me around.
One day, you can kill him.
One day you can kill him.
One day…
and I get dressed
and I go out of my room
and I function in the world like any “normal” adult, more or less.
Today I’m lucky. That was a pretty light self-loathing session, as my self-admonishment sessions go, at least…
I didn’t end up huddled on the floor of the bathroom like I sometimes still do, rocking my twelve year old self back out of 1976 with a verbal technique I learned in therapy.
My partner was visibly frightened, finding me doing this the first time. I suppose the image of the grown woman you care about shouting “My name is LINda… It’s 2001 - 06 - 19… that is a FUCKing DOORknob… I am FUCKing 36 - 41 - 54 years old… I am NOT a piece of fucking shit… YOU are a piece of fucking shit… it’s not MY fucking shame… it’s YOUR fucking shame!”, could be a little disconcerting.
I carry my bag of bones everywhere… Hell; I drag the whole damned closet around with me; a monster on my back that society is all too happy to feed for me, should I ever forget. But I never forget. How can I ever forget? Please tell me, because I’ve spent a lifetime trying.
So now, I have made the unpopular decision to remember.
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